As another anniversary of the mass slaughter on September 11, 2001 comes to pass, the shrill cries of nationalism, coupled with the genuine and disingenuous sympathy for the victims, make their way into the national discussion once again, even if the volume is slightly less amplified with each passing year. All of the official quarters pay their respects to the horrific happenings of that day eight years ago —as they should. Last Friday, the College Republicans and College Democrats held a vigil on Bascom Hill during which they planted American flags and sang the National Anthem. Undoubtedly, these same groups held near identical gatherings on universities throughout the country. This kind of thing is to be expected—it's simply the thing to do.
But if remembering the victims of the 9/11 attacks is a
necessity, drenching such ceremonies in nationalistic sentiment
must be the worst way of carrying them out. Leaving aside the role
that American foreign policy played in those dastardly events for a
moment, one must ask: What the hell does the national anthem have
to do with mourning for the victims?
The people on the airplanes, in the twin towers and in
the Pentagon were killed—just as anyone else dies at the hands of
psychotic killers. What is important is the tragic loss of life,
not the country in which they died. It should not matter that the
victims were Americans, but that—contrary to Ward Churchill's
ravings—they were innocent human beings. Would we think less of the
victims if they weren't born in the United States?
Let's consider that question. Undeniably, the 9/11
attacks were a product of American policy in the Middle East. They
were related to our interest in oil, our support for the Israeli
occupation, our support for corrupt monarchs and dictators, our
military presence in Saudi Arabia. No one really denies this
anymore. The terrorists, homicidal maniacs though they are, could
care less about the First Amendment or the fashion sense of Western
women. They, along with the terrorist network of which they were a
part, were an extremist religious response to a specific mode of
national behavior. In this sense, the 3,000 dead on 9/11/2001 were
products of American foreign policy.
Let's consider another example of the deadly impact of
American foreign policy, only this time the victims won't be
Americans. On a different 9/11, one that took place in 1973,
Chile's democratically elected president Salvador Allende was
overthrown in a CIA-backed coup that installed Augusto Pinochet as
military dictator for almost the next two decades. Bunkered in the
Presidential Palace, protected only by his bodyguards and closest
supporters, the military bombed the capital and quickly took
control of the government. Allende allegedly comitted suicide, and
was left for dead; 2,700 political opponents were killed; 200,000
dissidents fled the country; countless others were imprisoned and
tortured.
Allende, leader of the Socialist Party, instituted a
number of progressive reforms that increased the power of Chilean
workers and strengthened the social safety net, much to the chagrin
of American capital. According to then-Secretary of State, Henry
Kissinger, ""I don't see why we need to stand idly by and watch a
country go communist due to the irresponsibility of its own
people."" The U.S. flooded the right-wing opposition with money and
resources, destabilizing the country and eventually leading to the
coup. Once installed, Pinochet was quick to radically transform the
country to favor the US-backed neoliberal model, one that decimated
the economic life of the Chilean working class, particularly the
most destitute among them. Milton Friedman became a favorite guest
of the government.
For Chileans, ""9/11"" has a very different meaning,
even if the suffering it denotes is the product of the same
country's foreign policy. This is a type of policy which has led to
countless other civilian deaths: Those murdered by the Shah
following the U.S.-financed coup in Iran in 1953, the millions
incinerated by American bombs in Indochina, the victims of the
American-financed death squads in Central America in the 1980's and
the countless killed, maimed, displaced and otherwise suffering
people of Iraq and Afghanistan today.
Given the deleterious impact America has had on the
world, it was somewhat surprising that the overwhelming
international sentiment after the 9/11 attacks was one of sympathy
for the victims. Non-Westerners, because of their experiences with
imperialism, have the capacity to distinguish between the people of
a country and their governments. At the same time, this sympathy
ran parallel with an annoyance at the expectation of unbridled
mourning: what about the suffering of others? As Noam Chomsky said,
the feeling of most non-Westerners toward the 9/11 attacks could be
summed up as: ""Welcome to the club.""
So, if we are to invoke that artificial, crude
category—national identity—in remembering the victims, it might
make sense for us to at least slightly reflect, even if just in a
general way, on the other victims of American military might. Or,
if we are going to be exclusive in who is worthy of remembrance,
let's leave the flags and jingoism out of it, lest we allow the
9/11 victims to be used as propaganda for yet another imperialist
adventure in some poor country.
Kyle Szarzynski is a senior majoring in history and philosophy. Please send responses to opinion@dailycardinal.com.
