A flag flying at half mast doesn’t seem to catch the wind and billow up. It hangs there, limp and wrinkled. A flag was not made to fly that way.

It’s been a confusing week. Things just don’t seem to work the way they once did. The events of Sept. 11, 2001, turned everything inside out and upside down. The airplane in flight, once a symbol of scientific accomplishment, a winged victory of human discovery, became a weapon of terrorism. A nation proud of its heritage as a welcome refuge for immigrants was betrayed by fanatics who took advantage of American freedoms to hijack commercial jets. Unsuspecting passengers traveling to destinations around the United States suddenly became pawns in a deadly game. People arriving to work and many others engrossed in the daily affairs of business suddenly had to engage in survival instincts. And the very people trained to protect and save lives — police officers, fire fighters, paramedics — became victims themselves.

In so many ways that day, the unthinkable happened. But in the aftermath of Tuesday’s attacks, people all over the world are showing how noble the human spirit really is. Total strangers are banding together to help with rescue and recovery efforts. People of different nationalities, races and religions have come together to mourn the dead and the injured. Heads of state with widely different political views are joining forces to combat terrorism.

Here in Western North Carolina, the United States flag is omnipresent. Church signs declare, “Neither Democrat, Nor Republican. We are all Americans.” A construction sign on I-40 reads, “Land of the Free, Home of the Brave.” Ribbons and candles and star-spangled supporters offer reminders of unity and patriotic strength.

Buildings fell and a nation stood up to show the world that freedom may have been shaken but it was not defeated.

It’s going to take a long time to get over this. I spent a good part of this week experiencing a multitude of emotions. I felt numb, angry, shocked, saddened, hopeful, teary-eyed as I heard personal stories of heroism and heartbreak. The man who had just been promoted, now lost in the rubble. The pregnant woman, wounded by shards of flying glass, who made it down dozens of flights of stairs to safety. The business executive who lost 600 employees. The chaplain who was killed by falling debris as he delivered the last rites to a dying firefighter. Two best friends who boarded separate planes that both ended up being hijacked and flown into the World Trade Center towers. The husbands who called their wives to say “I love you” one last time.

As I watched the news coverage at school, some of my students asked me if there were going to be more attacks, and I had to answer, “I don’t know.” That’s the doubt and the fear we Americans now have. We’re going to be more suspicious of Muslims, more cautious about travel. And despite the reassurances from our President and political leaders, we are still faced with a great deal of uncertainty.

The Cold War bear has become a thousand vipers. Some of the Afghani rebels once trained and supported by the U.S. to defeat Russian invaders are now our sworn enemies. The clear and present danger is now a myriad of terrorist cells operating in more than two dozen countries. We want to strike back and we’d like to think Osama bin Laden is the head of that venomous snake, but a counter-attack will prove much more complicated than previous conventional warfare attacks. We’re already turning bid Laden into a cause celebre for the terrorists who are savoring all this public attention.

News reports claim that Islamic extremist factions from a wide variety of political and religious views are uniting to fight the great Satan of the West, and the target is no longer just military instillations or U.S. embassies. It’s no longer a war of simple car bombs. It’s about destroying 110-story buildings.

The old school military approach is going to have to think much differently this time. It’s going to take a whole lot more than missiles and smart bombs to defeat terrorism. It’s going to mean rethinking our relations with certain countries, recruiting human intelligence to infiltrate these secret terrorist cells, and gathering more information about anti-American groups so we can prevent such attacks instead of reacting to them. We are only beginning to realize the strategies of this pernicious enemy.

I just hope that in the process of killing the weeds, we don’t ruin the garden. Inevitably, as any war painfully shows, innocent civilians become the victims in these struggles for power. If we decide to bomb another country, how many untold civilians will be killed? As recently as the assault on Serbia, U.S. bombs missed their targets and killed Kosovars, Chinese and other innocent people.

While we wait for what will happen next, we must draw strength from each other and join together to overcome hatred. As sad as it sounds, a terrible tragedy brought the world a little closer together in a way that perhaps nothing else could have.

Last Friday night, I went to hear some live music at The Patio in downtown Waynesville, trying to find some relief from the depressing news of the week. Local folk musician Chris Minick got up on stage to sing a few tunes while playing the guitar and he brought out his trumpet while people chatted away.
Then Chris started to play “The Star Spangled Banner.” Everybody abruptly stopped what they were doing and stood up to take notice. Some sang the words of the national anthem. Others placed their palms on their hearts. For a moment, the single brassy sound of one trumpet filled the chilly air. It was as if one bold voice had proclaimed defiantly, “I will not go gentle into that good night,” to steal a phrase from Dylan Thomas.

Out of the darkness comes a voice that refuses to believe all is lost. Out of the darkness, a light still shines. Out of the darkness, hope endures.

(Michael Beadle is writer and teacher in Haywood County. He can be reached at mabeadle@hotmail.com)

 

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