My Fellow Americans: Please Stop Saying "Never Forget" When It's Plain You've Forgotten

By Robert Harris

The Lviv Herald's normal policy is to avoid editorializing. Facts, which are rare in modern reporting, make better journalism than raw emotion, which is all-too-pervasive. But there are times when it is simply not possible to remain detached and unbiased. And for an American, on this date, living in a country that endured its largest drone attack ever less than 48 hours prior, while my countrymen sat on their couches watching Netflix, this is one of them. I don't suppose anyone has forgotten what day this is, after all.

The sky was impossibly blue that morning, a stark, beautiful contrast to the unimaginable horror unfolding beneath it. September 11, 2001. A date etched into the collective American psyche. To any of my countrymen reading this, this is a somber day, a day that is burned into the minds of all those of us old enough to remember it. Try to remember this date, 24 years ago. Remember the feeling of waking up to find your country under unprovoked attack by an enemy who openly declared his desire to see you wiped out. Do you remember it?

Well I do.

I remember being on the bus, on the way to school my senior year of High School, and hearing over the driver's radio "they had some kind of explosion at the World Trade Center," and thinking it was just another bombing attempt like the one back in '93. I remember walking from first period to second period and passing by two teachers (both military vets) muttering in the hallway, and overhearing one say "two planes? One in each tower? That's no accident. It's terrorism," and connecting it to the radio message, thus realizing for the first time that something was up. I remember an announcement over the intercom in second period instructing all teachers to turn on the TV so the students could see what was happening, and seeing for the first time the smoke pouring from both towers.

Let's imagine something for a moment. Imagine, dear reader, if you heard someone say to you a few months after the attack, "the US should just concede Manhattan Island to Al Qaeda for the sake of peace." Imagine if you'd heard NATO saying "it's not our war. President Bush should travel to Kabul to meet with Bin Laden and sign a peace deal." Tell me, dear reader, how ridiculous such statements would have sounded.

"Measured" response? Dialogue with the terrorists? "Forget that," we'd have shouted. "We're America!" We were out for payback. And by God, we got it. Jihadists demolished two buildings, so we demolished two countries. Jihadists killed 3,000 of our people, so we killed 300,000 of theirs. Jihadists made us live in fear for a day, so we made them live in fear for a generation.

Fair is fair, right? Sic sempre inimici Americae, after all. And if we had it to do again, we'd do the same thing. Zero regrets.

And we memorialized it. We didn't just build a monument upon the site. We built a monument in the very English language itself. The words "nine-eleven" became synonymous with terror, yes, but also with the idea that "America never backs down, and always stands for freedom." We waved banners. We wore ribbons. We promised, with tears in our eyes and conviction in our hearts: "Never Forget." Never forget the victims, never forget the heroism, never forget the day America was attacked.

But "never forget," it turns out, rang hollow. We forgot all too quickly.

See, the motto "never forget" implies remembering not just our own pain, but also the hands that reached out to us in our darkest hour. As America reeled, grappling with the unprecedented violation of its security, the international community responded with an outpouring of solidarity unseen in generations. NATO, for the first (and to this day the only) time in its history, invoked Article 5, declaring an attack on one to be an attack on all. And in the ensuing global War on Terror, nations across Europe and beyond did not hesitate to commit their own blood and treasure to a fight that, by all accounts, was never truly their own.

Among the most steadfast of these allies, two nations stand out with particular poignancy today: Poland and Ukraine. When the call to arms resonated across the Atlantic, these countries, still rebuilding from their own tumultuous 20th-century histories and living in the shadow of a revanchist Russia, stepped forward without equivocation. Poland, a proud nation with a deep understanding of external aggression (as one would expect from a country that has been sandwiched between Moscow and Berlin for centuries), deployed significant contingents of its armed forces to Iraq and Afghanistan. Polish soldiers fought alongside Americans, enduring the same dangers, suffering casualties, and sacrificing lives in distant lands. Their commitment was not merely symbolic; it was tangible, costly, and born of a genuine belief in shared values and the need to stand united against global threats. They did not question whether it was "their war" – they simply answered the call of an ally in need.

Ukraine, then a young democracy striving to secure its future free from Moscow's influence, also contributed significantly to the War on Terror. Despite its own critical security challenges and limited resources, Ukraine sent troops, provided crucial logistical support, and joined international efforts to stabilize Afghanistan and combat global terrorism. Ukrainian soldiers served in dangerous theaters, far from their homes, risking their lives for a cause that was ostensibly American. Their participation underscored a profound commitment to international security and solidarity, a clear demonstration of their desire to be part of the free world standing shoulder to shoulder against tyranny and extremism. For them, too, it was never their war in the direct sense, but they understood that some battles transcend borders and demand collective action.

America had been wounded, so Poland and Ukraine stood up. They had our back.

Now then, fast forward a little over two decades. It looks like an entirely different world at a glance (Al-Qaeda and its successor, ISIS, are both virtual non-entities and the only Jihadist threat left on the planet is Iran), but the fundamental principles of solidarity and alliance should remain immutable. Should. Yet, when Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, a different sentiment began to gain traction in parts of America. As the Ukrainian people fought valiantly for their very existence, sacrificing countless lives in defense of their sovereignty and democracy, a pervasive refrain emerged: "It’s not our war." The echoes of "never forget" seemed to fade as a new narrative took hold, one that prioritized isolationism and a convenient disengagement from global responsibilities, even to nations that had once bled for America.

The disconnect became even more stark and alarming when, less than 72 hours ago as I write this, on the 10th of September – the day before the solemn anniversary of 9/11 – Russian drones attacked Poland. The immediate fear was not, for many Americans, a renewed sense of shared purpose and resolve, but rather a panicked chorus calling to pull out of NATO. The argument, astonishingly, was to avoid "being drawn into a war." Let that sink in: when America was attacked, allies willingly came to our war. Now, when an ally is attacked (by kamikaze air power designed by Jihadist Iran, poetically enough, the impulse for some "Americans" (and I feel I must use the term loosely) is to abandon alliances to avoid a hypothetical conflict. The timing, on the eve of 9/11, serves as a cruel, ironic commentary on how far we have drifted from the spirit of that day.

"Thanks for having our back," we seem to say, "but now that it's you, you're on your own."

Twenty-four years later, Americans still say "never forget," but it's clear they have forgotten those who stood beside them. They have forgotten the debt of honor owed to nations like Poland and Ukraine, who, without direct provocation, offered their sons and daughters to help America heal and seek justice. To truly "never forget" means to remember the comprehensive truth of 9/11 – not just our suffering, but the global hand of friendship extended to us. It means understanding that alliances are a two-way street, built on mutual respect and reciprocal support. Now, as our allies face an existential threat from an aggressive power, it is our turn to remember the lessons of September 11th, not just the pain, but the power of solidarity. Our debt of honor is clear, and the time for genuine remembrance and steadfast action is now, before the promise of "never forget" becomes a hollow, self-serving epitaph for a forgotten past.

I'm only one man. I don't claim to speak for a nation of three-hundred thirty-six million. But in the America I remember, words like "courage" and "honor" still meant something. In the America I remember, a friend who risked his neck was a friend who could count on Americans to do the same when he needed it. In the America I remember, we didn't cut and run when the bill came due.

I can't speak for the America of Joe Biden, a country that makes bold promises and then doesn't deliver.

I can't speak for the America of Donald Trump, who doesn't even bother with the promises but openly declares his fondness of tyrants.

But I want the America I remember, back... And I have a feeling there are plenty in Europe who agree.

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Robert Harris is a teacher in Lviv and the author of Smells like BULL-Shevik to ME! - A Conservative Talks to Conservatives About Russian Lies.