Six years on, New York's post-9/11 world is all fading (or recurring) PTSD , a graying supression of horrific memories that the rest of the nation won't allow. We insist on mourning in public, returning to the rhetorical pit, piling on the karmic layers. Was it a day of patriotism? It's been named such, but in the details, in the history I just don't see it. As a nation, we trifled with the clear path to retribution and briefly at that. The mastermind of the great attack lives on, and his movement - once a small band of outcasts - has metasticized in almost direct proportion to the strange and scandalous flailings of our government.
Meanwhile, our Diana-like self-rending and its attendant mass hysteria continues, though blessedly muted (no special sections in today's papers). That the memories live on, that one living American will ever forget, that no living New Yorker will ever forgive are a stipulation to human nature. We don't need to be reminded of it by Presidential campaigns and talk show hosts. Indeed, dredging up that mass wave of grief on the same date each year does the event itself - and its very human survivors - a disservice. It's offensive to tell New Yorkers to remember, as if these grief-sellers and fear-mongers and campaign managers think that any one of us doesn't know what the number 343 stands for.
Yes, this goofy coupon for cheap fries "in honor of our fallen heroes" is a sad commentary. So too is the request for more soldiers in the wrong country - or for primary votes - written on Twin Towers requisition forms.