True Allegiance

A murmur carried through the crowd. The voice continued, and suddenly a few of the cameras swung around from facing Prescott toward the lone protester. It was a woman, overweight, wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt with holes in it, her hair chopped short. “YOU DID THIS, MR. PRESIDENT! MY HUSBAND IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS RIVER BECAUSE OF YOU, MR. PRESIDENT!”

Prescott tried to seize back the moment, kept speaking into the sky: “A power that believes in America just as we believe in Him, and who will guide us through difficult times that try us…”

“MR. PRESIDENT, YOU OWE US ALL ANSWERS!”

Now all the cameras were turning to face this woman. Members of the Secret Service closed in around her, seeing her as a potential threat. Prescott could already see how it would play out on the evening news: crying victim hustled away as the president of the United States looked on.

It wouldn’t go down that way. That was no iconic moment. This woman was about to undermine the nation’s unity in order to place blame, not on the terrorists who had committed the atrocity, but on the government that tried to stop it. Prescott could feel his stomach clench in anger. Instead, he stopped, looked directly at the woman, and then held up his hands to the Secret Service. “Stop,” he said. “Let her speak. We are all grieving.”

One of the Secret Service men had his hand on the woman’s upper arm by this point. She shook it off roughly. Then she started pushing her way to the front of the crowd, shoving members of the press aside. Prescott waited for her, seething quietly. When she got to the front, she climbed up onto the makeshift stage. Prescott could see the hatred in her eyes, could feel the rage. Her hands were shaking. In one of them was a photo. She held it up: a picture of her husband, gray mustache, heavyset, sixties. The microphones picked up her words. “Have you seen my husband, Mr. President?”

He shook his head dumbly.

“I didn’t think so. He drives that bridge every single day to get to his job. I’m sure he was on it when it collapsed. You promised, Mr. President, to keep us safe. I know, because I voted for you. You promised that bringing our troops home would change everything, that ending those wars would make us safer here at home. And now I’m asking,” she choked back tears, “if we’re really safe. How can we be really safe after this? My husband won’t ever come home again, probably, because you didn’t keep us safe. He served his country in Vietnam, and he came back to this country, and all he asked was that our country honor his service. How can you keep us safe?” She stared at him, eyes glowing.

And he suddenly saw a way forward. He leaned forward, let a tear roll down his cheek, and hugged her. She tried to pull away, initially; he held her tighter. Finally, he felt her sob against his chest, the tension go out of her body. The cameras flashed around him.

The moment.

Time stood still. This was the image he’d been seeking ever since his election: Compassionate. Caring. Strong.

Now he waved for a couple of Secret Service agents to come forward and usher her from the stage. They moved quickly; within moments, he was onstage alone again, the sun reflecting brightly off the river.

He spoke slowly, deliberately.

The moment.

“We have made mistakes,” he said, gesturing to the woman. “I have made mistakes. Those mistakes were made out of a desire for revenge against others, out of a desire to strike back against those who hurt us. We go to war to protect ourselves, but we end up weakening ourselves. Vengeance is God’s, we know. Our job is to build.

“And build we will. Safety does not lie in aggression. It does not lie in defensiveness. It lies in our continual demonstration to the world that we will build, no matter what comes. Together, we will raise this bridge again, greater than it ever was before. Together, we will rekindle our relationship with each other, frayed and fractured thanks to the exigencies of war.

“We will not be hampered by the past. Our swords will be beaten into plowshares.” He motioned out over the thousands of American troops now working along the shoreline. “Our bravest and finest men and women will be put to work rebuilding; no more nation-building abroad. Thousands upon thousands of those men and women are coming to New York, to rebuild, to revitalize. It’s time to build ourselves up here at home.

“Now, some will ask whether such actions bring safety. And here is what I say: Safety does not come through the fear of the gun or the height of our walls. Safety comes from love. Yes,” he continued, “love. Love for each other. Care for each other. Sacrifice for each other. And that’s what I’m going to ask of all Americans now. Not anger, not lashing out, not blame or knee-jerk reactions. Love. Love your neighbor. Love your country. Stand together. And together we will rise. For in times like this, in times of tragedy and horror, it is love we most need.”