Mourning for

In the wake of savage attacks upon one of the oldest civilized cities in the world, all I can offer is my shared grief and indignation. Even the formality of these words seem inappropriate when faced with the pain that so many have suffered. There's a shared howl across the Atlantic, echoing with pain and confusion.

Why have the done this?

And in that word, this, focuses the nature of the event. It is unspeakable. Not because it is terrifying, but because it is terrible. These criminals, outlaws, animals that would target innocents do not frighten us. They do not succeed in paralyzing us. They only serve to horrify, to create a spectacle of violence that grieves us in its action and consequence. We think we've come so far, only to be reminded that we, as humans, are only inches from nature red in tooth and claw.

That's if we allow them the last few shreds of humanity they cling to, hanging about them in rags.

You know this, though, London. You know this in a more tangible way than I. It itches in your palms, and you see the vacuum, the holes where familiar people and edifices used to stand proud.

I feel connected with you, in a more personal way than even the attacks on Sept. 11th provided. I am not a New Yorker, and had never even seen the towers, much less visited them. But I have waited for trains in King's Cross Station. I have stood next to the double decker buses. I have pounded London's streets, eaten her food, laughed at her plays, shivered in her rains, and delighted in her bright days. London is in me, and has given me joy. I'm sorry that all I have to return are condolences.

I've heard your Politicians speaking, London, and seen your resilience. They hope to defeat these horrorists with"Go about your daily lives" and "Maintain the status quo". That is the first step. But these men likely came from your ranks, from your city itself. They lived among you, plotted against you, and struck at you from their filth like cholera. It's not enough to keep on keeping on. If you wish to learn from us at all, and avoid the mistakes we've made, remember that the battle is not in deserts, but on your streets. The war won't be won with bullets, but with ideas.

So push harder. Take your anger and grief and step into the purifying fire. Remind them, and us, what you have been slowly teaching the world for generations: that fair play is possible, that right can conquer might, and that no darkness can eclipse the candle of civilization you have kept burning for millenia.