Reflections on Our National Tragedy

September 17, 2001

Everyone in America now has a story. Some are joyous, celebrating a brush with death in which the appointment turned out to be for another place or another time. Too many others are simply tragic and absurd: tragic in their pain, loss, and grief; absurd in their resistance to any rational explanation.

These stories are huge and faceless-the forever haunting image of the World Trade Center Towers slowly descending in a billowing, choking cloud of debris. They also are intimate, tied to specific names and faces. Deora Bodley was returning to her Junior year at Santa Clara University when she boarded United Airlines flight #93 in Newark. Her college career ended not many minutes later in a field in Pennsylvania. Also on United #93 was Jeremy Glick, one of the passengers who apparently challenged the terrorists and most likely prevented a greater tragedy by keeping the plane from reaching its intended target.

Although these stories tear at our hearts, they also bind us together in a community that has shared a common sorrow. Communities work this way. They are held together through their shared experiences and even more by their shared narratives. We are a sense-making species. We seek to make meaning of our lives, and we do so by telling stories and creating images that we revisit, pass from one person to another, repeat.

As a University community we have a special responsibility to ourselves and to the larger society that we serve. It is our task to look beneath the surface of human events to discern the deeper patterns that are not apparent at first glance. It is our task to critically review-and sometimes to deconstruct-narratives that would entice us to make meaning in ways that ultimately do not hold up to close scrutiny.

For example, we are tempted to feel morally superior in our suffering-the death of innocent persons, the disruption of a particularly American form of life that was quite unique in the history of this small planet. And yet reflection informs us that moral superiority is not the same as victimization; moral superiority is not a condition that can be conferred by events beyond one's control. Dr. Martin Luther King understood this when he prayed that his four children would "one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." In sharing this dream with Dr. King, we must acknowledge its difficulty: character must be created and earned by each of us on every day of our lives. We make it; it is not given.

Nations have character as well, and that character likewise is forged not in the events that happen to them but in their responses to those events. After Pearl Harbor, this nation shook off its isolationist lethargy and made common cause with others to defeat a tyranny that had given birth to horrors that the world previously had not seen and that threatened the very destruction of civilization. In 1941 our country occupied the high moral ground. However, our record was not unmixed. We abandoned some of that high ground when we rounded up and imprisoned our own citizens on the West Coast who happened to be of Japanese dissent. Those then in positions of leadership thought they could trust my father, whose name was Glotzbach, to fight the Germans, but they would not trust other men and women with names like Osajima or Owada to oppose the Japanese. Even so, a Japanese-American regiment that fought in Europe became one of the most decorated units in American military history. We gave up other parts of that high ground when we treated African-Americans soldiers and sailors as second-class, even though they were prepared to serve bravely-as did, for example, the Tuskegee airmen. The dominant narratives blinded many to these injustices and so deprived our country of both moral and material resources that were sorely needed. If only our country had had the insight and courage required to challenge those narratives at the time.

So what now is to be done?

First, we must remind ourselves of past mistakes to avoid making similar and potentially worse ones today. Already there are ominous signs. In Dallas, shots have been fired into a mosque. In Los Angeles, eight separate incidents of violence or threat to followers of Islam or persons of Middle-Eastern descent have been reported. On the Redlands campus, our own students already have heard hurtful and insensitive comments in the Commons or residence halls. Even one such comment is one too many.

This is not a time for mindless resort to hate-filled narratives based on ethnic or religious stereotypes. We all must be better than that. As a community-and, indeed, as a country-we must understand that even if some persons from the Middle-East did this thing to us, many others from the Middle-East abhor their actions. We must realize that even if some Muslims commit destructive actions in the name of Islam, the vast majority of believers abhor such violence. Most Islamic religious leaders reject the idea that such actions are sanctioned in the Koran, just as the vast majority of Christian leaders reject the idea that those responsible for the Oklahoma City bombing were acting in the true name of Christianity. This is a time for healing and bringing our community together, not for subjecting some of our brothers or sisters to unmerited hostility. From our diversity arises our strength. But that strength can be realized only if we continue to value and respect each of our fellow citizens and community members, as well as others around the world who share our love for peace.

Second, our national leaders are formulating a response that will involve each of us, whether we ultimately agree with that response or not. Even though we all want peace, we live in a dangerous world-a fact that is no longer an abstraction to Americans. No nation can allow its citizens and infrastructure to be attacked with impunity. At the same time, history contains many more examples of military campaigns that undermined peace and led to the next war than examples of wars that led to peace. If we are to hold the higher moral ground, our actions must draw on our best wisdom about how best to achieve our long-term goals; they must not be rooted in a mindless patriotism that says, "America right or wrong." But whatever is done by the United States will be done in all of our names. So all of us have an abiding interest in the deliberations that will shape our national response. Those of us who have access to forums in which to raise our voices must accept this responsibility and join the debate.

Third and above all, as an academic community we must remain resolute in our mission of teaching and learning, reminding ourselves that we are here first of all for our students. Those of us employed by this University-and especially the members of our faculty-need to rededicate ourselves to working with our students so that together we can place this week's events in their larger historical, political, and social context. Indeed, this work already has begun. Surely, virtually every class held on campus or at a Regional Center since Tuesday dealt with this tragedy in one way or another. There are resources both within and outside of our University that can help us continue to do this work well. Accordingly, today I am convening a group of faculty members and administrators to consider how best to make these resources available to all of us, to advance our common work of teaching and learning. We also will be planning additional community-wide events. I ask all of us to look for ways we can contribute to this work.

Even though this a sad moment for our country, I hope that all of you share my pride in the way the members of our nation, people around the world, and especially this University community have responded. It is the most difficult times that call us to our highest undertakings.