I've been off the internet most of the day but there's still a bit of time to recount my incredibly banal where-I-was-on-9/11 story.
I had just started grad school. Between the time I'd left home to walk across campus to my office, the first plane had struck the North Tower. A large group of students, mostly management students, were already clustered around a lobby tv watching the news.
I truthfully cannot remember if I saw the second tower get struck or if it had also just happened. I've seen so many videos everything blurs together. Eventually I pulled myself away to get to my actual office, where I found fellow shocked students packing up to head home.
I eventually left, too. One thing remembrances often leave out is that so many people ran to the internet and their cell phones that it was very hard to get through to anybody or anything.
I was in Cambridge, just miles from where two of the four planes had taken off. Of course, airspace was quickly shut down across the country for several days. The only planes in the sky were Air Force fighter jets, which was very disconcerting.
Eventually, I got through to my grandmother, and I asked her what the actual moment of learning about Pearl Harbor was like. It was a comparison that millions of people were making. We talked about it for a while.
But here's the thing. It turns out it was a terrible historical analogy. Just world-historically bad. There were a million salient differences between Pearl Harbor and the attacks of 9/11, and yet people around the country–though fewer around the world–leaned into the analogy.
Most people who cited it probably did so–as I naively had–in an earnest effort to make sense of terrible tragedy.
And yet. It became the basis for several years of what became disastrous American foreign policy.
It was pushed by politicians, by journalists, by pundits.
The people who pointed out why it made little sense were–for several years–marginalize, mocked, and ignored. Some were harassed. But they were right.
Our stories about the past matter because we use them to make sense of our presents and make choices about our futures. And misguided stories can cause terrible damage.
All the more so when fueled by the most powerful military in the history of the planet in a country seeking retribution for a terrible attack.
On this 9/11 anniversary, I remember the thousands of lives lost that day, the many more over the two decades that followed because of choices made in the terrified weeks after, and those still struggling with loss.
And may we all remember to be careful about those promoting easy parallels between the past and the present. The world is a complicated place.
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Because this is making the rounds, it’s important to understand the broader context, and also how Texas Republicans did something foolish then tried to clean it up by doing something that also looks foolish.
When Texas Republicans passed their H.B. 3979, they tried to balance it’s misguided awfulness—and assuage critics—with a list of *positive* civil rights topics for teachers to continue to teach. It’s a good list! legiscan.com/TX/text/HB3979…
It’s also a ridiculously detailed and lengthy list in an already-confusing bill. Is every social studies class in Texas supposed to include every name, document, & event—in this bill? Does it supplement existing state standards? What gets cut to make room? Why these & not others?
My best understanding of the confusing nature of multiple universes within a single "Sacred Timeline" in the MCU: because of the efforts of the TVA, time is a circle (flat or otherwise). It repeats endlessly.
There are always tendencies to create branches–presumably every time something different could have happened, branch timelines form. For an unknown number of cycles, these have been pruned by the TVA.
But each loop–each arbitrarily chosen Sacred Timeline (well, arbitrary in that it's not uniquely good but the one He Who Remains/Immortus chose to privledge, perhaps because it led to him)–can be different so long as key things happen.
If you're not in Ohio, the legislature passed a bill at the 11th hour of its session to ban most public K-12 & colleges from requiring any vaccine only on an emergency authorization by the FDA (the covid vaccines). The governor said he's veto but at *his* 11th hour, signed it.
No definitive explanation publicly as to why, but presumably if he had, he believed the legislature would come back with something even worse. He's also hoping the EUAs become permanent FDA approval soon enough that the issue is moot.
If Graham ends up leading the charge to tank the bipartisan infrastructure bill, there’s a strong chance the inevitable partisan reconciliation bill will just suck it up and amp it up along with all the things Dems could do alone anyway.
Sure Republicans could argue for a political win (?) but it doesn’t actually decrease the chances of passing the reconciliation bill *and* they’ll be able to take no credit for the things they actually want. Oops.
I haven’t tweeted much about the origins of covid question because what do I know?
But it seems that short of some unlikely definitive proof it came from a lab (an admission by someone who was there, the announcement of stored samples there matching the SARS-CoV-2 genome), we’re never going to know for sure and this will always keep the lab theory alive.
““There’s no threat to the voting rights law. It’s against the law to discriminate in voting on the basis of race already,” the Kentucky Republican said Tuesday at a weekly press conference when asked about the legislation.”
Sure. The VRA is still there. But no pre-clearance.
That means that states and localities can’t be prevented from enacting voting restrictions and the Justice Department has to use its very limited resources to sue, one case at a time. Sure the VRA still exists. But it’s two orders of magnitude harder to enforce.
And Republican administrations just won’t bring VRA cases.