On Tuesday morning, September 11, I was teaching at Harvard’s John F. Kennedy School in Cambridge. As the fall semester was getting underway, I watched in horror as the television showed the second terrorist plane crashing into the Twin Towers.
In Chapter 34 of my new memoir, THE EDUCATION OF A SENATOR: FROM JFK TO TRUMP, I write about how I tried to call our daughter Kathryn, who was living in Brooklyn. I thought about how five years earlier, during the presidential race, no candidate except Sen. Richard Lugar had even mentioned terrorism. It was Friday before the first Southwest plane flew to Nashville. I was one of three passengers. Before boarding, I removed my shoes, some clothes, was patted down, searched, and delayed—experiencing for the first time the permanent indignity that a few terrorists had inflicted on tens of millions of travelers.
I watched the national conversation shift from what pulls us apart to what pulls us together. Suddenly, Americans were again saying that diversity is important, but that our greatest strength is something different.
“No other nation has so successfully combined people of different races and nations into a single culture,” was how Margaret Thatcher explained it.
Throughout most of our country’s life, the national conversation had been a public classroom for teaching belief in the principles that allowed citizens of all backgrounds to say, “We are all Americans.” At the beginning of the twentieth century, as President Theodore Roosevelt was inveighing against “hyphenated Americanism,” institutions from Boys and Girls Scouts to Kiwanis Clubs “Americanized” a surge of immigrants.
During World War II, President Franklin Roosevelt made sure that those who charged the beaches of Normandy knew they were fighting for Four Freedoms. The chief Americanizing institution was the public school.
“The public school was created to help immigrant children learn the three Rs, and what it means to be an American, with a hope they would go home and teach their parents,” American Federation of Teachers President Albert Shanker said. McGuffey’s Readers sold 120 million copies to create a common culture of literature, patriotic speeches, and historical references, according to Diane Ravitch.
But for forty years, the conversation about what it means to be an American had been heading in a different direction. New waves of immigration, new cultural attitudes, and new scholarships had been challenging the notion that the greatest accomplishment of the United States of America, after establishing freedom and democracy, had been to find a way to unite its diversity into one country. Public schools had become reluctant to teach core values because teachers were afraid to answer the question, “Whose values?”
Americans were ignoring the country’s original motto—three Latin words engraved above the presiding officer’s chair in the Senate, 𝘌 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘶𝘮 — “Out of many, one.”
“We have too much pluribus and not enough unum,” filmmaker Ken Burns said.
“If it were many out of one, we would be the United Nations, not the United States of America,” Huntington wrote.
At least for a while, America’s response to 9/11 was to celebrate unity over diversity. After 9/11, television did the Americanizing, displaying patriotic exercises, prayers in prime time, President Bush’s visit to the Islamic Center, and NFL players reciting the Declaration of Independence.
At Thanksgiving, Bush spoke of “the American character.”
At the Kennedy School, Al Gore said, “We should honor their memories by fighting for the values that bind us together as a country.”
The Republican and Democratic presidential contestants of the previous year were saying the same thing, invoking a traditional, value-based national identity. Americans were listening.
This is an excerpt from THE EDUCATION OF A SENATOR.