To the Editor:
All through that long September of 2001, when we were trying to absorb the magnitude of what happened in New York on that sunny Tuesday morning, the most difficult task was trying to understand why.
Ten years later, I'm not sure we yet understand. But to live with the incomprehension of why such barbaric acts are committed against innocent civilians is to retain a semblance of hope. Otherwise, we live in fear.
In the ensuing days, we heard the words and beliefs of the killers and realized religious fanatics walked among us but were not of us; that they justified their acts of death and terror by invoking God. At such times, one wishes it would be possible to call down His wrath and have Him smite those who would sully His love with hatred.
If there is something worse than death and destruction wrought by a "murderous train set in motion" upon the United States, it was the fear of "the other" that was sown into so many hearts. As a society, we are more fearful of the unknown and more wary in the company of strangers. The impact of that morning has not abated. We have lost a measure of our precious freedom and that is unforgivable. We have become obsessed with safety and security. We willingly allowed our civil liberties to be kicked to the curb and, in the United States, a kind of national paranoia has taken over. We are "free" only in the sense we are willing to walk a well-trodden path with other "peaceable" citizens. We are only too willing to give authorities the power and the means to allegedly "keep us safe."
It was easy to find hatred following 9/11, the outrage of the bereaved and the pain of those who survived who had to watch the glee of extremists as they took credit for their slaughters.
All through that autumn, I turned to the diaries my grandfather, Clinton James Ford, kept during his years at the University of Toronto. He had entered university to become a minister. A devout Methodist, he believed he had the calling, albeit somewhere along the road to God he took a turn and became a lawyer, a judge and subsequently the Chief Justice of Alberta and the Northwest Territories.
It was his words I cherished in those days, the words of an ordinary man who all his life was devoted to his church, his community, his family, and the greater good. When someone talks about committing atrocities in the name of "God", about being a martyr for religious extremism, I think of this truly religious, truly good man.
In his 1907 diary, he quotes from a book entitled Up From Slavery: "Great men cultivate love and only little men cherish a spirit of hatred . . . I would permit no man, no matter what his colour might be, to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him."
And on the next page: "The higher he lifts his thoughts, the more manly, upright and righteous he becomes, the greater will be his success, the more blessed and enduring will be his achievements."
Freedom, democracy, human rights and civil liberties don't come with boundaries marked. They come with open streets and the right to protest, demonstrate and complain about the government. They come with open arms to immigrants and refugees. They come with commerce around the world and the right to express opinions that doesn't fit in with the majority.
They come with love and a refusal to hate.
Catherine Ford, Troy Media Corporation.
