So, a decade ago some murderous shits perpetrated an atrocity.
A little over two thousand people died in the course of this atrocity.
And thanks to yearly goddamned reminders, I am all but numb to the actual gravity of the horror.
Every year we get plastered with "never forget." Unless we know someone who died that day, we've ALREADY forgotten. What we're keeping alive is a mere shadow of what we felt.
The highjackers have achieved immortality. Most of us know their names, or at least a couple.
The planners are likewise memorialized every time this sad damned mess is brought up.
A few of the passengers (especially those on Flight 93) and crew murdered by the aforementioned scumbags are known to us.
But who are we really remembering?
When I write the names of Mohamed Atta, Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, or Osama bin Laden, most, if not all of us, can call up not only a photograph we've seen, but a brief biography.
Now, quick. Name one person who died as a victim of the attacks. Go on. Look up the guy (Todd Beamer) who said "Let's roll." Or maybe John P. O'Neill. Perhaps Sirius the bomb-sniffing dog is recalled by some of you?
With over two thousand dead, it's easy to wrap them all up in "those who were lost" on September 11, 2001.
But that's reductionist bullshit. No one was "lost." People were murdered. And we continue to fixate upon the murderers.
I didn't know anyone who died that day.
I now know the bastards responsible better than I have any reason to.
And I'm about done venerating their gigantic goddamned crime.