From Obama’s 9/11 speech
The Bible tells us, "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."
Ten years ago, America confronted one of our darkest nights.
Actually, it all happened in broad daylight.
Mighty towers crumbled.
If they were so mighty, why did they crumble?
Black smoke billowed up from the Pentagon. Airplane wreckage smoldered on a Pennsylvania field. Friends and neighbors, sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters—they were taken from us with heartbreaking swiftness and cruelty.
This wasn’t a natural disaster, Mr. President.
On September 12, 2001, we awoke to a world in which evil was closer at hand, and uncertainty clouded our future.
Actually, the evil was just as close as it was on September 10, 2001. We just ignored it before then.
In the decade since, much has changed for Americans. We've known war and recession, passionate debates and political divides.
Because the change after 9/11 was all about recession, debates, and political divides.
We can never get back the lives we lost on that day, or the Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice in the wars that followed.
Well, duh.
Yet today, it is worth remembering what has not changed.
Isn’t that the complete opposite of what a memorial is supposed to accomplish?
Our character as a nation has not changed. Our faith—in God and each other—that has not changed. Our belief in America, born of a timeless ideal that men and women should govern themselves; that all people are created equal, and deserve the same freedom to determine their own destiny—that belief, through test and trials, has only been strengthened.
I guess he’s talking about his election.
These past 10 years have shown that America does not give in to fear.
Debatable at best.
The rescue workers who rushed to the scene; the firefighters who charged up the stairs; the passengers who stormed the cockpit—these patriots defined the very nature of courage. Over the years we have also seen a more quiet form of heroism—in the ladder company that lost so many men and still suits up to save lives every day; the businesses that have rebuilt; the burn victim who has bounced back; the families that press on.
The soldier that risks his life abroad?
Last spring, I received a letter from a woman named Suzanne Swaine. She had lost her husband and brother in the Twin Towers, and said that she had been robbed of "so many would-be proud moments where a father watches their child graduate, or tend goal in a lacrosse game, or succeed academically." But two of her daughters are in college, the other doing well in high school. "It has been 10 years of raising these girls on my own," Suzanne wrote. "I could not be prouder of their strength and resilience." That spirit typifies the American family. And the hopeful future for those girls is the ultimate rebuke to the hateful killers who took the life of their father.
Are there any killers who are not hateful?
These past ten years have shown America's resolve to defend its citizens, and our way of life. Diplomats serve in far-off posts, and intelligence professionals work tirelessly without recognition. Two million Americans have gone to war since 9/11. They have demonstrated that those who do us harm cannot hide from the reach of justice, anywhere in the world. America has been defended not by conscripts, but by citizens who choose to serve—young people who signed up straight out of school; guardsmen and reservists; workers and businesspeople; immigrants and fourth-generation soldiers. They are men and women who left behind lives of comfort for two, three, four or five tours of duty.
Does he think the military is a police force or something? He might have mentioned that their purpose was to bring the fight to the terrorists and deny them safe harbor.
Too many will never come home.
Compared to what?
Those that do carry dark memories from distant places, and the legacy of fallen friends.
How about the knowledge and satisfaction of serving their country as well?
The sacrifices of these men and women, and of our military families, remind us that the wages of war are great; that while their service to our nation is full of glory, war itself is never glorious.
Great way to rally us.
Our troops have been to lands unknown to many Americans a decade ago—to Kandahar and Kabul, to Mosul and Basra. But our strength is not measured in our ability to stay in these places; it comes from our commitment to leave those lands to free people and sovereign states, and our desire to move from a decade of war to a future of peace.
Translation: I need to get out of Afghanistan by 2014.
These 10 years have shown that we hold fast to our freedoms. Yes, we are more vigilant against those who threaten us, and there are inconveniences that come with our common defense. Debates—about war and peace, about security and civil liberties—have often been fierce. But it is precisely the rigor of these debates, and our ability to resolve them in a way that honors our values, that is a measure of our strength. Meanwhile, our open markets still provide innovators with the chance to create, our citizens are still free to speak their minds, and our souls are still enriched in our churches and temples, our synagogues and mosques.
How tone deaf is he to mention mosques on 9/11? It’s not even like Islam is an important religion in the U.S.
These past 10 years underscore the bonds between all Americans. We have not succumbed to suspicion and mistrust. After 9/11, President Bush made clear what we reaffirm today: The United States will never wage war against Islam or any religion.
As if this actually needs to be reaffirmed.
Immigrants come here from all parts of the globe. In the biggest cities and the smallest towns, in our schools and workplaces, you still see people of every conceivable race, religion and ethnicity—all of them pledging allegiance to one flag, all of them reaching for the same American dream—e pluribus unum, out of many, we are one.
Why is this relevant to 9/11?
These past 10 years tell a story of resilience. The Pentagon is repaired, and filled with patriots working in common purpose. Shanksville is the scene of friendships forged between residents of that town, and families who lost loved ones there. New York remains a vibrant capital of the arts and industry, fashion and commerce. Where the World Trade Center once stood, the sun glistens off a new tower that reaches toward the sky. Our people still work in skyscrapers. Our stadiums are filled with fans, and our parks full of children playing ball. Our airports hum with travel, and our buses and subways take millions where they need to go. Families sit down to Sunday dinner, and students prepare for school. This land pulses with the optimism of those who set out for distant shores, and the courage of those who died for human freedom.
Actually, it is a national embarrassment that the new World Trade Center has taken so much longer to build than the original twin towers.
Decades from now, Americans will visit the memorials to those who were lost on 9/11. They will run their fingers over the places where the names of those we loved are carved into marble and stone, and wonder at the lives they led.
Actually, they will remember how they were terribly slaughtered by Islamic fanatics.
Standing before the white headstones in Arlington, and in peaceful cemeteries and small-town squares in every corner of our country, they will pay respects to those lost in Afghanistan and Iraq. They will see the names of the fallen on bridges and statues, at gardens and schools.
Really? There will be memorials in every small town in America?
And they will know that nothing can break the will of a truly United States of America. They will remember that we have overcome slavery and Civil War; bread lines and fascism; recession and riots; Communism and, yes, terrorism. They will be reminded that we are not perfect, but our democracy is durable, and that democracy—reflecting, as it does, the imperfections of man—also gives us the opportunity to perfect our union. That is what we honor on days of national commemoration—those aspects of the American experience that are enduring, and the determination to move forward as one people.
What?
More than monuments, that will be the legacy of 9/11—a legacy of firefighters who walked into fire and soldiers who signed up to serve; of workers who raised new towers, citizens who faced down fear, and children who realized the dreams of their parents. It will be said of us that we kept that faith; that we took a painful blow, and emerged stronger.
I already feel weaker after reading this.
"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."
[With a just God as our guide, let us honor those who have been lost, let us rededicate ourselves to the ideals that define our nation, and let us look to the future with hearts full of hope. May God bless the memory of those we lost, and may God bless the United States of America.
Maybe we should continue to dedicate ourselves to the fight against the terrorists. Maybe we should give thanks to the fact that we have gone ten years without another attack. Maybe we should do everything we can to make sure that those sacrificed did not die in vain.
Seriously, were his speechwriters actually TRYING to diminish 9/11 as much as they could?
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