It is but a single line in a powerful address given by Abraham Lincoln to the Young Men’s Lyceum of Springfield, Illinois in 1838. Just a small part of a speech that predated his iconic declaration that “a house divided against itself cannot stand” by some two decades. Entitled “The Perpetuation of Our Political Institutions,” Lincoln’s entreaty came during a time both transformational and dangerously divisive in our young country’s history. It should be contextually framed against the backdrop of the Nat Turner slave rebellion, a deep financial depression, the emergence of the Whig party, and the rise of the abolitionist movement.
This single, powerful, cautionary line succinctly sums up America in 2018: If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher.
[Also read: White House pays tribute to 9/11 victims]
Lincoln’s warning spoke of common fears about a “transatlantic military giant,” and “armies of Europe, Asia, and Africa combined,” flush with unlimited resources, and with “a Bonaparte for a commander.” No, he gently chided throughout the passage, America should not fear the outside invader and foreign actors wishing to do us harm. The danger to the Republic was here, in our midst, and right under our noses. It was us.
The “house divided” line certainly became an iconic Lincolnism. But its lesser known corollary — that we are our own worst enemy and the author of our potential destruction as a nation — is what resonates for me, on this 17th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.
Everyone who lived through 9/11 has a story. I certainly have one, and I wrote about it here, describing in vivid detail what I recall of the Twin Tower implosions, from my view just several blocks away. What assuredly saved my life that dark day was a random dental appointment and a recently repaired ACL in my left knee that required a heavy brace, hampering my movements, costing precious seconds in my hobbled approach to the wounded World Trade Center. The delay ultimately saved my life, but it didn’t shield me from the never-to-be-unseen images of human beings exploding on the surrounding sidewalks after the heat from jet fuel-fed infernos left no viable option but to take a deadly plunge.
I revisit those memories often. Not because of some purposeful retreat back into the abject horrors of that day or a desire to have my mind replay the countless first responder funerals I attended, or how much suffering I encountered in the company of so many who had lost a loved one on that fateful day.
I lost two friends and colleagues that awful morning. FBI Special Agent Lenny Hatton worked on a criminal squad just a few cubicles away from where I sat. A former Marine and an FBI bomb technician, Lenny died attempting to rescue others, his body compacted by pancaking floors when the South Tower collapsed. John O’Neill had just retired from the FBI the week before 9/11, where he served as the New York office’s special-agent-in-charge of the Counterterrorism division. He had been hired as a security chief at the World Trade Centers. He was a mentor of mine, and I served under him when the FBI responded to Yemen following al Qaeda’s attack on the USS Cole in 2000. He didn’t abandon his post on 9/11. He continued to direct evacuation operations until he, too, was buried in the rubble.
But, no, it’s not these somber reflections, the palpable grief I share with so many other survivors of that day, that stubbornly resist blotting out. As difficult to discard as those indelibly seared images are in my consciousness, it’s what happened after 9/11 that continues to draw me back to that time. You’ll recall in the days, weeks, months, and even years immediately after 9/11 that it was a time of unity, and a time of America coalescing against an ominous existential threat to our democracy. And, no, Lincoln, in that 1838 speech to the Young Men’s Lyceum, didn’t dismiss threats from abroad — he simply prioritized the threats to our Republic.
Lincoln just might have agreed with the twist on an American naval officer’s ambitious quote, “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.” This was attributed to Oliver Hazard Perry in 1831. The twist, however, comes at the height of the Vietnam protest era, when during the turbulent 1960s, the comic strip, “Pogo,” satirically contorted the line into, “We have met the enemy, and they are us.” Should that not serve as a modern evolution of Lincoln’s remark about the U.S. being the author of its own destruction?
And I know we should be exceedingly careful about referring to current times by saying things like, “It’s never been worse than this,” because that sends the message we aren’t students of history. But things sure do appear bleak. Maybe it’s that the two main political parties — Where did the Whigs go, for God’s sake? — have retreated to the extreme fringes, finding no common cause between the 20-yard lines.
From the Right we get a thirst for homogeneity, fear of diversity, and retreat into the empty vacuums of nationalism and tribalism. Americans seem to agree we currently have a president who is succeeding in dividing us, either ham-handedly or for craven, partisan political purposes.
And from the Left, we get identity politics, accusations that everything the other side engages in constitutes a “war on [fill in the blank].” They pay lip service to a need for more civility and decorum in the discourse. But do they — do any of us — really mean it? Barack Obama recently resurfaced, and he lectured and hectored, as per his usual, about the need for decorum. Within the same speech, the former president continually mocked and derided his favorite foil, the Republican Party.
Too many historians and political pundits are warning us about this moment. I tend to listen to the ones who lived through the Civil Rights Era, and the inner-city riots, the domestic bombings, and the political assassinations of the tumultuous 1960s. Can it really be that we are at a tipping point or have arrived at a similar historical crossroads?
It’s been 17 years since I witnessed firsthand the coalition that didn’t adhere to any particular ideology and wasn’t defined by ethnicity or gender or class. It was a coalition of Americans. And it was united in response to an attack on our institutions, our peoples, and our values. Will we ever witness a return of that spirit?
I pray the 16th president’s prescience misses here and that we will avoid engineering our own destruction. No one wants another 9/11 to forcibly unite us as a nation. But our impenitent sin seems to be the inability to come together on anything beyond collective tragedy. Let’s use this sacred anniversary to redouble our efforts to strengthen our bonds as Americans.
James A. Gagliano (@JamesAGagliano) worked in the FBI for 25 years. He is a law enforcement analyst for CNN and an adjunct assistant professor in homeland security and criminal justice at St. John’s University.
