The Mourning After
The Mourning After
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之后的哀悼
DOI：
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发表时间：
2002
期刊：
影响因子：
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通讯作者：
M. Fine
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文献类型：
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作者：
M. Fine
你可以通过他们的微笑来判断谁死了或失踪了。他们的照片点缀在地铁、渡轮、火车和港务局码头，令人震惊地充满了喜悦、舒适和快乐。他们还没来得及知道我们现在知道的事情就死了。活着的人坐在地铁和火车上，眼睛是空洞的；没有微笑；肩膀向下。5000人死亡，而且死亡人数仍在增加，这还不包括家人无法辨别的非法工人，以及家人不知道的无家可归的男男女女。每天晚上，数以百万计的噩梦惊醒和惊醒，孤独和黑暗，在整个大都市地区。伦敦金融城的空气中弥漫着烟雾、肉体、恐惧、记忆、乌云和悄悄蔓延的民族主义。我的侄女是华尔街的一名公交车司机，她描述说，当她弃车而去时，冒出的浓烟“沿着街道追着我”。现在，大量的旗帜、关于上帝、军事和爱国主义的言论追逐着我们所有人。寻找一个有意义的图标--国旗的担忧，感觉就像是战争的窗帘。全球是全球化的两倍。我的学生告诉我，即使是鸽子与和平的象征，也感觉像是代际帝国主义。我们用越南来笼罩这种恐怖，只是为了让我们中那些还记得60年代的人熟悉它。来自北爱尔兰、加沙、澳大利亚、以色列和新西兰的朋友们充满爱意的电子邮件让我感到安慰和羞辱，我认识到，当然，我不会在他们的国家每次炸弹爆炸时都给他们发电子邮件。我/我们在谁的身体/谁的悲剧/谁的土地更重要的帝国演算中串通了多少？尽管如此，一个学生的丈夫走了；邻居的男孩成了孤儿；孩子们在学校等着没有出现的父母；汽车闲置着，仍然停在通勤的停车场里。我们已经认识到了孤立的脆弱性。布什和他的同事们走出了京都的环境会议和南非的种族主义会议。与世隔绝和特权，这是一个危险的组合。无懈可击的幻想--又一件美国制造的产品--在废墟中。广场恐惧症--对我来说并不熟悉--是一个热情的伙伴。就像在街上一样，学院里的空气变得越来越稀薄。将恐怖主义和美国帝国主义的恐怖相提并论
You can tell who’s dead or missing by their smiles. Their photos dot the subways, ferries, trains, and Port Authority Terminal, shockingly alive with joy, comfort, and pleasure. They died before they could know what we now know. The not-dead travel on subways and trains filled with hollow eyes; no smiles; shoulders down. Five thousand dead and still counting, and that’s without the undocumented workers whose families can’t tell, the homeless men and women whose families don’t know. Each evening, millions of nightmares startle and awaken, alone and dark, throughout the metropolitan area. The air in the City chokes with smoke, flesh, fear, memories, clouds, and creeping nationalism. My niece, a bus driver on Wall Street, describes the plume of smoke “chasing me down the street” as she abandoned her bus. Now a flood of flags, talk of God, military, and patriotism chase us all. Searching for an icon of meaning—the flag worries, it feels like draperies for war. The globe doubles as globalization. Even the dove and peace symbol, my students tell me, feel like generational imperialism. We blanket this terror with Vietnam, just to make it familiar to those of us who remember the ’60s. Comforted and humiliated by loving e-mails from friends in Northern Ireland, Gaza, Australia, Israel, and New Zealand, I recognize that, of course, I don’t e-mail them every time a bomb goes off in their country. How much do I/we collude in the imperial calculus of whose body/whose tragedy/whose land counts more? And still, a student’s husband is gone; neighbor boys are orphaned; children waited at school for parents who never showed up; cars sit idle, still, in commuter parking lots. We’ve learned the vulnerability of isolation. Bush and colleagues walked out of the environmental meetings in Kyoto, the racism meetings in South Africa. Isolated and privileged, a dangerous combination. The Fantasy of Invulnerability—one more product made in the U.S.A.—in ruins. Agoraphobia—unfamiliar to me—is a warm buddy. As in the streets, the air in the academy is getting thin. To raise questions about the horrors of terrorism and U.S. imperialism in the same breath