Call me crazy…Posted: September 14, 2013 | |
In this case, that’s not simply a turn of phrase.
I know that after reading this edition of HerJoyfulNoise, there may be those of you who will think there’s a good chance that, all kidding aside, my elevator isn’t going all the way to top. I’m about to make a confession, another coming out if you will (and this one might actually be tougher than the first), but after a dozen years, I think I’m finally ready to admit this aloud.
Hello. I’m Joy and I’m…a Truther.
That is to say that 12 years after 9/11, I’m even more convinced that we have not been told the whole story.
There are a couple of reasons for my willingness to admit to being one of “those people” now—a perfect storm of political reflection that happened at my most vulnerable time of year.
Despite the fact that if I could vote in the U.S., I’d be a loyal democrat, watching the build up to an attack on Syria made me angry. The president seemed to want it too much; he seemed to be working harder to convince the American people that this needed to be done than he had in convincing Republicans that public health care was necessary, that taxing the ultra rich was a good thing, that equal access to marriage is something everyone should have. He seemed disappointed that it wasn’t going to happen, which made me think about an old Wesley Clark interview, a list of seven targeted countries and New World Order documents that invited a Pearl Harbour-esque event for America to succeed in Empire-building and oil domination.
Then there was a local situation that wound me up. The Rethink 911 group, which includes a whole lot of very smart people, engineering and architectural types who want the events of that day re-investigated for real this time, have awareness campaigns running in 12 cities around the world. My city is one of them. In fact, on Tuesday, I noticed one of the 300 banners they’ve put in local city buses. Banners that might have come down if a local counselor had managed to get things to go her way. But in the end she didn’t. Our mayor finally came out in favor of free speech. Grudgingly. But it angered me that rather than try to run a decent city bus service, this counselor felt her time was better served in censoring ads she felt showed disrespect to the 9/11 dead. Hey lady, leave my morals alone, just make sure the #87 shows up so I get to work on time.
She was sternly taken to task in the local paper’s comment section and in social media. There’s a lot more of us than I ever realized before, even here in Canada. Perhaps that’s another reason why I’m finally coming forth with this—safety in numbers. Gradually, more and more people are admitting they feel this way. We’re not alone–and we’re not stereotypical conspiracy nuts either. We’re just people with doubts about what we’ve been told. People who believe the laws of physics don’t allow for exceptions.
I’m not going to go into the myriad of holes in the official story—there are too many books and articles and websites and videos out there for those who want to know more about the information and evidence that didn’t get heard in the 9/11 Commission. I could mention that it took more than 400 days until the administration of the time even consented to a commission…and they picked the major players. I could call attention to the fact that a lot of survivors and others connected with the day who had potentially damning knowledge all managed to wind up dead before the commission could call on them. I could point to the fact that no building the scale of either tower has, in the history of the world, has ever pancaked on itself due to fire. There’s the fact that hundreds of people who know how buildings are built and taken down say it was a demolition. I’m not going to talk about the gold in the sub-basement that was removed via military vehicles at night in August 2001, or the fact that technology hadn’t evolved enough for cell phone calls to be made from a plane 12 years ago. I won’t question how a guy who could barely get a Cessna off the ground completed a complicated maneuver into the Pentagon with a 757. Or why didn’t we scramble fighter jets once the terrorists’ intentions were clear.
And #7 World Trade Centre, the building that held the emergency control centre for the city of New York—and a whole lot of bank documents from the very institutions the same administration later bailed out—I’m not even going to mention that.
Truth is, there are still too many questions and the answers given just don’t make sense. Remember, the big lie is the easiest one to believe—because we never assume anyone would have the guts to tell it.
Why would some anonymous “they” do it? Well, two illegal wars and what clearly appears to be a hankering for a third might be motive enough. I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter which house is in power, the American military industrial complex (haven’t heard that term in a while, have we? Break out the tie-dye!) won’t be happy until, to paraphrase an episode of The West Wing, there’s an American flag flying over Mecca.
As for respect for the victims of 9/11—we owe it to the dead, and to those they left behind, to discover and make public what really happened. That’s the highest respect we could pay them…that and to ensure that whatever or whomever was behind this tragedy doesn’t get away with it.
Besides, not believing the cover story in no way interferes with my emotions about that day. They’re still pretty raw. Every September 11th, I manage to have a really good cry, one of those breakdown, sobbing, wet-face and neck events that leaves me exhausted. This year it was the nearly 12-year-old born after his grandfather died in the towers, who read his name and said he hoped his granddad would be proud of him, who set me off. There’s always one who gets to me.
I think this kid deserves the truth. And that doesn’t make me crazy. It makes me a caring human being who simply isn’t buying the crazy story we’ve been sold.
So that’s the confession. I don’t believe the official story of 9/11. I want to know the truth, but I have a feeling it won’t come out in my lifetime. Still, the more of us who come out of the closet, the more of us who keep asking questions, the more nerve-wracking it has to be for those keeping the truth from us.
And crazy as it sounds, at least that’s something.