Did you see me?
I was the young woman wearing a hejab and bourka, who held my child’s hand. I feared that the intolerance I left behind in my homeland would reappear here, in my chosen country. I wondered if my neighbors would persecute me because of my color and creed. I prayed that my children would not know the hatred my ancestors had known.
Did you see me?
I was the student, only in sixth grade, who marveled that the crowd knew the words to “The Star-Spangled Banner” as well as they knew their own national anthem. I looked across the water, at the Renaissance Center shining brightly, and thought of the U.S. Girl Scouts I had met once. I wondered if they were more afraid than I, or if all children, everywhere, now felt vulnerable. I watched as a dozen bunches of red, white and blue balloons were sent up into the air, floating on the breeze, perhaps later to bring comfort to children in Ohio, Indiana, Illinois.
Did you see me?
I was the businessman, face somber in reflection. I wondered if the thin blue line of the river that divides our countries would now become a barrier. I watched the traffic waiting to cross the border, and I wondered if I would ever go to work again without U.S. Customs’ officers searching every inch of my car. I wondered if people I had worked with had lost loved ones, and I mourned their loss as though it were my own.
Did you see me?
I was the young woman, tears in her eyes, who looked skyward during a moment of prayer. A solitary plane flew high overhead, the first commercial flight I’d seen in three days. I thought of the Americans I knew, women just like me. Until Tuesday, we’d concerned ourselves with matters that now seemed mundane. Now we steeled ourselves to smile as we sent our children off to school, calling them back for one more hug, one more look at their innocent faces.
Did you see me?
I was the rabbi who assured the crowd that God had not forgotten us. I said that God was in the heroes, in the people who united in rescue efforts, in the thousands who lined up to give blood around the world, in the hundreds of firefighters who went into the World Trade Center Towers while thousands of people fled. I was the Muslim leader who prayed to Allah, to guide us to the straight way, and to make us understand the beauty of our differences. I reminded all that we are human and asked that Allah unite us in humanity. I was the Baptist preacher who suggested that we must behave like the children of God, as one people.
Did you see me?
My heart swelled with pride as my friends and neighbors leaned over the rail and dropped flowers of red, white and blue into the water. I watched as a sea of blossoms, the symbols of hope, peace and forgiveness, floated past. I listened to our mayor repeat the words that John F. Kennedy spoke about our countries, a decade before I was born: “Geography made us neighbors, history has made us friends. Economics has made us partners, and necessity has made us allies.”
I thought of you, my neighbors, my friends, my partners and my allies, and I waved my flag as we sang together, “God Bless America.” I prayed that together we would find a way to reclaim hope and healing, and unite together in this time of uncertainty. And with hundreds of my fellow citizens, I offered a wave of support for you and yours.
Did you see me?
Shelley Divnich Haggert
The American Flag
On a Wednesday in September, I traveled south for the funeral of my grandfather. It was a day of sadness, but also one of rejoicing for the wonderful human being I had had the opportunity to know. It was also a time of great sorrow for all Americans. It had been only days since the September 11th terrorist attacks.
Driving along a Canadian prairie road, I saw a long caravan of trucks and other vehicles and, as I got closer, people on horseback. Cowboys and cowgirls were riding horses out in the middle of nowhere! The group was traveling south, toward the border, and they were flying two flags—the Canadian and the American. They were going to meet up with a group of American riders at the border between the two countries. Along the way, the Canadian cowboys were collecting cash, which they were going to give to their American counterparts. They were just one of many Canadian groups who had found a way to help and show they cared after the attacks in the U.S.
Later that day, when I was driving home from my grandfather’s funeral, the sky opened and a driving rain poured down from the heavens. Visibility was so bad that I had to slow to a crawl. It was then that I saw it. Large and glorious, whipping in the wind, perched atop an irrigation system, the water still pumping out, flew a flag! It was an American flag, raised to honor the thousands who died on September 11.
I began to cry. I thought about all those lives ending so abruptly. I also cried because I was so touched by the warm act of love demonstrated by a simple Canadian farmer. By flying the American flag he was sending out a message of love and respect to his American neighbors. His actions spoke louder than words ever could: “We are with you, dear friends. We are with you in spirit. We ache for you. We cry for you. We pray for you. We will not forget.”
The storm passed as suddenly as it had started, and I found myself driving through the most glorious sunshine. I felt like God was sending a promise for better things to come.
Ellie Braun-Haley
An Ode to America
[EDITORS’ NOTE: This article was written by Mr. Cornel Nistorescu and published under the title “Cîntarea Americii” on September 24, 2001, in the Romanian newspaper Evenimentul Zilei (The Daily Event).]
Why are Americans so united? They don’t resemble one another even if you paint them! They speak all the languages of the world and form an astonishing mixture of civilizations. Some of them are nearly extinct, others are incompatible with one another, and in matters of religious beliefs, not even God can count how many they are.
Still, the American tragedy turned three hundred million people into a hand put on the heart. Nobody rushed to accuse the White House, the Army, the Secret Services that they are only a bunch of losers. Nobody rushed to empty their bank accounts. Nobody rushed on the streets nearby to gape about.
The Americans volunteered to donate blood and to give a helping hand. After the first moments of panic, they raised the flag on the smoking ruins, putting on T-shirts, caps and ties in the colors of the national flag. They placed flags on buildings and cars as if in every place and on every car a minister or the president was passing. On every occasion they started singing their traditional song: “God Bless America!”
Silent as a rock, I watched the “Tribute to Heroes” charity concert—once, twice, three times, on different TV channels. There were Clint Eastwood, Willie Nelson, Robert De Niro, Julia Roberts, Muhammad Ali, Jack Nicholson, Bruce Springsteen, Sylvester Stallone, James Woods and many others whom no film or producer could ever bring together. The solidarity of the American spirit turned them into a choir. Actually, choir is not the word. What you could hear was the heavy artillery of the American soul.
What neither George W. Bush nor Bill Clinton nor Colin Powell could say without facing the risk of stumbling over words and sounds was being heard in a great and unmistakable way in this charity concert.
I don’t know how it happened that this obsessive singing of America didn’t sound croaky, nationalist or ostentatious! It made you green with envy because you weren’t able to sing for your country without running the risk of being considered chauvinist, ridiculous or suspected of who-knows-what mean interests.
I watched the live broadcast and the rerun of its rerun for hours, listening to the story of the guy who went down one hundred floors with a woman in a wheelchair without knowing who she was, or of the passengers who fought with the terrorists and helped prevent the plane from hitting another target and possibly killing many more.
With every word and musical note, the memory of some turned into a modern myth of tragic heroes. And with every phone call, millions and millions of dollars were put in a collection aimed at rewarding not a man or a family, but a spirit which nothing can buy. What unites Americans in such a way? Their la
nd? Their galloping history? Their economic power? Money? I tried for hours to find an answer, humming songs and murmuring phrases that risked sounding like commonplaces. I thought things over, but I reached only one conclusion: Only freedom can work such miracles!
Cornel Nistorescu
Submitted by Willanne Ackerman
Tribute to the United States
[EDITORS’ NOTE: This timeless editorial, written almost thirty years ago, comes from Toronto by Gordon Sinclair, a Canadian commentator.]
This Canadian thinks it is time to speak up for Americans—the most generous but possibly least appreciated people on Earth.
Germany, Japan and, to a lesser extent, Britain and Italy, were lifted out of the debris of war by the Americans who poured in billions of dollars and forgave other billions in debts. Today, none of these countries is paying even the interest on its remaining debts to the United States. When France was in danger of collapsing in 1956, it was the Americans who propped it up, and their reward was to be insulted and swindled on the streets of Paris. I was there. I saw it.
When earthquakes hit distant cities, the United States hurries in to help. This spring, fifty-nine American communities were flattened by tornadoes.
Nobody helped.
The Marshall Plan and the Truman Policy pumped a lion’s share of dollars into depressed countries. Today, newspapers in those same countries write about the decadent, war-mongering Americans.
I’d like to see just one of the countries that is gloating over the erosion of the United States dollar build its own airplane. Does any other country in the world have a plane to equal the Boeing Jumbo Jet, the Lockheed Tri-Star, or the Douglas DC10? If so, why don’t they fly them? Why do all the international lines except Russia fly American planes?
Why does no other land on Earth even consider putting a man or woman on the moon? You talk about Japanese technology and you get radios. You talk about German technology and you get automobiles. You talk about American technology, and you get men on the moon—not once, but several times, and safely home again.
You talk about scandals, and the Americans put theirs right in the store window for everybody to see. Even their draft-dodgers were not pursued and hounded. They are here on our streets, and most of them, unless they are breaking Canadian laws, are getting American dollars from back home and spending them here.
When the railways of France, Germany and India were breaking down through age, it was the Americans who rebuilt them. When the Pennsylvania Railroad and the New York Central went broke, nobody loaned them even an old caboose. Both companies are still broke.
I can name you five thousand times when the Americans raced to the help of other people in trouble. Can you name me even one time when someone else raced to the Americans in trouble? I don’t think there was outside help even during the San Francisco earthquake. Our neighbors have faced everything alone, and I’m one Canadian who is damned tired of hearing them get kicked around. They will come out of this thing with their flag high. And when they do, they are entitled to thumb their noses at the countries who gloated over their present troubles.
I hope Canada is not one of those countries.
Gordon Sinclair
4
RENEWED
PATRIOTISM
The world is beginning to understand why we all treasure America so much—our values, our freedom and the strength of the American character.
George W. Bush
The Aftermath
Flags were flying on every house down my block when I realized that my husband and I, who had recently bought our first home, didn’t have a flag of our own. Donating blood and money no longer felt like enough.
Immediately, I left on a quest to find an American flag to show my patriotic spirit. After starting up my ancient car, I headed to the local Kmart, Wal-Mart, Home Depot, Lowes, Ace Hardware and even some craft stores. Everywhere I was told the same thing: “We had flags this morning, but we’re sold out now. Come back next week, and we’ll have more flags.”
Next week? Somehow next week didn’t seem good enough for this fervent patriot.
I hurried back to my car to proceed to plan B—trying to buy a flag over the Internet. As I drove down the highway, I noticed that nearly every marquee announced, “God Bless America” or “United We Stand.” Cars passed me with flag stickers on the bumpers or small flags tied to antennas. Some cars even had flags draped over luggage racks.
This drive was unlike any other I had ever taken. I had known before that Americans were proud, but seeing so many flags today, displayed in such diverse ways, hit me differently than on any Fourth of July or President’s Day. This varied display of the nation’s colors spoke of unity, courage, determination.
As I stopped at a red light, I heard a familiar tune drifting from a breakfast shop that had opened its doors to welcome customers. “The Star-Spangled Banner” was blasting from a loud speaker.
“. . . O say does that star-spangled banner
Yet wave!
O’er the land of the free
And the home of the brave!”
A chill ran down my spine. Although I had heard the words a thousand times before, this day I truly appreciated how Francis Scott Key must have felt as he wrote them. What a welcome sight is the red, white and blue banner flying high. Even though the light had turned green, the cars around me didn’t speed off. The lady in the car next to me wiped her eyes and gave me a nod before proceeding on her way. Today, Americans were different, changed. The horror meant to divide us somehow did not. Instead, we were uniting through this tragedy, proud of our heritage.
When I got home I searched the Internet for Old Glory online. I surfed markets in other countries: China, Europe and Australia. Everywhere I searched notices were posted: “Seamstresses working overtime.” “Sorry for the delay.” “None currently available.” All over the world, the American flag supply seemed to have run out.
Still determined, I called family members and asked if they knew where I could find a flag. All were flying their own or didn’t know where new ones could be found. My mission seemed hopeless.
Hours passed.
Suddenly, a knock sounded on my door. My grandfather, Jim Pauline, a man who had served in the United States Army during World War II in the tank division at Normandy under General Patton, held out his hands. In them lay Old Glory.
“Thought you might want this,” Grandpa smiled. “Sorry it isn’t very big.”
I gave him a hug. Even if the flag was just a foot long, I didn’t care. The size of the flag couldn’t measure the love that I have for my country and for the family and friends who live within its borders.
I walked out into my yard and among the dozens that flew already, I added my very own treasured banner. It seemed a simple gesture, but the meaning was so profound it brought tears to my eyes. I used to think the flag was the symbol of our country, but I now know that what Congress decided on June 14, 1777, rings as true today as it did 224 years ago:
The stars represent each of the United States.
The blue field behind the stars stands for vigilance, perseverance and justice.
The white stripes reflect purity and innocence.
The red stripes symbolize valor and courage.
The terrorist bombers may have murdered five thousand innocent Americans on September 11, 2001, but they couldn’t destroy our American spirit.
Approximately eighty-eight thousand flags were purchased in the days after the terrorist attacks—more than at any other time in history. My quest to find a flag wasn’t easy. I wasn’t alone in wanting to show pride for this beloved country. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
God bless America!
Michele Wallace Campanelli
By permission of Mike Luckovich and Creators Syndicate, Inc.
I Am the Flag of the
United States of America
I am the flag of the United States of America.
My name is Old Glory.
r /> I fly atop the world’s tallest buildings.
I stand watch in America’s halls of justice.
I fly majestically over institutions of learning.
I stand guard with power in the world.
Look up and see me.
I stand for peace, honor, truth and justice.
I stand for freedom.
I am confident.
I am arrogant.
I am proud.
When I am flown with my fellow banners,
My head is a little higher,
My colors a little truer.
I bow to no one!
I am recognized all over the world.
I am worshipped—I am saluted.
I am loved—I am revered.
I am respected—and I am feared.
I have fought in every battle of every war
for more than two hundred years.
I have flown at Valley Forge, Gettysburg,
Shiloh and Appomattox.
I was there at San Juan Hill,
and in the trenches of France,
in the Argonne Forest, Anzio and Rome,
and on the beaches of Normandy, Guam and Okinawa.
The people of Korea, Vietnam and Kuwait
know me as a banner of freedom.
I was there.
I led my troops.
I was dirty, battle-worn and tired,
but my soldiers cheered me
And I was proud.
I have been burned, torn and trampled
on the streets of countries I have helped set free.
It does not hurt, for I am invincible.
I have slipped the bonds of Earth and
stood watch over the uncharted frontiers of space
from my vantage point on the moon.
I have borne silent witness to all of America’s finest hours.
But my finest hours are yet to come: