The Berlin Wall fell a few months after I was born. The Soviet Union collapsed when I was still a toddler.
Growing up in the '90s, you had an overwhelming sense that history had ended. Not completely, of course. There were lots of little wars, in little countries no one cared about. Jim Lehrer kept on talking about Bosnia for some reason. And something called the Internet happened at some point.
But face it: life was good. The cosmic struggle over the fate of the world had ended. On September 11, 1990, as the first Gulf War loomed, the first President Bush famously set the tone for the next decade:
Out of these troubled times, our fifth objective -- a new world order -- can emerge: a new era -- freer from the threat of terror, stronger in the pursuit of justice, and more secure in the quest for peace. An era in which the nations of the world, East and West, North and South, can prosper and live in harmony.
In a matter of months, the United States brought one of the largest military forces in the world to its knees. And a decade later, it really did seem like a new world. America ruled, computers were everywhere, and the Furby promised to delight children of all ages with its ability to mimic human speech.
As my family and friends rang in the start of a new millennium, I didn't know what the future would hold. But as I stood in the warmth of the Hawaiian winter, I knew my world would be better and safer than the world my parents and grandparents had grown up in.
On the night of September 10th, 2001, there was a scheduled power outage in our neighborhood. My family decided to turn the event into a kind of family bonding experience. We were all going to sleep together in the living room. Like a sleepover, but without the friends, or fun. Or electricity.
When I woke up the next morning, the power was back on. Almost everyone had made their way back to their own rooms. I drowsily rolled off my sofa bed and wandered into the hallway. I could hear the TV on in my parents' room.
I walked in, and saw a skyscraper in New York collapsing. Another was on fire.
I hadn't seen enough movies to immediately recognize the Twin Towers, but I knew a lot of Americans were dying, and things were about to change.
History was starting again.
It felt like we were stuck in front of the television for days, waiting for things to make sense. When President Bush gave his address to the nation, I felt more proud of my country that I ever had before, and probably ever will.
(A lot of people wonder how Bush managed to sneak into a second term. I think it's because 62 million people didn't forget that speech.)
Like most Americans, I felt everything that day. Terror. Sadness. Anger. But that night, I wrote a typically matter-of-fact entry in my journal:
A month later, I wrote a follow up, with the appropriate heading "America Strikes Back:"
Today, America is drowning in debt, and divided. We're still fighting in Afghanistan. The President tells us that we're done fighting in Iraq -- but the 50,000 troops that remain tell a different story. We have no leaders. Liberals are stabbing each other in the back, while conservatives fawn over a self-proclaimed rodeo clown and an unemployed hockey mom.
When the masses celebrated the start of the new millennium on January 1, 2000, smart people scoffed. They knew that the 21st century wouldn't really start until 2001.
On the night of September 10th, 2001, there was a scheduled power outage in our neighborhood. My family decided to turn the event into a kind of family bonding experience. We were all going to sleep together in the living room. Like a sleepover, but without the friends, or fun. Or electricity.
When I woke up the next morning, the power was back on. Almost everyone had made their way back to their own rooms. I drowsily rolled off my sofa bed and wandered into the hallway. I could hear the TV on in my parents' room.
I walked in, and saw a skyscraper in New York collapsing. Another was on fire.
I hadn't seen enough movies to immediately recognize the Twin Towers, but I knew a lot of Americans were dying, and things were about to change.
History was starting again.
It felt like we were stuck in front of the television for days, waiting for things to make sense. When President Bush gave his address to the nation, I felt more proud of my country that I ever had before, and probably ever will.
(A lot of people wonder how Bush managed to sneak into a second term. I think it's because 62 million people didn't forget that speech.)
Like most Americans, I felt everything that day. Terror. Sadness. Anger. But that night, I wrote a typically matter-of-fact entry in my journal:
September 11, 2001, a date that shall live in infamy. Today, terrorists completely destroyed the world trade center twin towers, and damaged the pentagon. They did so by highjacking 4 airliners, and crashing into their targets. One plane crashed in a field and did no damage. The death toll is not yet confirmed.
A month later, I wrote a follow up, with the appropriate heading "America Strikes Back:"
Shortly after the attacks on the WTC it was confirmed that the hijackers were members of Al-Qaeda, a terrorist organization headed by Osama Bin Laden. This organization has been credited with the bombing of the USS Cole. The organization, which is based in Afghanistan, has been tolerated and supported by Afghanistan's Taliban regime. In a speech, president George W. Bush called the terrorist attacks "an act of war" and condemned the Taliban regime.
On Sunday, October 7, 2001, the U.S began launching air strikes on Afghanistan.
Today, America is drowning in debt, and divided. We're still fighting in Afghanistan. The President tells us that we're done fighting in Iraq -- but the 50,000 troops that remain tell a different story. We have no leaders. Liberals are stabbing each other in the back, while conservatives fawn over a self-proclaimed rodeo clown and an unemployed hockey mom.
When the masses celebrated the start of the new millennium on January 1, 2000, smart people scoffed. They knew that the 21st century wouldn't really start until 2001.
They were right.
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