As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over the bright And darkened lands of the Earth, Obsessing our private lives; The unmentionable odour of death Offends the September night.
I'm not the first to recognize the parallels between the poem September 1st, 1939 and our own September tragedy, and I certainly won't be the last. Regardless, the similarities are striking. W.H. Auden, of course, never lived to see his beloved New York catch fire. Auden may have been writing about Hitler, human nature or just about being gay. It doesn't really matter to me. Just read the poem and try not to imagine the events of September the 11th.
If we are to believe the preamble, Auden wrote his poem in a dive on 52nd Street. I sit here watching Fox News, watching two old white men in dark suits and glasses vehemently agreeing with each other about everything (Roger Ailes' idea of a "panel" show), and I too know what all schoolchildren know: those to whom evil is done do evil in return.
These men hunger for war and retribution and their idea of justice. These old dogs who will never lift a gun for their country but can lift the flag -- oh boy, can they -- and talk of patriotism and virtue and manage to possess such a sneering contempt for anyone who begs to differ. Their world is black and white.
I think about Sept. 11, and it is clear to me now that the Bush administration has politicized it so utterly and completely that we barely notice anymore. Who still cringes when it is invoked to justify policy? Reaping political profit from the dead by using that tragic day to effectively silence critics is, to me, damn near sacrilegious. So is letting him get away with it.
As if that weren't enough, this week marked the unbelievable revelation that the Bush administration pressured the EPA to mislead the American public about the quality of air in Lower Manhattan, assuring everyone of its safety when in fact, according to Rep. Jerrold Nadler: "More than half the [9/11] rescue workers tested already report restrictive airway diseases. People [in Lower Manhattan] will be coming down with diseases, with lung cancer, for 15 to 20 years."
The $20 billion Bush promised initially hasn't arrived. New York has gotten close to $6 billion in relief funds, but at this point the trickle has slowed. As if that weren't bad enough, the portion of that sum that went to small businesses was retroactively taxed, to the dismay of many New Yorkers.
The thing about these guys is that it's not enough to promise one thing and do another. I could almost forgive a president who goes on TV, looks the country in the eye and says, "Hey. We screwed up with the attack, and then we screwed up with the relief effort. You'll get the funds as soon as possible." But, instead of honesty, the administration's solution is try and rewrite history with a ghastly cable docu-drama. One thing is for certain: this administration's dogged refusal to admit when it has erred will prove costly in the next election.
My detractors will sneer and assure me that the president does not need my forgiveness. But don't be so sure. Regardless of which poll you choose to support your argument, Bush's ratings are down, and Zogby has him running evenly with Al Gore. It would seem that the honeymoon is over. All it took was a ruptured economy, an American life a day in Iraq and the violation of an American tragedy.
I never thought that Bush was an evil man. I never even thought he was stupid, honestly. Inarticulate and utterly devoid of intellectual curiosity, yes, but coldly calculating nonetheless. But what am I supposed to think now? The Republican National Convention will be held blocks from Ground Zero, within days of Sept. 11, and Bush will no doubt take full advantage of that proximity. But Sept. 11 doesn't belong to him or his party, and I'm disgusted with him for believing his own spin and convincing himself that it does.
The decision by the Bush White House to treat Sept. 11 like they own it was a calculated one. We have yet to see how it will play out. Judging by the early returns, the wheels might finally be falling off for the Bush campaign. Or maybe not. In the end, I can't really hope for that. My wish is Auden's: that I, composed like them of Eros and dust, beleaguered by the same negation and despair, show an affirming flame. That's the best I can do.
Eliot Sherman is a junior English major from Philadelphia, Pa.
