"A tribute to 9/11: Never Forget."

Just what does it mean to “Never Forget”?

That is a question I ask myself a lot, particularly in times like today, where we are recalling our experiences of 11 years ago on September 11, 2001. 

I could mean that I remember what I was doing. Sitting in class in 5^th grade in South Carolina. We were having a class discussion when someone walked into our classroom and whispered something into our teacher’s ear. Unlike most students, our teacher didn’t seem to think we needed to watch what was happening on tv. Instead, she started a discussion about life and hardship. I didn’t really know what in the world she was talking about.

I remember coming home from school and my mom explaining that a plane had crashed into a large building, the world trade center. I remember she said it was hijacked, but that meant nothing to my limited, childhood vocabulary. All I understood was….there was a  huge plane crash. 

I could tell you that I have never forgotten that moment, but I have never thought that was enough. Does “never forget” simply mean that I remember a time and place? Is it meant as a simplistic attempt to momentarily stir up emotions for one day and time once a year until soon the memories themselves start to fade? Such emotions come and go. Tomorrow comes, and I forget again, I move on, I go forward. I can say that I have never forgotten that day. But I don’t want to remember unless it means something more than a passing memory.

But there was something else I remember about that critical time that has since started to broaden my understanding of what I believe the phrase truly means to me. 

Not long after the event itself, I remember the rumors circulating that we might be declaring war. By this point I was starting to understand just what those attacks had meant. And why was it all starting to sink? Because my Dad was serving as an chaplain in the US Army. Because war meant deployment. Because war meant causalities. And suddenly, everything was starting to hit home. I wish I had been more attuned from the start, but I admit it wasn’t until that declaration of war that the events of September 11 became more real to me. This was not a singular event or a passing memory. It was a moment that would forever change the way the world was viewed. The way I even lived my own life.

I remember the prayers I would say silently to myself when walking to classes in the morning. I would ask that war would just be a rumor. That nothing would come of this. I selfishly, but understandably, didn’t want war. That was too personal.

But come it did. And before long, the 101^st airborne division in Tennessee was deployed aboard. Thankfully, this did not include my dad. But it did include the families of many of my childhood friends. Only a few years before, my Dad had, in fact, been a part of that division. Our prayers flew with them as they deployed across the Atlantic to face before anyone else the hell that is war; one that would last for ten years to come.

I will also never forget that conversation I had with my Dad, not long after the war was declared, when I told him that I was afraid of him being deployed and never coming back. His response to my concern I could never forget, “I can't think of a better way to go than in defense of my country.”

Because my Dad understood something that I was still learning. There are some things worth fighting for. There are some things worth dying for. And the true meaning of “never forget” was starting to sink into my heart. I started to understand. But 11 years later, this journey continues.

Almost from the moment of that response, I started to have a passionate interest in a all things politics. We were always a political family, but now I had a sense of purpose, a higher meaning. I began to have a fascination, almost on the brink of obsession, with international politics, the Middle East, Terrorism, and war. Of course it didn’t come all at once, but slowly my life was beginning to be shaped by the events of 9/11 in a way that would truly mean “Never Forget.”

My Dad was deployed to Afghanistan during my Junior year of high school. It’s hard to remember that he was gone. In fact, often we’ll talk about family memories, only to have my Dad say, “wait, when did that happen?” And that’s the only time we all remember that he really was gone for a while. Other than that, life went on. My hero of a mom made sure that it did. She is strong.

But before he left, I remember him taking out the “black box,” or so we call it. In it is special documents and all the information my mom would need to carry on family affairs if, in fact, he did not come back. My mom hates the black box. So do I. 

When he came back, my Dad said little about what actually happened while he was gone. But I do remember a few things. Once, he told us of an experience he had in the hospital with some soldiers who had barely survived an IED explosion. Survived, but not without brutal, and perhaps even eventual fatal, injuries. His description permanently etched itself into my mind. I could never forget. 

He told us a little of the Afghan people, and about the bomb raids on the base,

“They really have bad aim,” he said once of the  Al Qaeda terrorists. That perhaps to calm down my mom, who had to suffer through phone calls cut short by the frequency of such raids. He told us just enough to know that our prayers had allowed for miracles to occur. And he was protected and able to come home to us. Others were not so privileged. How could we forget? 

My dad wrote a book about Afghanistan as well, inspired in many ways from his experiences.

Two years later, I was in college, declaring my major in Political Science, and taking Hebrew/Arabic classes. Before long, I felt determined to study the Middle East as a minor. I began writing papers on religious freedom , democracy, and domestic terrorism. When the Arab Spring broke out in the Middle East, I followed it religiously, interested in seeing just how this might affect the continued climb of Islamism and extremism in the region. 

Now, I graduate in April. I have considering various careers, all of which have their connections to the Middle East. I have thought of the Foreign Service and the CIA. I have considered Public Diplomacy and NGO’s. I have a passion and even a surprising love for the vast amounts of good in the Arab and Islamic culture. I have started to see all people as people, in whatever nation, and developed an interest in helping relieve suffering in nations all over the world.

I have thought of serving a mission.  I have come to have some revulsion at the excessive nationalism that defines most countries. I have witnessed in the news and in my research the vast amounts of genocides and sufferings that characterize other countries on a daily basis. I have realized how much we really are blessed in this country that 9/11 was such an isolated event, not that it lessens the tragedy, but that it means more than ever how much we should really take to heart the phrase “Never Forget.”

So what is my final verdict on the phrase?

I have come to believe that to never forget isn’t simply a memory. I believe that in many ways, it defines a way of life. 

I don’t want to forget those acts of sacrifice that define the events of a confused and complicated war in WWI. But I also don’t want to forget the story of the Christmas truce, that showed the power of an understood, shared humanity. I don’t want to forget the tragedy, sorrow, and even heroism of the events of December 7. Pearl Harbor. I don’t want to forget the brutality of the Concentration Camps that taught us just how depraved humanity could fall. But I also don’t want to forget the stories of hope and forgiveness from many of the victims, that taught us just how high humanity could rise. I don’t want to forget the events at Nagasaki and Hiroshima, the sadness of the genocides in Armenia, Bosnia, Rwanda, Congo, and even Iraq during the reign of Saddam Hussein. 

But I also don’t want to forget those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, who volunteered to make a difference, who devoted lives to the cause of justice and truth. I want to remember people like Mahatma Ghandi and Martin Luther King Jr. a like. Men who chose to respond to hate with love. Who made a difference through hope and determination.

Treated as if he were not a human being, denied the dignity deserved by all humanity, was it not Dr. King that declared so boldly, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.”

Vietnam, The Korean War. My grandfathers were there. The Gulf War. 9/.11. Afghanistan. My Dad was there. Iraq.

I remember the good people on flight 93 who willingly gave everything to stop the attempted hijack, who gave their lives to protect other Americans, while they gained nothing.

I remember the soldiers who have fought and died to give us the right to believe and stand for what we wish. Even if some use that very fought for liberty to protest their own efforts. But protestors at the funerals of heroes cannot remember. Because they cannot understand.

In conclusion, I hope that if I ever meet someone in heaven who gave the ultimate sacrifice on earth, and they asked that crucial question, “Did you remember?” I could point to my life as an answer. 

I could respond with a resounding, “Yes,  I did remember. When I had the chance to help my neighbor, I remembered that you already had. When I had the opportunity to avoid thinking poorly of someone, I remembered that everyone really is equal. That you didn’t think of who you were dying for, but that any human soul is worth the price. When I had the opportunity to take advantage of the right to vote and stand up for my beliefs, I thanked God that you preserved that right for me.  When I wanted to complain about just how hard my classes are, I remembered that some never even had the chance to get that education. But certainly many died to be sure that I could.”

I want to be sure that my every life choice, my major, my goals, my passions will stand as a undeniable witness that I have not forgotten the various tragedies that have scarred human history. I want to declare by my actions that I have learned from them. I want to be able to say, “I determined to be a better person because of what happened.” I determined to make my life a witness to the fallen. I determined to do my part to ensure that nothing like that could ever happen again. To be the good news in the world. To be the best that I could be with the life that I have been given. I want to be able to say that I did my all to make a positive difference in the world. 

In just two words, I wish my life to simply be the absolute annunciation of that truth:

 NEVER forget.