GROUND
ZERO PLUS 1093 DAYS, (4 DAYS TO GROUND
ZERO PLUS THREE YEARS)--New York, NY,
Tuesday, September 7, 2004--Nine
Twelve! Nine Twelve! Nine Twelve!
Sounds
like Chicken Little is crying that the sky is falling.
I
want to stick my head in the ground. Most people do.
Who
wants to live in the Shadow of the Beast of Terror?
Who
wants to cringe every time a tire blows out, or a plane flies
too low overhead, or a set of sirens scream?
Fear,
Intimidation and Complacency wear thin the nerves of people
who want security and safety--and, like we Americans--are
used to it as a way of life.
What
if the Terrorist attack on Nine Eleven was just an anomaly?
What if it was as rare as a shark attack, even rarer?
For
three years no Terrorist has attacked--don't we have the problem
under wraps?
Maybe
this is true for those who have agendas that preclude looking
over their shoulders and keeping their children within eye-
and ear-shot 24/7. But, if we all want to relax our grip on
the War On Terrorism and settle back into the comfort of our
easy chairs, nodding at Ground Zero as a legacy of the past
rather than a barometer for the future, then we can surrender
our Shields and Swords of Vigilance and stop taking the Pledge
of Vigilance daily.
Fundamentally,
it's over if we take that attitude.
November
2 will tell the world more about the status of America's Complacency.
If John Kerry is elected, it will mean the War on Terrorism
wasn't a popular political or economic plan for the average
American. It will mean we can throw the final shovel of dirt--at
least for the next four years--on the Ground Zero Graveyard,
shed a final tear, and get back to the business of building
our own wealth and restoring our own freedom rather than taking
on the world's problems.
We
can slip back into the safety and security of the American
Shell, licking our wounds and healing the dissent. We can
put Halliburton out of business and return our troops to the
safe, bloodless soil of America.
I
don't have a good feeling about November 2 because I don't
have a good feeling about September 11, 2004.
In
my own case, I sent out numerous press releases about our
website, vigilancevoice.com to various "respected"
media. Not one reply so far about a couple of grandparents
running a website for three years to fight Terrorism.
I
don't propose the story of our site equals the horror of Terrorists
in Russia, or competes with U.S. Open, or the powerful new
reality shows launching this week so television viewers can
have their minds absorbed by hard-hitting programs such as
Joey, or live for a couple of weeks in the homes of other
people who have Swapped Wives.
Terror
Hunting had its fifteen minutes of fame.
It
is a little difficult for me to accept that the world can
dispel the presence of the Beast of Terror so easily, but
then I'm not the collective conscience. If I was, I'd get
a job, bury my head at a desk, take home a check, pay the
bills, go to work, bury my head at the desk, take home another
check, pay more bills, and then go to work again.
I
sure as Hell wouldn't try to wake up a Complacent public drooling
to glue its eyes to the Fall Network Premiers, or scheduling
up Monday Night Football sports bars, or anxious to see the
Forest Hills tennis courts turned into fashion runways that
give tennis a second seat to the sport of looking good.
Sarcasm?
I'm
not sure.
It
may be just a matter of facing reality.
Over
the past few months I was denied by a major insurance company
eligibility of Ground Zero Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
They told me to go fly a Terrorist plane in essence.
They
refused to accept that for three years I have been crawling
in the belly of the Beast, hacking away at his viscera in
hopes that I might cripple his ability to strike Fear, Intimidation
and Complacency into the souls and hearts of children.
The
company, MONY Insurance, owned by AXA Financial, recently
sent me a letter telling me they would no longer respond to
my allegations that they treated me unfairly, applied bad
faith to my disability claim, forced me to sign a release
and surrender my insurance policies for a pittance of their
worth. I believe AXA and MONY have entered into the realm
of a new egregious act of corporate violence against the little
guy I choose to call Corporate Terrorism.
So,
as September 11, 2004 approaches, there is a dark cloud hanging
over my head about the futility of fighting for what I consider
are the rights of the Children's Children's Children.
On
the surface, one might see the pendulum swinging away from
the horror of Ground Zero and toward a planting of flowers
where bombs once scarred the earth.
But
then one has to avoid watching television or going to the
movies to fall that deep into Complacent Somnolency.
The
damn Terrorists are attacking schools and children across
the Big Pond, and forcing mothers to choose which child will
die.
Of
course, because the distance is a few thousand miles and the
nation is Russia, Americans might think that Terrorists are
bound by national borders. But, if they didn't read the papers
closely, they probably missed the fact that half of the Terrorists
in Russia were from other nations.
Hmmmm?
Then,
today my wife and I went to the movie Suspect Zero. It starred
Ben Kingley as a Terror Hunter.
Kingsley
was tracking down serial killers--who happened to target children
and the young--and killing them.
The
movie was disturbing because it involved the deaths of hundreds
upon hundreds of children throughout the United States by
a Terrorist--a serial killer--that was an American.
It
made you wonder if perhaps Terrorism exists right here at
home, and the War On Terrorism isn't about blowing up Osama
bin Laden and parading his head on a stick as much as it requires
each of us to take a closer look at our own back yards and
ferret out the Fear, Intimidation and Complacency that can
make a child cringe and cry and walk throughout life with
a crippled soul.
I
certainly don't understand why MONY or AXA refused to sit
down with me and discuss a settlement to the pain and anguish
they caused me. They claimed "no fault" while I
submitted to them countless pages of errors, faults, discretions
and violations of my rights and my wife's rights.
They
are far too busy with other agendas to address mine, as a
busy parent is far too busy to spend time with his or her
children and find out what is really going on inside them.
That
brings me to today, and the conundrum I face as September
11, 2004 approaches.
I
am being asked by the anniversary if I really believe a Nine
Twelve will occur? Do I believe Terrorism will attack again,
as it so dramatically and horribly did on September 11, 2001?
I
have but one answer to that.
Terrorism
has always been and always will be. All Nine Eleven represented
was an exclamation point of its existence and of America's
vulnerability.
We've
had our own Terrorists walk into schools and kill fellow classmates,
and our own mad bombers blow up children and buildings with
fertilizer as the explosive, and our Corporate Rapists ravaging
the wealth of thousands who trusted them with their life savings.
We've
had a President lie to the American public and be swept into
fame rather than disgrace for his "indiscretions"
and another launch us into war despite a world that didn't
want to upset the tyrannical apple cart.
We
have our French critics passing laws that disallow the wearing
of religious headgear while Terrorists hold knives to the
throats of two of two of their journalists, threatening to
cut their jugulars if the law isn't reversed.
Terrorism
going away?
It's
as though we've forgotten about Kim Jong Il in South Korea,
polishing up his nuclear missiles and readying his nation
to fight to the death--and because ea vast majority are starving,
they have nothing to lose in such a battle.
But
should I fight on for the Children's Children's Children,
or, should I go after MONY and AXA to make right what they
have ripped from my hands and my wife's hands as they hide
behind thick corporate legal walls and constant denial that
they have in any way "wronged me?"
Or,
should I just hang up my spurs and get a job as a copywriter
or book editor and bury my face in the desk and get a check,
pay the bills, go to work, bury my face in the desk, get a
check, pay the bills and go to work?
Every
time I think of that I see the executives of AXA and MONY
wiping their behinds with the documents I sent them and laughing
at the temerity of a little guy like me challenging an insurance
company that handles nearly $1 trillion in assets and enjoys
tens of thousands of employees.
I
also see the shattered, burned, charred, dismembered bodies
of the thousands who died at Ground Zero on Nine Eleven walking
in a long line, carrying their heads, some hobbling on a leg,
others crawling because they have no legs, some dragging those
with no heads or arms or legs, others wheelbarrowing the parts
of those so fragmented that only bits and pieces remain, on
what might be called a Battan Death March.
They
are sad. Caked blood rivuleting down their faces and chest
is thick with flies feasting on the last drops oozing from
decaying flesh of those whose bodies were buried so deep some
semblance of their former state remained.
There
are men and women of all sizes, shapes, ethnicity, speaking
a global range of languages, from all stations of status and
economics from the El Salvadorian with the mop, to the shoe
shine man from Mexico, to the CEO of multi-national company,
to the grandmothers, grandfathers, uncles, aunts, mothers,
fathers, cousins, nephews, nieces and countless loved ones
forming a ragtag Circle of Vigilance over Ground Zero.
Once,
I saw them as strong, Vigilance Warriors, banging on their
Shields of Vigilance with the Swords of Vigilance alerting
the world and public to be Semper Vigilantes--Always Vigilant.
They
were whole then, their bodies reinstated by the pride and
belief in the Spirit of Vigilance. I saw them rise out of
the ashes at Ground Zero. I saluted them. I vowed to honor
them and to preserve their memory and legacy with my life.
Now,
that vision is tattered. I see the wounded warriors of Nine
Eleven, the sad Spirits of Vigilance stumbling about the Heavens,
wandering lost souls reaching out into the night in hopes
they will find a welcome hand.
In
the new television series Rescue Me, Denis Leary constantly
sees and talks to the dead. They aren't a happy bunch. They
look at him with empty, sad eyes, as if waiting for him to
hoist them on his shoulders and carry them to some place where
they might find eternal rest.
I
feel much like Leary's character. When I see him looking and
talking to the dead, I feel an icy chill within me, as though
I have let down the thousands who died on Nine Eleven by not
ringing Bell of Vigilance louder, by not awakening the Complacent
to protect themselves and their children from the inevitable
Nine Twelve.
I
feel the axe that MONY and AXA Financial struck in my back
by denying any recognition of my Ground Zero Post Traumatic
Stress Disorder splitting me apart, forcing me to realize
that the Beast of Corporate Terror is so huge and full of
venom that any attempt on my part to bring him to his knees
is like holding hands in hopes the tides will stop.
But
I keep waking at night screaming...screaming...screaming...
Last
night I sat up yelling angrily... My wife had left the bedroom,
as though she knew in advance the demons were about to erupt.
I've
been wondering if they know what's preying deep in my mind--that
maybe I'm considering that there isn't going to be a Nine
Twelve, and even if there is, that I can't do a damn thing
about it.
Like
fighting MONY and AXA for justice: I'll be an old, perhaps
dead man by the time the battle is over, and MONY and AXA
will be skipping along as Corporate Terrorism washes away
with the tides of time--and, legions of attorneys who surge
in and out to beat the ants off the elephant.
However,
as I try and slide to one side of the razor's edge--the one
that's the dullest--I keep hearing the cries of the Sentinels
of Vigilance: Semper Vigilantes! Semper Vigilantes!
They
are reminding me of the vow I made to them on the morning
of September 11, 2001 as I sat in the rubble thankful to be
alive, the visions of their bodies flying through the air
to death freshly imprinted upon my soul.
They
want me to remember the halo of white that whirred around
the burning towers that I thought were doves at first and
then realized were millions of pieces of papers caught in
the vortex of the holocaust, and that Pledge I made to never
forget to remind others to remember that they didn't die.
The
Sentinels of Vigilance still hover over Ground Zero even if
they are battered and their flesh hangs from skeletal remains,
and their voices fade with the winds of time. They are as
present there as are the Spartans who fought for the legacy
of Thermopiles when the Persians tried to crush the five-hundred
with 200,000 and were turned back.
I
cannot bury the Sentinels of Vigilance no matter how much
I feel the weight of defeat on my shoulders, for beyond the
cry of those who died on Nine Eleven are the cries of the
children of Nine Twelve.
To
surrender my Sword and Shield of Vigilance is be ingested
by the Beast of Terror. It is to give up my beliefs for the
safety and security of my grandchildren, and their grandchildren.
As
these final days of the Eve of Vigilance once more approach,
I must rearm my thoughts and renew my Pledge of Vigilance
to fight Terrorism's many nefarious forms.
That
includes taking on Corporate Terrorism and MONY and AXA no
matter what the result, for if I surrender to Terrorism's
yoke, I become a conspirator, allowing the crime to unfold
when I could have done whatever possible to thwart it.
There
will be a Nine Twelve.
I
will do my best to be ready for it, and to offer those who
know there will be one the tools to defend their children
from its shadow.
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