Great tragedy has come to us, and we are meeting it with the best

When George W. Bush spoke the words, “Great tragedy has come to us, and we are meeting it with the best that is in our country, with courage and concern for others because this is America. This is who we are,” he spoke not merely as a leader, but as a voice for a wounded people. These words were born in the dark aftermath of September 11, 2001, when towers had fallen, and hearts across the nation were shrouded in grief. Yet out of that darkness rose a light—fierce, compassionate, and unyielding. Bush’s words, simple yet solemn, captured the essence of unity, the spirit of resilience, and the moral courage that defines a people who, when faced with destruction, choose to rebuild with love instead of hate.

From the ashes of devastation, the true soul of America was revealed—not in its power, but in its concern for others; not in its wealth, but in its courage. Firefighters climbed into collapsing buildings to save lives they would never know. Strangers held each other in the streets, weeping and praying. Flags were hung not in triumph, but in remembrance. In those days, the divisions of politics, race, and creed were momentarily silenced by a shared humanity. And it was this unity, this best that is in us, that Bush called forth and named as the identity of the nation: This is who we are.

In the chronicles of history, nations are often remembered by their wars, their kings, their victories. Yet the truest measure of a people lies not in the triumphs they celebrate, but in the tragedies they endure. Like the ancient Romans who rebuilt their city after its sacking, or the Greeks who rose again after ruin, America too stood firm after its trial by fire. For as the ancients taught, character is forged in suffering, and a nation’s greatness is not in what it possesses, but in how it responds when all is taken from it. Thus, Bush’s words are not merely patriotic—they are philosophical. They proclaim that the heart of a nation beats strongest in its moments of despair.

Consider the story of Todd Beamer, a passenger aboard United Flight 93, who with others fought back against hijackers to prevent further tragedy. His final words, “Let’s roll,” became a cry of defiance and unity. In that moment, ordinary citizens became heroes, and the courage of one became the courage of all. This is the spirit Bush spoke of—the courage not born of conquest, but of compassion; the strength not to destroy, but to protect. It is the same courage that has carried soldiers across seas, that has led volunteers into floodwaters and fires, that has made neighbors into family when disaster strikes.

To say “This is America” is to remind us that identity is not a matter of pride alone, but of purpose. It is the recognition that even when tragedy tears at our walls, we are bound together by threads of empathy and resolve. The ancient philosophers taught that virtue is not proven in comfort but in crisis. So too, America has proven, time and again, that its truest strength lies not in its arms, but in its arms outstretched—to lift the fallen, to comfort the grieving, to rebuild what was broken.

Yet these words should not lull us into nostalgia, but stir us into vigilance. For every generation must decide anew who we are. The courage and concern that rose in 2001 must not fade into memory; they must live in every act of kindness, in every defense of the helpless, in every refusal to surrender to cynicism. If tragedy once awakened our better angels, then peace must keep them alive. The test of a nation is not only how it suffers, but how it remembers—and whether it continues to live by the virtues revealed in its darkest hour.

So let the lesson of Bush’s words echo through the ages: that great tragedy is not only a trial but also a revelation. It uncovers what lies within us—our fear, yes, but also our faith; our pain, yes, but also our perseverance. And when we choose to meet sorrow with courage and to answer hate with compassion, we affirm our truest identity as human beings and as Americans. Therefore, in every season of hardship, let us rise as they did—not in despair, but in duty; not in bitterness, but in brotherhood. For the measure of a people is not in what they endure, but in how they endure it—with courage, with concern, and with the unwavering knowledge that this is who we are.