THE EYES OF THE CHILDREN
September 14, 2001
Cheri Hallifax Turman
I must first start by stating that I am not trying to tell people how to feel. We are all so full of complex emotions right now; shock, fear, anger, compassion, sorrow, and our emotions are valid.
The ways in which people respond to tragedies are as varied as the people affected. We have the right, as human beings and as Americans, to express our emotions as we each see fit. We have the right to speak our thoughts aloud, in public and private, to cry and rail and shout and criticize. It's one of the many things that make our nation beautiful, and so worth fighting for.
But, I am concerned. So many people are angry, furious. Their bitterness spills forth in their words, their faces, their stiff postures and angry gestures. We must seek retribution for this unspeakable, horrific attack on us. I agree as wholly as my being can. I want to see someone pay, I truly do.
But as the events of Tuesday, September 11 unfolded, a different reality faced me. Not one of simple anger and a need for payment in full. As my consciousness slowly absorbed what had happened, I looked down into the face of my son.
He is young, he doesn't know what has happened, he knows only that mommy is tense, scared, riveted to the TV. Thank God he doesn't know enough to be afraid. One of my first thoughts, after digesting the news, was that I should apologize to him for bringing him into such a terrible world. But, I'm not sorry I did. He is my light, my life, a ray of hope even in the darkest of times. What I'm really sorry is that the world he's such a beautiful part of is so ugly.
I looked into his small face, his curious eyes, and realized my reactions are more important than I'd ever guessed they could be. This little person was prepared to mirror all he saw me do.
As I spoke with friends and neighbors, I heard their frustrations, echoed them, expressed my own. But one thing I began to hear more often was hate. While they spoke vehemently of "rag-heads" and "towel-heads", while they casually pondered nuking the entire region, taking them all out, wiping entire populations from the face of the earth, I gazed not upward toward Heaven, but down, into the eyes of the children at our feet.
They search our faces for hints of how to respond, how to feel. They seek our guidance in ways to express themselves, their emotions too complex to be expressed by such innocent souls. They absorb our words, eager to repeat them, to be like their heroes, parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles.
They begin to absorb our hate.
As the days run one into the other, stories of fights with Muslims in our country enter the news. Tales of threats and racial slurs phoned into Mosques, religious institutions, are repeated throughout many communities. I am stunned. Freedom of religion and expression is what founded this country, and yet, in our darkest hour, many forget that and turn, out of fear, against the basic tenets we are defending. Not all Muslims hate the United Sates, or condone terrorism against us. Of all the thousands of people who have died in these terrorist attacks, some were very probably Muslim. But many don't want to hear that, or don't care.
I found myself thinking of some neighbors, a couple I'd met only once. I only knew this about them, their last name was not Smith or Jones. It wasn't Italian, German, Irish, Polish. It was one of those very different sounding and looking names, possibly a Middle Eastern name. My concern for them began to grow, even though they are American . Are they afraid to leave their home? Are people being ugly to them, taunting them, shouting slurs at them because they possess such a name?
I spoke with the wife. Her husband is Indian, Hindu, and American. But that changes nothing. She is still fearful, because people don't know, and don't care. We want justice. And she is afraid.
This is my little corner of the world. A small southern town, a smaller community of neighbors. We are all seeking answers, answers which may never come, or never be good enough.
I, like many others, turned to God for answers. I have long since abandoned asking why bad things happen in a world run by a loving God. I don't know, and won't until I die. I just accept that there is always some good behind the most horrible of events, as trite as that might sound. It's all I can do.
I've heard theories, perhaps this was our wake up call. We are vulnerable, we must defeat terrorism and defend freedom and democracy now, while we still can. It's a plausible theory to me. We are fortunate in many ways. The attack wasn't chemical or biological. It wasn't nuclear. We can still fight back.
I, along with so many people around the world, heard the stories of heroism, the expressions of sorrow by world leaders, the offers of support by many countries. I was touched by the hundreds of Americans who stood for hours to donate blood, am grateful for the corporations who are offering financial support.
I have now realized one small truth. We, Americans, parents, and all citizens of the world, will be judged by this tragedy, and how we respond to it. We will be judged by history, and by God. We will be judged by our children, and we will be judged for what we teach our children now.
We must stand strong now. We must support the President, even if he's not "our" guy. We must back our military, even if it's not what we believe in. We absolutely must do all that we can, as Americans, to assure this never happens again.
We must pause for a moment, as we try to express all the emotions within us right now. Pause, and look into the eyes of our children, all the children, the children of the world. And we must realize, above all else that we can do to fix this terrible situation, that we must not teach hate, but teach love.
When it all boils down, most people want the same thing, a peaceful world. Peace comes not of hate, and anger, not of fear and distrust. It comes only from love, respect, and kindness.
Look into the eyes of your children. They seek their direction from us. Lead them to love. Lead them to hope.