After September 11, 2001

9.13.01

Last night I witnessed something awful.

My husband and I went out to try to catch a late movie, hoping to spend an hour or two in a pleasant, imaginary world where domestic terrorism was only a plot device.

We didn't check the paper before going, though, and when we got to the theater, there wasn't anything we wanted to see.

We decided to check some other theaters, and began to make our way through Chicago's south suburbs. It was already about 9:15 when we ran into a traffic jam on a thoroughfare that should have been nearly deserted.

We had seen a number of cars out cruising, waving American flags from their windows. We even saw a bicyclist on a busy street, a bif American flag attached to the baby seat on the back of the bike - sans baby.

When we hit the traffic jam I saw a car full of skinheads, flags waving. We were approaching a shopping center.

My heart began to pound as I noticed a number of Arab shops and restaurants. Six or seven police cars passed us on the median, stopping at the shopping center entrance.

Soon I saw that the slowdown was caused by a crowd of rowdy young white men and women, yelling, waving flags, and holding signs. One cardboard sign spelled out an offensive message directed at "people of Islamic descent."

A line of police in riot gear flanked the group, separating them from the shopping center.

I noticed three or four people watching the scene from within a small café, its name spelled in English and Arabic. I shuddered to think how they must feel: alone, harassed, and unable to defend themselves or explain that they are not terrorists.

I loosened my white-knuckle grip on my husband's hand, and looked him in the eyes.

"Let's go sit in the café," I told him. "I just want them to know that not everyone is like those thugs."

We talked about it, and drove on. Joel couldn't help but feel that for us-an interracial couple-to put ourselves in the path of a group of angry white supremacists was tantamount to suicide.

I'm sure his fears were justified, but in my heart I still feel like I should have insisted we stop.

Most of the time in life, you try to do right, try to be a good person, and hope that what you did was actually right.

But sometimes - and now is one of those times - right and wrong are easy to tell apart. Right now there are people all over the country calling for blood, ready to lash out in anger at any easy target.

Revenge is tempting right now, but attacking the owner of the corner grocery store, or the head-scarved woman in the mall, is not going to bring back the dead or teach Osama Bin Laden a lesson.

Who will befriend the easy targets? Who will eat in the restaurant, shop at the store, knock on their neighbor's door? How will we show that just as they are not all terrorists, we are not all racists?

Right now I am holding onto hope that hate, having attacked us from without, does not destroy us from within.

Personal musings:

Wilderness: Dreams of living in the wild persist and change.

All grown up: At 12 I looked like I was 20, at 24 I looked 15.

Altruism: Can you ever repay the kindness of a stranger?

Photos in a box: A package from my brother turned my memories of childhood upside down.

Short story long: How to lengthen a narrative in a few easy steps.

Writing: Going the distance to find things to write about.

Neighbors: An amazing account of urban generosity.

Snacking: The angst of a healthy diet.

Thoughts on spiritual matters:

Subway preachers: Transcendence on the Red Line.

Thoughts in the Kingdom: How do you keep your mind in heaven and your heart in the world?

After September 11: Response to an attack on a mosque in Bridgeview, Ill., on September 12.