I was only 16 when terrorists drove planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. It was such a bizarre day. My English teacher’s son was on a plane out of DC, and couldn’t be reached. Parents showed up at the school to see their children and patrol the halls–probably evidence that, like most of the country, none of us had any idea what to do. Even in flyover country, there was this pervasive feeling of confusion and fear that nobody felt the need to shake. Were we in any immediate danger, in our small Midwestern town? Probably not. But somewhere in America, people were being murdered, and we felt their fear just as acutely as someone in a more targetable city.
Last year, as I sat in my comfortable office and watched the embassy in Benghazi burn, that fear returned. It was deeper this time; maybe it was because I was older, or because I understood what those flames meant. It was in those first moments when photos of the Ambassador flashed across the screen that I knew what it meant to be afraid.
There was something so dirty about the attack on the Embassy. New York was calculation; Benghazi was the most vulgar display of violence I’d ever seen shown in prime time. The attacks on New York and DC felt directed at me only in the most abstract sense; Benghazi felt personal. Benghazi embodied a global moment of pure, unadulterated hatred that even the shock-jocks in the media refused to acknowledge.
After the towers fell, no one had the audacity to stand in front of a camera and tell the American people that there was no need to worry. No one blamed a video. No one treated the deaths of so many innocents as collateral damage. After Benghazi, though, I’d never seen so many people try so hard to convince me that international acts of animalistic brutality were inconsequential compared to competing discussions on birth control.
For the past year, I’ve been trying to figure out why, when asked, I’ll always say Benghazi had more of an impact on me. Maybe it’s because the rest of the world has been doing its best to convince me that it shouldn’t.
I took a whole hour (WHOLE HOUR) to eat lunch and take stock of…things.
And by “take stock of…things,” I mean, “laugh hysterically at this amazing picture”:
That’s really it, isn’t it? The inauguration. The weird inaugural poem that made everyone uncomfortable. The bar exam. My tax bill. The guy who got inaugurated thinking it’s okay for my tax bill to go up as much as it did. THE BAR EXAM. Eric Cantor’s facial expression is my everything. He’s my spirit politician.
Back to the BarBri Bankruptcy Boondoggle. Alliteration is discouraged on the Texas essays, or so I hear.
Also, hello to new friends and readers. I hope I’m not a disappointing read.
EDIT: I reserve the right to go back in and correct my bar brain-perpetuated typos. “Pregnant brain” ain’t got nothin’ on this hot southern mess. I found a t-shirt in the fridge yesterday.
Sitting here watching Carney sweat through this briefing, I can’t help but wonder–what does this administration have to hide? He’s taken no less than three tangents trying to bait the press away to a discussion on the economy, and they’re not having it.
As of right now, I’m seeing two possible explanations for this laughably transparent attempt at a coverup: either Barack Obama and his administration screwed up so badly that impeachment would actually be on the table, or they made a deal with someone they shouldn’t have made a deal with. It might be both. It could be neither. The point is, days after a contentious election, this Administration started to get rid of upper-echelon officials who actually know things, and who could actually offer testimony to challenge the Administration’s narrative.
This is serious.
Oh please…oh please…oh please.
Madonna is, like, super articulate and whatnot:
“NYYYAH! Black Muslim NYYYAH! GAY RIGHTS GOTTDAMMIT! NYYYAH!”
This is the problem. This is what’s wrong with America. You have a stadium full of people giving validation to the idea that a superficial combination of race and religion, coupled with a marginal interest in politically acceptable levels of gay rights activism, are the keys to a productive presidency. This same idea is the reason the national discussion on “the economy” has been reduced to a screaming match over food stamps, and the reason our President will never be forced to admit that the atrocities committed against the US consulate in Benghazi were the result of a carefully planned and premeditated terrorist attack.
This is how we fall.
Mitt Romney knows the difference between a tragedy, and a “bump in the road”:
“Look, the world looks at the events going on. They don’t see these events as bumps in the road. These are lives. This is humanity. This is freedom. Freedom must be on the march. We must stand for freedom. I see these extraordinary aircraft here and know that behind them are men and women who’ve flown them in peace, in times of danger. They fly them to protect us. They fly to make sure the world is a safer place. American leadership is derived from a strong military, which, by the way, is derived from a strong economy, which is derived from strong values and principles. I will strengthen America by restoring the principles that made us the hope of the earth!”
I loved this statement from Mitt Romney; it almost made me want to cry, mostly because it’s so simple, and such a departure from Obama’s posturing and soaring rhetoric. The simplicity of it is poignant: freedom, pride, love. These are the things that should define our humanity.
These are the things that the Obama administration has abandoned.