Excavating Tragedy
Well, it looks like my post for the week made everyone's lack of interest in the subject quite manifest. The odd thing is that I didn't even want to post it myself. But since I am rebellious by nature (which becomes really odd when I rebel against my own rebellion and post something that really annoys me), I did it anyways. I don't even like talking about 9/11. The political debates surrounding it disgust me. The sentimentalism that pervades it makes me want to vomit. The uninformed, uncritical, cowboy-driven patriotism that has resulted from it (ironically) makes me ashamed to be an American. Layer after layer of emotions and reactions distance me (and, I'm presuming, others) from being able to "access" the event itself. The fact that its only reality to most of us is mediated through television, radio, internet, etc., distances us even further. And yet, when we speak of the Holocaust or Pearl Harbor or the World Wars, we're not confronted with such layers of repulsion. Is this a problem? Sure, all of those events are mediated to us as well - literature, anecdotes, etc. - but the type and level of mediation are not the same as what we have now. Now, we have witnessed an event of large proportions happen (whether in real time or not) and we're so distanced from it that we are unable to speak of it without resorting to partisan dialogue or narcissistic, sentimentalized reflections on our personal lives (religion, romance, etc.). The internet and other forms of media provide what seems to be an unprecedented forum for this layering effect to occur.
How do we engage this event? There's of course a large degree to which such tragedy goes beyond words. But is such silence becoming epidemic? The things of which we speak when we do speak of 9/11 have very little to do with the event itself. For example, we get lost in conversations about "terror" and "national security" at the cost of asking the much simpler question of "why did this happen?" The truth is that America fears the answer. We don't want to be exposed as being complicit in the tragedy that happened on September 11. We've masked the real issues with rhetoric of "terror" which is a concept that is inherently inconceivable. I would think that honoring the dead means precisely that we should ask such questions, not avoid them. Trying to combat "terror" from a top-down approach (organization first, ideology second) simply isn't going to work. I don't claim to have the answers for what will work effectively but I think asking the right questions is a good place to start.
Round 2 is served so drink up.

4 Comments:
Dante,
I don't hate this topic. I am interested in talking about it, but I think it's inappropriate the way it has become so completely intertwined with politics. It's also very personal for me, and so I shy away from it in public conversation.
Like thewalrus, I struggle much more with the question of why this happened than what this means about our national security and how we can wage a war on an abstract idea like "terror." How can human beings do such things to other human beings? And how can the victims live meaningfully in the aftermath: a world in which other human beings tried to kill them?
As theologians, where do you and others locate God in such an event? Is the mass murder by airplane and fire of thousands of people any more worthy of our attention and concern than the acts of violence perpetrated on individuals that happen among us daily?
As a victim of such violence, September 11 arrived for me two years prior in the shape of another human being looking into my eyes and then trying to beat me to death. The shock and injury and trauma of September 11 happens to people every day in this country, a place more wracked with random (and not-so-random) violence than just about anywhere else in the world. September 11 raises the question not of what are we going to do about terror, but what are we going to do about the violence in our midst? How are we as a society, or as a church, going to repair the world for victims who have experienced a rupture in humanity? Not by distilling one day and one massive act into the only acknowledgement and memorial we have for victims of violence. Not by insisting on the particularity of that event, as though it is somehow qualitatively different than all other instances of inexplicable human suffering. Certainly not by attaching national identity and overblown patriotism to the event itself, and recasting the victims as martyrs and heroes.
Am I selfish to think that the victims of September 11 were lucky that they didn't have to look into the eyes of their attacker, like I did? Or that they didn't have to wake up from a coma a week later, and figure out how to have a life in the aftermath? Or that everyone clambers to build the perfect monument and memorial to their suffering, but the sidewalk where I was beaten lies unnamed?
These are my selfish and angry questions for September 11. I'm not sure who exactly reads this blog, but I know there are some school and church folks in the mix. Theologians and church-makers, where was God on September 11? And not just for the victims of the attacks, but for all the victims of violence every day, and for all the perpetrators. What is it that breaks down in our humanity that we can do these things to each other? How can the church stop celebrating the resurrection on Holy Saturday (check your BCP), and start standing quietly in the mystery and grief of a life lost to violence? I don't need a monument on my anonymous Atlanta sidewalk, but I do need a church that recognizes and acknowledges that violence is happening, and it's not just a matter of bearing one's cross.
From Emmanuel Levinas, Ethics and Infinity, "The Face":
"The first word of the face is the "Thou shalt not kill." It is an order. There is a commandment in the appearance of the face, as if a master spoke to me ... The face is what forbids us to kill."
The hijackers looked into the faces of their victims as they waited in the airport to board their flights. The man who attacked me looked me straight in the eyes as he walked toward me and drew his fist back. The face should stop us all, but it doesn't. Theologians, tell me: Why doesn't Levinas's commandment work? How can we who write in and to and for the church take up his words and heal this rupture in humanity?
-w
10:20 PM, September 14, 2006
Dante,
So, the face commands that, but who listens? And why not?
I am interested in your theoretical responses, because isn't your job to take such theoretical responses and bridge them over into a material world? Push your theory into into the world and see what it says.
I don't understand the last bit from Levinas (or from you?). What does that mean?
Thanks for responding to my post.
-w
10:42 PM, September 14, 2006
I'm sorry that I haven't been very active on here the past few days. This week I've got over 500 pages to read, a presentation to make, and a paper to write, all on top of working too. So, needless to say, it's a pretty hectic week. I'll try to get a new post up by this weekend. Cheers.
6:36 PM, September 18, 2006
I had shrimp in my fajitas.
- M
2:17 AM, September 19, 2006
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