Opinion: At 9.58am Eastern time, Tuesday September 11th, 2001, United Airlines Flight 93 crashed in a field in Pennsylvania.
Why? As UPI's Jim Bennett wrote: "The era of Osama lasted about an hour-and-a-half or so, from the time the first plane hit the tower to the moment the general militia of Flight 93 reported for duty." Exactly right. Six decades earlier, the American people had to wait four months between Pearl Harbor and the retaliatory Doolittle Raid. But September 11th was Pearl Harbor and the Doolittle Raid wrapped up in 90 minutes. Flight 93 was supposed to be the fourth of Osama's flying bombs, its destination either the White House or the Capitol. If not for quirks of flight scheduling and al-Qaeda personnel management, the headlines would have included: "The vice-president is still among the missing, presumed dead." Had Flight 93 sheared the top of the White House, that would have been the day's "money shot", as it was in the alien-invasion film Independence Day - the shattered facade, smoke billowing, the seat of American power reduced to rubble. But the dopey hijackers assigned to Flight 93 were halfway across the continent before they made their move and started meandering back east. And, by the time the passengers began calling home on their cellphones, their families knew what had happened in New York.
Todd Beamer couldn't get through to his wife, so the last conversation of his life was with the GTE telephone operator, who stayed on the line with him and overheard his final words: "Are you ready, guys? Let's roll." And then a brave group of passengers jumped their hijackers and at the cost of their own lives, prevented that day's grim toll rising even higher. At a terrible moment for America, their heroism was the only victory. Four years on, plans for the Flight 93 National Memorial have now been revealed. The winning design, chosen from 1,011 entries, will be built in that pasture in Pennsylvania where those heroes died. The memorial is called "The Crescent of Embrace".
That sounds like a fabulous winning entry - in a competition to create a note-perfect parody of effete multicultural responses to terrorism. Indeed, if anything, it's too perfect a parody: the "embrace" is just the usual huggy-weepy reconciliatory boilerplate, but the "crescent" transforms its cultural abasement into something truly spectacular.
In the design plans, "The Crescent of Embrace" looks more like the embrace of the Crescent - ie, Islam. After all, what better way to demonstrate your willingness to "embrace" your enemies than by erecting a giant Islamic crescent at the site of the day's most unambiguous episode of American heroism? Okay, let's get all the "of courses" out of the way - of course, the overwhelmingly majority of Muslims aren't terrorists; of course, we all know "Islam" means "peace" and "jihad" means "healthy-lifestyle lo-carb granola bar", etc, etc. Nevertheless, the men who hijacked Flight 93 did it in the name of Islam and their last words as they hit the Pennsylvania sod were no doubt "Allahu Akhbar". One would like to think that even today one would be unlikely to come across an Allied D-Day memorial called the Swastika of Embrace. Yet Paul Murdoch, the architect, has somehow managed to conceive a design that makes a splendid memorial to the hijackers rather than their victims.
Four years ago, most of us understood instinctively the courage of Flight 93. They were honoured not just by chickenhawks and neocons and Zionists and the usual suspects but even by celebrities. The leathery old rocker Neil Young wrote a dark driving anthem called Let's Roll that began with cellphones ringing. Then: "I know I said I love you. I know you know it's true. I got to put the phone down. And do what we gotta do. One's standing in the aisle way. Two more at the door. We got to get inside there Before they kill some more."
Granted, even then, there were a lot of folks eager to "embrace" their enemies. The day after September 11th, Robert Daubenspeck of White River Junction, Vermont, wrote to my local newspaper advising against retaliation: "Someone, someday, must have the courage not to hit back but to look them in the eye and say, 'I love you'." That's not as easy as it sounds. If you try to look Richard Reid the shoebomber in the eye as he's bending down to light the fuse sticking out of his sock, you could easily put your back out.
But each to his own. If Mr Murdoch sincerely believes in a "crescent of embrace", let him build one, in his own name, on his own turf. To impose it on Flight 93 - to, in effect, hijack those passengers a second time - is an abomination. Flight 93 is about what happens when you understand that some things can't be embraced. Perhaps Mr Beamer and the rest did indeed "look them in the eye" and saw there was nothing to negotiate, nothing to "embrace". So they acted and faced with a novel and unprecedented form of terror, they stopped it cold in little more than an hour. Todd Beamer asked that telephone operator join him in reciting the 23rd Psalm: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death." He knew there would be no happy ending that day, but in their resourcefulness and sacrifice he and his fellow passengers gave their country the next best thing: a hopeful ending. That's what the Flight 93 Memorial should be honouring. Instead, in its feeble cultural cringe, the Crescent of Embrace hands the terrorists of Flight 93 the victory they were denied on September 11th. And it profoundly dishonours Todd Beamer and other forgotten heroes of that flight.
Most of us are all but resigned to losing the Ground Zero memorial to a pile of non-judgmental if not explicitly anti-American pap: The minute you involve big-city politicians and foundations and funding bodies and "artists" you're on an express chute to the default mode of the cultural elite. But surely it's not too much to hope that the very precise, specific, individual, human scale of one great act of American heroism need not be buried under another soggy dollop of prettified passivity.
Four years ago, Todd Beamer's rallying cry was quoted by presidents and rock stars alike. That's all that's needed in Pennsylvania: the kind of simple, dignified memorial you see on small-town commons honouring civil war veterans, a granite block with the names of the passengers and the words "Let's roll". The "Crescent of Embrace", in its desperation to see no enemies and stand for nothing, represents a shameful modification: Are you ready, guys? Let's roll over.