Welcome back, and happy fall!
The weather is getting cooler, the days are getting shorter, and the leaves are turning colors. Autumn/fall (call it what you will) is my favorite time of year, and I am so excited for sweaters/jumpers, harvest festivals, and pumpkin everything. I’m also excited to be back with you lovely readers after my summer break! It’s such a joy to be writing this newsletter again. I hope it is as much a joy for you to read.
Returning on such a somber note is bittersweet, however. There was no way I couldn’t write about 9/11 on the twentieth anniversary, so this week’s newsletter is entirely dedicated to that sad anniversary. Remember the people we lost, the heroes who stepped up – FDNY, NYPD, the passengers and crew of Flight 93 – and the soldiers we lost in America’s longest war as you commemorate the day. May we forever cherish their memories and remember their sacrifices, as well as all those we lost that terrible day.
I want to thank Serena for the generous gift of Dirty Work: Essential Jobs and the Hidden Toll of Inequality in America by Eyal Press. I am looking forward to reading it! As a reminder, you can become a Patron for as little as $3 a month, make a one-time donation using PayPal, or buy me a book to help with my research. All contributions are greatly appreciated, no matter how big or how small. This newsletter, as always, remains free. As does America.
On 9/11…
What is left to say about 9/11 that has not already been said? Today, as we mark the 20th anniversary of that terrible day, I find myself asking just that. On the one hand, I’m not sure I really have anything to contribute to the discourse. I pitched a version of this essay to several publications, including the New York Times. The editor there personally e-mailed me the rejection, marking the first time the New York Times ever responded to one of my pitches. Two steps back, but one step forward.
More to the point, another editor I regularly work with said my pitch “feels like it’s a slightly tangential connection,” which is a fair enough statement. The thrust of my pitch hinged on the fact that I came out to my parents the day before 9/11. I argued that the two events would come to define my generation. Well, not my coming out specifically. Rather, gay rights and the legacy of 9/11 would be the defining issues of the early 21st century – at least for Millennials who grew up with the culture war on the war on terror.
The more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to agree with my editor. It’s tangential at best, and there are others with far more compelling stories: those who survived the attacks and those whose loved ones didn’t, as a start. 9/11 is their story.
But this is my newsletter, so I get to write my story. And as much as that tragedy is personal to them, in many ways 9/11 is all our story. I did not lose a loved one that day. I did not witness the attacks. I was not even in New York City, or Washington. I was in Dayton, Ohio, hundreds of miles away from Shanksville, where Flight 93 went down in the Pennsylvania countryside. I didn’t even know the attacks had happened until hours after the fact.
Yet the events of that day did forever alter my life and the lives of every American. Whether through something as mundane as increased airport security or in more specific ways, such as my brother’s service in Iraq and Afghanistan, we all experienced the repercussions. “Where were you on 9/11?” became a touchstone of a generation, as formative for Millennials as the Kennedy assassination or moon landing were for Baby Boomers.
Even now, twenty years later, the specter of 9/11 looms large in American public life. The resulting wars would see 2.77 million Americans serve in Iraq and Afghanistan, including my aforementioned brother who deployed to both warzones in the ‘00s. This cost us $2 trillion and 2,352 American lives in Afghanistan alone. Now, watching the fall of Kabul and the rapid retaking of the entire nation by the Taliban, the country is left asking what it was all for.
It was a question I remember asking myself in the weeks after the attack. Though it is lost to history, I remember writing in my journal that I was concerned about the invasion of Afghanistan. I did not know how you waged war on an idea, nor did I like how quickly we were deploying. Something about it felt chaotic and kneejerk.
My father is a former marine, and I remember him sitting my brother and me down to tell us he might be recalled. That was a ludicrous thought, as my father had been severely injured in a motorcycle accident more than a decade before and bore the scars and chronic injury that comes with nearly losing a leg. Yet the fact that it was being discussed only added to my reticence when the rest of the country was rushing into war.
Expressing such a thought after 9/11 was blasphemous, though. Only Barbara Lee, a Democrat from California, voted against the invasion of Afghanistan. I always imagined she must have felt much like Jeanette Rankin felt when she voted against declaring war on Germany in World War I – alone and ostracized and completely alienated from the rest of the country.
Twenty years feels like the blink of an eye, but it’s a long time. A generation. And in that time, much has changed. For one, Barbara Lee has been vindicated. She was right to caution against granting the president such broad military powers, and now folks on both sides of the aisle are calling for Congress to reassert its rightful authority in declaring war and deploying the military.
Other things have changed, too. In 2001, the United States was the sole superpower. Our nation was an empire exerting its influence on every corner of the globe. For the first time in its history, the mutual defense clause of NATO was triggered, with America leading a broad coalition into Afghanistan. There was no question that our allies would defend us, and that there was value in multilateral action. (Those questions would arise a year or so later when we began debating invading Iraq.)
On the home front, jingoism is the only word strong enough to describe the fervent nationalism which dominated the post-9/11 years. As I wrote earlier this year, militarism came to define every facet of American life in the noughties:
Like a reboot of The Wonder Years, the War on Terror, of which the War in Afghanistan was the first and last front, defined my adolescence and young adulthood. I even wrote a short story about it, in which a gay teenager struggles with his boyfriend’s decision to enlist. It gave birth to new protests anthems — The Chicks’ “Traveling Soldier”, Pink’s “Dear Mister President” — and a decade of films like “Syriana” and “Team America: World Police.” It influenced our fashion (remember when camo cargo pants and dog tags were in style?), our TV (there was a show on Lifetime called “Army Wives”), and our politics (to this day, many on the left use the war in Iraq as a yardstick for a politician’s judgment).
When I protested the planned invasion of Iraq just a few weeks before the first boots on the ground deployed, I was jeered. I had teachers tell me I was unpatriotic and on the side of the terrorists. America was the greatest nation on earth, folks insisted, exceptional and all-powerful. Nothing could stop us. The war would be over soon, America would have its vengeance, and order would be restored to the world. “We’ll put a boot in your ass,” Toby Keith sang. “It’s the American way.”
It did not quite work out that way. It’s hard for me to determine if America lost the war in Iraq because I still don’t quite know why we were there in the first place, but it is safe to say that things did not go well for us there. It’s much easier to say America lost the war in Afghanistan. If after 20 years and trillions of dollars we end up exactly where we were before 9/11, there is no way to spin that as anything other than an embarrassing defeat. Whether we ever grapple with that fact remains to be seen – we still can’t accept that we lost the Vietnam War – but the truth remains. 20 years, thousands of American lives, and trillions of American dollars bought us nothing but an ass-whooping.
Now, humbled and humiliated on the world stage, America seems less like the sole superpower and more like an empire in decline. Afghanistan might not be our Suez, but if we are drawing parallels to the decline and fall of the British Empire, it’s our Second World War. At this rate, if history repeats itself, America in 2040 will be where the UK was in 1960 – a shell of its former self, a second-rate power unable to accept its newly diminished place in the world. The 21st century will be the Pax Sinica. Learn Mandarin now.
I’m being a tad hyperbolic – I don’t think the Chinese are about to invade us, though I do think they’ll be the primary superpower (militarily and economically) sooner rather than later. But America’s global influence has waned significantly over the past two decades. Two failed wars and a proto-fascistic and isolationist president (Trump) have severely diminished our standing in the world. I don’t really want to dissect Trump’s foreign policy blunders – and, it should be noted, successes – here, but I do want to talk about his voters. Because Trump’s protectionism and isolationism was a drastic turn from George W. Bush’s globalism and neo-imperialism.
Part of Trump’s success is that he was able to tap into the war fatigue most Americans were experiencing by 2016. People aren’t stupid, and they could see that Iraq and Afghanistan were foreign policy failures. It was largely working-class kids who were serving and dying in these wars, and gradually over time the American people began asking why their kids were being asked to give their lives in faraway lands. What was the benefit? Who was being helped? Their fair questions. I’ve yet to hear compelling answers.
That does not mean that I think the withdrawal from Afghanistan went well. It objectively did not. Nor do I think America should retreat from the world stage. Though our track record of intervention in foreign lands is terrible – whether in wars like in Vietnam and Afghanistan or in CIA-supported coups against leftwing governments throughout the global south – we still stand as the last, best hope for democracy. Bourgeoise democracy, sure, but still better than the alternative. Ask the women of Afghanistan.
That provides the perfect segue to another war – a culture war, this one fought at home. If the War on Terror is a source of humiliation for America, the fight for gay rights can be a source of pride. Just how rapidly American public opinion changed on this issue is truly remarkable: in 2001, only 54% of Americans thought same-sex relations (not marriage, relations) should be legal. The latest Gallup poll puts that number at 79%, with 70% of respondents supporting marriage equality. That is up from only 35% in 1999.
I don’t want to bleat on for too long about how hard things were for gay folks in 2001 compared to 2021, especially since I wrote about this topic earlier this year. But for me, 9/11 is forever connected to my own coming out, and I think it is worth reflecting on how far we’ve come. Across the board, in every walk of life throughout this nation, America has seen a rapid and unprecedented increase in tolerance and acceptance over a relatively short amount of time. Over two decades we have embraced freedom and equality for LGBT people, expanding on our founding promise of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” and our foundational ideal that all men are created equal.
Our progress on this issue is breathtaking. I feel not only an immense pride in the gay community, but a profound sense of patriotism. This is America at its best, a pluralistic society which is constantly improving upon itself, perfecting an imperfect union and expanding the bandwidth of freedom. Watching the Taliban retake Afghanistan – and knowing what that means for the women and girls, the LGBT community, the journalists, and so many others – reminds me of just how fortunate I am to be American. In our failure is a lesson in our success.
America can take these lessons and apply them to our future, charting a new course for our nation in a changing world. Human rights – especially LGBT rights – are increasingly under threat, from the Uyghurs in China to women in Afghanistan to gay men in Uganda. While nation building and imperial wars have proven failures which should remain firmly in our past, we should embrace our role as a champion for human rights and equality. Working with our allies and multilateral organizations such as the UN, we can champion human rights and promote equality for LGBT people around the globe.
In doing so, America can become Reagan’s shining city on a hill. As we commemorate this somber anniversary, the lessons of the past two decades cannot be ignored. America’s foreign excursions may have ended badly, but our nation remains one constantly perfecting itself. In doing so, we also remain the best defender of human rights and equality this world has ever seen. That is something to be proud of.
On my own memories of that day…
It occurs to me that I have never written an account of my own experience on 9/11. It’s not a particularly interesting account; as I said above, a lot of people have far more interesting and relevant stories than I do. However, it is such a touchstone for my generation that it feels appropriate to add my own memories to the public record. I encourage y’all to do the same in the comments.
As said, I came out to my parents the day before 9/11. I chose that day because it was a Monday. I went to school Monday morning, talked to my friends for moral support and advice, and then came out to Mom and Dad after school. My thinking was that doing it at the beginning of the week gave me four more days of school to avoid them, should things be awkward. My parents took it about as well as any two working class parents would take it in 2001, and I woke up that Tuesday feeling a lightness I had not felt in a very long time. There were no more secrets. Life was much better than it had been 24 hours before.
It was a gorgeous day in the Miami Valley. Blue, cloudless skies. Mild temperatures. A breeze. I got to school at Stebbins High School just as I always did, loitering in the Hall of Fame for a few minutes before the first bell. Then me and about two dozen other classmates left on a field trip as Channel One News was playing in homeroom. It was probably around 8:30 at the latest, though the exact time escapes me after all these years.
We were heading to the Dayton Art Institute, which is across the Miami River in downtown Dayton. It’s a gorgeous museum in a beautiful Italianate building majestically crowning a hill. I have returned to several times over the years and am never disappointed.
I do not remember the exact reason we were there. We spent hours touring the museum, though. At one point, I remember seeing my art teacher whispering with the museum staff. I didn’t think anything of it. A few minutes later, Mrs. Wingard informed us we would have to cut our field trip short. Downtown Dayton was being evacuated. I assumed I had misheard her because downtown being evacuated made no sense. But soon we were on the school bus, driving back to school.
Stebbins High School is about a mile down the road from Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. Many students are the children of servicemembers stationed at “Wright-Pat.” We had to drive right past the base on our way back. I’d never seen it so empty. That was strange, I thought, and noted that traffic downtown had been lighter than usual as well.
I didn’t dwell on this for too long, though. I was distracted by the other students. News of my coming out had gone around, and apparently someone made a snide or homophobic comment that I missed. A young man named Josh began defending me, which is how I learned someone had ran their mouth. He told me to be myself and be proud. I remember that, even if I don’t remember (or never knew) what prompted him to say that.
Getting back to school, we walked into the Hall of Fame. If I recall, it was around 12:30, which means lunch would have been wrapping up. I distinctly remember there being a flurry of activity and panic in the Hall of Fame, which was unusual for that time of day. Alarm bells began going off in my head as I realized something terrible was going on. I still did not know what it was, though.
I was meant to be in Mr. Stamper’s English class at that time, so I made my way upstairs. The class was emptier than usual, and the tv was on. That was odd. I do not remember what was said when I walked in, but I do remember seeing the smoke rising off the rubble. “What happened? Is that Israel?” I asked. Soon the shot revealed the Statue of Liberty. I couldn’t believe it. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. It did not quite register that we had been attacked.
Seeing the smoke rising over the Statue of Liberty was disconcerting. I don’t remember who explained to me what happened – probably Mr. Stamper, but I don’t know – but I do remember it taking longer than normal for it to register. I heard the words, but they didn’t make sense. It was like when I first learned French. I recognized the words, but it took a moment for me to put together the meaning.
Once I did, I rushed downstairs to call my mom. This was before everyone had a cell phone, so I borrowed a quarter from a friend and used the payphone in the Hall of Fame. She was relieved to hear from me; I was the only child she couldn’t get in touch with that day, and understandably she wanted to talk to all her kids. My brother wasn’t at school that day, though I can’t remember why. All I remember is my grandmother picking me up. Then we went across the street to the middle school to pick up my little sister. She took us home.
The rest of that afternoon is a blur. I comforted my sister the best I could. You couldn’t find anything but coverage of the attacks on tv. Even Nickelodeon and MTV were showing the news. In hindsight, that was a mistake, as children certainly needed a distraction. Eventually my mom got home. We watched the news.
I remember there was a big boom heard in the Miami Valley, and then smoke began billowing in the distance. Rumors swirled that a plane had crashed into the VA Hospital in Dayton. That was wrong, though. If memory serves, the boom we heard were military jets breaking the sound barrier, scrambling to protect Air Force One as President Bush flew back to Washington. The smoke was from a brush fire someone was burning.
There was a sense of foreboding from the moment I saw the smoke over New York City until I went to bed that night. A sense of fear – terror, really – that was gnawing at my gut. I have only been that frightened by a news event one other time in my life, and it was when the pandemic first began. My father sat my brother and me down to tell us he might be recalled to service, that he might have to go to war. That we might even be invaded. We did not know what had happened or who had attacked us, but we knew that we were at war.
A lot of my fellow students at Stebbins were terrified that their parents were going to have to go to war. That their parents might die. I left Ohio six weeks later for reasons unrelated to 9/11, but I have no doubt that many of my classmates’ parents did end up serving in Afghanistan and Iraq. My own brother – who at the time was in Air Force Junior ROTC – enlisted in the army shortly after graduating high school. He served in both wars.
Twenty years later, it is strange thinking back on that day. It seems like yesterday, but there is an entire generation of Americans for whom 9/11 is nothing more than history. I’m writing this at a coffeehouse, and the barista told me she was not even born until 2003, meaning she wasn’t alive on that day. For her, 9/11 is as relevant as the Iran hostage crisis is to me. It’s something that happened before I was born. Maybe one day Ben Affleck will make a movie about 9/11, too.
For Millennials, though, 9/11 is the defining moment of our public lives. It’s the event that connects us all, the “where were you?” story we all tell and the “I remember when…” story we’ll remember in our rocking chairs. It changed our perception of the world and our nation’s place in it.
What I’ve been up to…
For The Independent, I wrote about the right-wing reaction to Pete and Chasten Buttigieg becoming parents. It is clear that conservatives aren’t really “pro-life” as they were quick to ridicule Pete and Chasten for adopting. Instead of saving babies, “pro-life” politics reveals itself to be about controlling women’s bodies and reinforcing heteropatriarchal notions of who and what makes a family.
Back in August, I wrote my first op-ed for The Progressive on how Joe Biden’s budget would be a godsend for Appalachia.
Last month, I wrote about America’s horrible zoning laws, NIMBYism, and how classist public policy is exacerbating the housing crisis. Read it at Business Insider.
One from the archives: last year I wrote about what coming out the day before 9/11 taught me about bridging America’s political divides.
This week, I was fortunate to get to tour the Museum of Appalachia in Norris, Tennessee. It is a wonderful living history museum dedicated to preserving our Appalachian heritage. Longtime readers of this newsletter will know I am horrible at embedding Instagram posts, but if you click here you can see some of the pictures I took at the museum. If you’re ever in East Tennessee, I encourage you to check it out. (I also stopped in at the Coal Creek Miners’ Museum in Rocky Top, which you should also check out!)
What I’ve been reading…
I read Hill Women by Cassie Chambers. This is a heartwarming memoir about an Appalachian woman growing up in Owsley County, Kentucky, which is not far from where I grew up in Leslie County. Chambers has a way of celebrating the humanity of her kinfolk and clearly cherishes them very much. The most interesting parts of the book for me, however, were when Chambers discusses her experiences working at Legal Aid in rural Kentucky. The injustices the women experiencing domestic violence and poverty experience were infuriating, and Chambers writes about them with a moral clarity missing in many accounts of poverty and the justice system. It is a welcome antidote to that other memoir. You know the one…
David Leonhardt had some excellent reporting on COVID vaccines in the New York Times. It looks like the vaccines really are working, with fully vaccinated people standing a one in five thousand chance of a breakthrough infection. Of note: the risk increases if you are in an area with a severe outbreak or low rates of vaccination (which often go hand-in-hand).
This interesting article in Time Magazine reminds us that China is a socialist nation. Xi Jinping is reupping the “common prosperity” plank of the CCP, threatening the extreme wealth accumulated by Chinese capitalists. I’m no expert on Maoism, but my understanding has always been that this was the plan. The national bourgeoise would be allowed to develop the industry, with the state eventually taking over on behalf of the people. I believe that is a central tenant of Maoism, so I’m not surprised by this. I have many critiques of China – especially with their record on human rights – but this is not one of them. I think on the whole common prosperity and a democratizing of private industry is a good thing.
This blog by Pakistani writer and feminist Bina Shah on how gender and queer theory is alienating and leaving behind women in the global South is excellent. It really sums up the importance of understanding that women are oppressed on the basis of their sex, not gender identity, and that sex matters in a materialist and feminist analysis of women’s oppression – especially in cultures and places where gender identity is not a readily understood concept.
What I’ve been listening to…
I thought this would be a fun new feature. I’m going to start sharing one song I’m obsessed with. First up is Leah Blevins’ “Believe.”
A picture of the puppy…