With the inevitability of a falling piano, the relatives of our nation’s holy dead from September 11 have filed suit, seeking $1 trillion from somebody or other. Banks, it appears, because they have money.
It appears that there is in fact no problem, no horror, no disaster too wrenchingly painful that it cannot be solved by a rich creamy salve of cash. If “justice is served” with a heaping plate of legal fees and sanctimonious honking, then we will “heal” as the pop psych news analysts like to call it, and terror will be defeated. The dead will rise from their graves as in a medieval painting, flowers will bloom in the desert, and we wil stand tall again.
We must admire the courage of these families to rise above their grief and, just under a year after the event, sue for nation-building quantities of cash. And let us not forget their footsoldiers, either. The quiet corporate attorney, clad in his tailored suit and Bruno Magli loafers,sitting at his desk for hours and hours producing briefs. There’s a thin red-tape line that defends us from terror. Let us pause a moment and honor those who have the guts to stand up for what makes us unique and fills the world with awe at America: litigation.
Go ahead, you dirty turbaned ascetics. Shake your tiny fists at us from your mountain caves. Our torts are rising like stealth bombers into the air, and they’re headed your way.