Stupid, Mean People Speak Out

So, Salon ran some "forbidden" thoughts associated with the thing, and asked for people to write in more. I wrote in mine, because I had some pretty negative reactions to the way people treated the thing. For instance, I call it "the thing" rather than "the horrible tragedy of 9/11." Reading those comments today, I was struck by how many people lead such useless little lives that they were excited about the prospect of war. It's truly sad. To wit:

"As the second tower collapsed, I found myself with a terrible sense of satisfaction. It was almost like, somewhere deep in the parts of my soul that don't see the sun, I was rooting for the event to be even bigger -- for it to cut so deeply through the banality of daily life, that things would never be the same. I suspect I am not alone. Whether it's shark attacks, wars, school shootings or child abductions, something in human nature gives people a sick thrill in such horrific voyeurism. That's what drives the infotainment industry we like to call the nightly news. In the Civil War, spectators went out to watch the battle. Until fairly recently, watching public executions was regular entertainment for the masses. Few have the guts to admit it publicly, but we're all monsters."

That's just disturbing. I always knew that a lot of people are natural-born rubberneckers and cretins, otherwise there wouldn't be any WWF Smackdown. However, for this guy to believe that we all feel that way makes me sad that humans have absolutely no idea what goes on in each other's hearts. For the record, I don't get a thrill from seeing war or fire or death or car accidents or public executions. The majority of people in the US obviously enjoy watching dramatizations of events like that, otherwise there would be no need for Vin Diesel. However, that is a cathartic experience and in no way implies that it doesn't break my heart every time a person takes the life of his fellow human. Also, I'm thrilled to fucking death that my life isn't so "banal" that I need that kind of twisted interest in death and destruction just to realize I'm alive. The death of my mother affected me much more deeply than the thing, and probably more than any other event in my life. Ask people in war-torn nations (or even Ireland) if they get excited every time explosions, shrapnel and bloody death shake up their oh-so-dismal existence. I bet those folks are just itching for a little bit of your banality. In other words, shut up. Oh, one more thing. I hate it when people do this, but I just have to say, when I finally saw the collapse on television -- that would be hours after I was allowed to leave the basement of the Bank of New York, to which I fled when the first tower collapsed two blocks away from me -- I wasn't feeling any "terrible satisfaction." When I did door-to-door surveys of retailers in Lower Manhattan and they cried because they had lost everything -- clients, goods, money, property -- I didn't feel the thrill of voyeurism. And I know the truth about child abductions and shark attacks, asshole, which is why I don't watch the news. So, go crawl in your little hole and write on the chalkboard 8,000 times: "We're not all monsters."