“One is left with the horrible feeling now that war settles nothing; that to win a war is as disastrous as to lose one.”
Agatha Christie
“War would end if the dead could return.”
“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
Plato
As unbridled levels of patriotism flood throughout the nation and as the sound of crackers clog up the air one cannot help but stop and ponder. A war that has consumed over well over one quarter of a century and a far far greater number of lives is at last over as it would seem. The death throes of a bygone era fall still as a country torn apart by a war that knew no boundaries tries at last to exist and coexist.
The war is over, indeed it is, but the conflict, the conflict still breathes. In this cruel world, the hearts of men have been hardened; the human mind has the uncanny ability and capacity to forget what should be remembered and to remember that what must be forgotten.
Jubilation sweeps through the streets at that what was won, but do we spare a moment to consider that what has been lost. The land will repair itself in time; even the wounds to the flesh can be healed, but what of the damage to the hearts and minds of the people. They do not heal so easily, they tend to stay open, they fester for longer and the cut runs deep.
We take joy in being alive but do we think of every mother’s son and every father’s daughter who is not coming home. Do we weep with the wife who has lost her husband or wipe a tear from the child who has neither hand to hold nor chest to hug on to? Do we think of the man who has lost everything and has nothing left worth living for anymore?
Now, as the guns and the bombs fall silent, now will we hear the cries, now will we hear the tears, louder and clearer than ever before. What has been lost can hardly be replaced, though it may appear that the future is rosy once more. In the midst of all the celebrations, we seem to have forgotten much and casually ignored more. The ending of a war is not enough; one needs a much thicker coat of paint to hide the scars imparted.
Now is when the mettle of a land and a people will be tested. Now is when the true strength of a nation can be assessed, now when there is no one left to blame and no where to hide. Now will see the capacity of man to forgive, to forget, to live and let live and not let the mistakes of the past become the burden of the present.
Take this time, not to rejoice, though be glad that this black era had passed. But do not blindly rush forward into a sense of veiled optimism, a clouded discernment, a darkened perception. In fact this is a time which must be proceeded into with caution. The time is at hand where old differences be put aside and not pandered to, within or without.
Terrorism is not dead, just its agents, for as long as inequalities remain, apparent or perceived it will live on. We are all created equal; we laugh, we cry, we bleed, we die; and that is all we should remember and carry forward into the new day. That should be all we need to embrace and live by if we are to make it.
Can we forgive and can we forget? Can we wipe the slate clean? Can we find the strength within to accept that old hatreds, resolved or not, be laid to rest. Or is the final legacy of the terror bringer a hemorrhaging heart, a mind that cannot forget and a spirit that can never rest? Ultimately, only time will tell. But the thing about time is that it waits for no man.
So as the new day heralds the end of an era, we wait in apprehension. As for me, I will stubbornly believe in the power of the human spirit, I will take heart in knowing that good still rests in man, even if the days are dark, I will grasp to a sliver of hope, for that is all we have and I will trust in the One who made me. I think, I think that for now, that is more than enough.
