9-11: A 10-Year-Old Child of the Very Old Family of Violence

September 12, 2011

Today I take a shift from more psychologically-inspired writings to reflect on 9/11. I feel sorrow for individuals who lost their loved ones ten years ago; their lives have been changed forever. I also remember the New Yorkers who proclaimed, "our cry of grief is not a call to war" shortly after the Twin Towers fell. That aspect of our national saga, the quest for peace in a time when the dragon of war reared its head was one that was largely unmentioned on this national day of remembrance. It's to that spirit that I dedicate today's blog post. This is from my spiritual/travel memoir-in-progress, about war, peace, and Buddhism in Asia. It will also be published in my new book "a fox peeks out: poems" due out by the end of September.

From Varanasi, I fly to Delhi, where the spiritual merges with the political once again. I spend most of my last day in India paying homage to her father and founding hero, Mohandas Gandhi. I visit the Raj Ghat Gandhi memorial, where an eternal flame burns and flowers are ever visible on the black marble, as I hope his example will be eternally visible for all mankind. From there, I return to Birla House, his last residence. I pore over an exhibit which details Gandhi's days in South Africa, deepening my appreciation for his monumental life. On June 7, 1893, he was forcefully thrown from a whites-only train compartment in Petermaritzburg; the blatant racism humiliated, shocked and angered him. His grandson said at the centennial anniversary of that event that "Mohandas Gandhi was not flung here, he was launched." He could have left for greener pastures or acceded to prejudice, but he became committed to a cause greater than himself. He engaged in legal and political struggle on behalf of Indians in South Africa for thirteen years, and then reached a further turning point. The South African government had just passed a restrictive law forcing "Indian men, women and children over the age of 8 to register with the authorities, submit to fingerprinting and accept a certificate which they were to carry with them at all times." Those who refused could be imprisoned, fined or deported. How should he and his compatriots behave in the face of these consequences, not to mention abuse, violence and even death? Gandhi awakened to the principles of truth and non-violence – satya and ahimsa. He also took a personal vow of celibacy, saying he could not follow both spirit and flesh. While remaining committed to the struggle for social justice, he transcended politics with his commitment to spiritual means of transformation. He was convinced that true justice could only emerge from peaceful, moral, active struggle by individuals unwavering in their dedication to the laws of satya and ahimsa. The lawyer became the Mahatma. Satyagraha – truth – or soul-force – was born. The date: September 11, 1906.

The date reverberates in my mind. 9/11, then and now. Each 9/11 a repudiation of the other, a century-long point-counterpoint on human nature; cataclysm and redemption vibrating from the same date, the date whose numbers themselves are a cry for help. From 1906, a century issued forth with millions dead, violence unleashed in horrors never before seen; and alongside it, born from it, the halting steps of peace. Like a cherry seed grows into a tree, all our nature's exposed in bloody leaves and fragrant bloom. And here too, our century, marked first by violent strike, and then by violent response, and violence is unended. Will we go on, unending thus – promises and vows to peace like lonely beacons on the eternal plains of war? Or will we, like Ashoka, stand and view our carnage – then end it? Will we change from Angulimala to Ahimsaka? What answers our 9-1-1?

The Sufi saint calls to me, and once again, I visit his tomb. I fold cranes for the gathered children, and make vows of my own. I sleep, inspired and hopeful, my last night in the land of my birth. I dream of wolves lying down with cows. In my dream, only the wolves are fearful. They seem small and frail against the resting cows, who breathe deeply in the sun and endless green pasture. I pet them till their trembling stops.

Note: Angulimala (meaning "thousand-finger necklace") was a bandit and murderer who thought that killing others would add to his power. He encountered the Buddha, who profoundly and deeply affected him, causing him to reform and renounce violence to become a monk. He took the new name Ahimsaka, meaning "non-violent one." Ashoka was a great conquering Emperor in third-century BCE India, who similarly renounced violence after seeing the carnage of his last battle and encountering a Buddhist monk.

© Ravi Chandra, M.D. All rights reserved.

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Library of Congress image from December, 2001. By Jim Costanza.