I write this post with a roiling stomach, one which has been roiling since yesterday. Sunday, January 11, 2015. The day of the march in Paris against terrorism and a loss of freedom.
Many weeks ago, one of my dearest friends asked, “Why do you read so much translated literature?” and before I could properly formulate a complete thought, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “Because I don’t feel American.”
I did, once upon a time. When I was a child, and John F. Kennedy was President, it seemed America could do anything. Be the first in space? Sure. Resolve the Cuban Missile Crisis? Sure. Be a compassionate leader in strength and integrity? That is what I felt it meant to be an American.
Today, I am ashamed that our President could not bring himself to Paris. We were essentially unrepresented in a significant world issue, and to me there is no excuse.
I will always be from the land of the free and the home of the brave. I will always value the freedom of speech, the freedom of religion, the freedoms that my son as a U.S. Marine has vowed to protect. But, I will also link arms with my fellow world citizens, who fight for the right to live a life without fear. A right to live without a terrorist domination. Because “the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” (Edmund Burke)
I can link arms with the world when I read the literature which it produces. The points of view may differ from mine, but together I become whole. The literature of the world can make us a group which understands and affirms one another, a group who will stand together against evil.