On a picturesque late-summer morning in 2001, an obscure cohort of America-hating zealots slammed three commercial jetliners into two celebrated symbols of national power. 

Screaming out of a clear blue sky on an idle Tuesday, the coordinated attack on Lower Manhattan and Northern Virginia brought unexpected death and tragedy to thousands of souls. In a broader sense, the horrifying blow marked the end of a brief interlude in American history. For an entire generation, in an instant, the cherished illusion of American impregnability and perpetual hegemony went up in smoke.

In the immediate aftermath, Americans came together individually and collectively, locally and nationally. Republicans and Democrats in Washington defiantly locked arms on the steps of the Capitol and stood in unison to sing “God Bless America.” All across the nation, citizens venerated the red, white and blue in unprecedented numbers and with a renewed depth of feeling. In the weeks that followed, we flocked to churches and synagogues and mosques. So nonplussed were the merchants of ironic detachment, they had little choice but to literally suspend operation momentarily. 

Unleashed our rage

At the same time, American military might roared in pain and promised vengeance.  In response to the sickening realization that we still faced a hostile world capable of penetrating our defenses, we unleashed the pent-up ferocity of our war machine, determined to punish newly identified antagonists and settle accounts with old enemies.

However, after projecting American power across the globe in a way unprecedented in our history, and claiming great successes on many fronts, ironically, 10 years later, we are painfully aware of our limitations. We are the most powerful nation in the history of the world, but we are increasingly mindful that our unmatched power does not equal omnipotence. We do not possess a superhuman capability to fashion world history to fit our geopolitical needs and worldview. 

At home, the brief moment of political unity quickly dissolved into a bitter season of hyper-partisanship. Eventually, the flags went back into storage, church attendance thinned, and the late-night comedians took to the airwaves, once again cynically chronicling a world filled with hypocrisy but bereft of meaning. 

More suspicious

Worst of all, we find ourselves more suspicious of our neighbors and more isolated from one another than ever before. In the aftermath of the terrorist attack, our government erected a cordon of security that offered a needed firewall between vital nerve centers and asymmetrical threats. But, in so doing, we also created a government behind concrete barricades, protected by internal security forces, and accessible only through metal detectors. Is it any coincidence that a frustrated citizenry sees our government as increasingly disconnected and exasperatingly ineffective as agents of the people? 

Our immediate reaction to the events of 9/11 was a collective Gettysburg-like dedication to the cause for which the honored dead gave their last full measure of devotion. After 10 years, we are less certain and more grizzled; we now view the world through a battle-scarred prism.  Notwithstanding, we still find inspiration in the words of Lincoln. Desperately clinging to the expectation that this scourge will pass away at some point, we turn now to the task of binding a nation’s wounds and praying fervently for a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. 

Fondly do we hope; fervently do we pray.

Ashley Cruseturner teaches history at McLennan Community College and is a member of the Tribune-Herald Board of Contributors.