BY Peter Burian
Chair, Academic Council, and professor of classical studies
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so many of us, I am still trying to assimilate the brute facts
of the unprecedented and almost unbelievable terror to which
the many victims—and all of us—have been subjected.
Like many of us, I experienced yesterday in a kind of fog, from
which emerge vividly today, first the indelible images of horror,
and then the hopes and fears of colleagues and co-workers whose
loved ones might have been in or near one of the sites of devastation,
and from whom they still had not heard.
One of my colleagues, whose child both lives and
works in the vicinity of the World Trade Center, said at a certain
point that she was embarrassed to be so preoccupied with one
person’s safety in the midst of such overwhelming horror.
But how could it not be so? And in this sense, I am afraid,
the reality of the losses in our own community is only beginning
to be understood. The alumni office, for example, has a list
of some fifty Duke graduates whose office addresses are in
the World Trade Center, and we already know
that there are victims among them.
The true story of this event is the collective story
of all the loved ones, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers,
children, friends, co-workers, our students—the collective
story of all our hopes and fears. And in sharing our feelings,
in the rediscovery and reassertion of community around this
terrible event, there is some small comfort. That is why we
are here today. I hope we will learn from this suffering—the
suffering of an almost unbearable number of victims—and
from our own sense of helplessness and despair.
And what I most hope we will learn is that we cannot
conquer the demons that beset us until we face and control the
age-old division of the world into us and them—the instinct,
if that is what it is, to turn a violation of our own humanity
such as we have just suffered into a corresponding dehumanization
of whole groups, whole peoples whom we too easily identify with
those who have violated us. Let us not allow the legitimate
need for justice slide into a brute cry for vengeance. Revenge
is always meant as an end-point by those who exact it, always
felt as a beginning by those on whom it is unleashed.
I would like to share a story that stands out in
my memory from the horrible events of yesterday. I am teaching
a freshman seminar, and yesterday almost every student was there,
many with tear-reddened eyes and clearly shaken by the unfolding
terror. Our subject was to have been Sophocles’ Oedipus.
It is a story of peripety—the sudden, unexpected reversal
of fortune—and a story of self-recognition. The underlying
question that the Oedipus raises is how to make meaning out
of seemingly uncomprehensible suffering and loss. We did not
discuss the Oedipus, but we talked about another sudden, unexpected
reversal of fortune that left us grappling for meaning in the
midst of incomprehensible suffering and loss. I was taken aback
by the maturity and the thoughtfulness of this group of eighteen-year-olds
in confronting their feelings and trying to make sense of this
tragedy of our own.
Whether there was katharsis, I cannot say. But my
students, unlike Oedipus, seemed almost intuitively to grasp
that all the questions we were raising were also about us—that
our responses will help us recognize who we are and who we want
to be. The conclusion we drew is that our sorrow would have
to be turned into a basis for action if it were to have real
meaning for our lives.
That is also my message for your today. We must
not stop here—we must use the strength of our community
to do whatever we can to uphold the fundamental human values
whose fragility, and whose fundamental importance, the events
of the last day have once again, and with terrifying force,
made clear to us all.
These remarks were delivered at the interfaith
service on the Chapel Quad on September 12—the day after
the terrorist attacks on New York City and Washington, D.C.
|
BY Nannerl
O. Keohane
President, Duke University
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many of you know, I was in New York City on Tuesday, September
11. I had flown into La Guardia Airport past lower Manhattan
a few minutes before eight in the morning, looking out at the
magnificent skyline on a brilliantly clear morning. As I arrived
at my midtown destination, I learned of the horrific attack
out of that clear sky, and then all the rest that followed.
I shared with friends and colleagues the terror of not knowing
where family members were, experiencing the shutdown of many
essential parts of life, and also seeing firsthand the admirable
way in which so many people worked hard to keep some semblance
of civilized life, rushing out to help with relief work or give
blood.
Early on Wednesday morning, I
walked for several blocks down Park Avenue. On the long prospect
from 92nd Street for fifty blocks southward, there was not a
single car in sight; the “city that never sleeps”
had indeed been brought to a halt. I am so deeply grateful to
all the people—bus drivers, subway drivers, and the people
at Amtrak who left their own families to help the rest of us
get home to ours.
Many people at Duke have been supported, succored,
and sustained through these dark hours by outreach from others
in this community. I want to express most heartfelt thanks to
the team of leaders who managed the unprecedented and complicated
situation so effectively and sensitively. I also want to thank
all those who spoke eloquent words of comfort and healing to
the community at the service in front of the Chapel.
In our various classrooms, offices, and residence
halls, members of the university community have been trying
to sort out their feelings and come to grips with the enormity
of this tragedy. As members of an institution dedicated to education,
it is very appropriate that people at Duke use this opportunity
to inform ourselves about the many complex issues associated
with events such as these, what we can learn from history, and
how we can focus on supporting each other in the time ahead.
It is crucial that we rededicate ourselves to the
fundamental values that define our
university and our way of life: to openness, trust, compassion,
and dedication to helping others. Even as our country prepares
to respond, as we must and shall, to this frontal assault on
our civilization and our values, we must try to avoid hatred
and prejudice. If the abdication of our common humanity that
led to this horrible attack is allowed to seep into our own
lives and minds, then the terrorists will have achieved their
diabolic aim.
The loss of life is enormous and tragic. The loss
of our easy sense of security and invulnerability in our own
country will have incalculable effects. But we cannot lose what
this democracy is all about, what some of our citizens, at their
best, have exemplified throughout our history. The devastation
in lower Manhattan did not touch the Statue of Liberty standing
nearby: The torch is still held high in her hand, and this terrible
day must not be allowed to stain or erode the principles she
embodies for us all.
The president offered these thoughts
in a September 13 “memo to the university community.” |
