Remembering Ambassador Stevens and Sean Smith

I obviously didn’t know Ambassador Chris Stevens or Information Management Officer Sean Smith.

But in a sense we all know them. Because they and their futures, like all of us and ours, were forever changed by the events of 9-11 13 years ago. And we now realize that they found themselves, just as any of us might, on the front lines of a struggle, a fight, a war, that 13 years ago penetrated our consciousness and that has defined our lives in many ways ever since.

That day 13 years ago and what it brought into focus will continue to affect us. It, the Benghazi tragedy, and more recent outrages, demand resolve: Resolve that the sacrifices made by those who died then, and by those who have sacrificed to keep us safe since both of these events, not be forgotten or taken for granted.

What both of these September 11 tragedies remind us is that in the current war of ideologies and values it is not just our brave and professional military men and women who are on the front lines. The front lines on any given day might encompass our dedicated civil servants, journalists and others around the world — or any of us even as we have a duty to provide strong support to each of them.

Chris Stevens and Sean Smith died on the front lines.

When Chris Stevens died two years ago in Benghazi, he was 52. A Californian, with a degree from Berkeley, a lawyer with a graduate degree from the National War College. A diplomat who had served in Israel, Syria, Egypt and Saudi Arabia. Also in Washington, working with the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and in State Department Nuclear and Security Affairs, as an Iran desk officer, and more. He had served in Libya twice before becoming ambassador.

Sean Smith, a ground radio maintenance specialist in the Air Force before signing on with the Foreign Service, was 34 when he died two years ago. Sean left a wife and two children.

I won’t recount the tragic story of how these two patriots died. Much has been said, written and filmed about the events in Benghazi. And undoubtedly we’ll continue to learn more.

What I do want to touch on for several minutes is how the deaths of these two men, just as the deaths of the thousands 13 years ago, must remind us of the many, many thousands of our countrymen who are on the front lines for us today and every day.

As the father of two Navy officer sons, both of whom are doing important work in dealing with our international challenges, I need to remind myself of the many others like Chris and Sean that may not wear uniforms, but who are also doing their share, and more, in the service of their country.

A friend of Ambassador Stevens at the State Department put it to me this way just yesterday:

“We all know that the only way to project power is to be there. We in the Foreign Service all know the risks (in doing that). Chris knew the risks. But because he was there, he also knew the people (he needed to in order to do his job.) You gotta get out there…”

How many are “out there” today? Thousands like Chris and Sean. As well as the many thousands in our military.

Are we doing enough to remember and thank them for their service? By this memorial we are doing more.

But let me conclude with a short story about something that pulls at me continuously.

On this day [Sept. 11] 13 years ago, I was in Washington, D.C. As an energy trade policy adviser to President Bush’s secretary of commerce and U.S. trade representative, I was chairing an early morning committee meeting at the Department of Commerce a block or so from the White House. Beside me was the president’s domestic policy adviser for energy.

She was interrupted by a note from a staffer who slipped into the room. It was news of the first plane hitting the World Trade Center.

I spent most of that day in my office in our locked-down nation’s capital. That evening I wrote an e-mail to many friends and colleagues around the country.

I described in considerable detail the events and impressions I experienced from the moment I walked out of the Commerce Department.

I concluded that note by saying:

“As I approached home, I thought of how I had felt the anger rising as I had earlier approached the heavily guarded Capitol. Then the frustration and more anger at the thought that (those) who had caused so much death and violation might escape punishment, and even if they did not, that we would never be quite the same...”

I continued:

“This evening I have those same feelings, but I know that we must and will be strong in protecting and encouraging others to cherish the ideals and values that make us a great people and nation.”

So, I end by saying that I hope we indeed are not the same in at least one important way. I hope that to honor Chris, Sean, Ty and Glen — and the many others who have sacrificed for us, and who will in the future — that we are doubly resolved to cherish — and strongly defend — the ideals that make us that great people and great nation.

Bill Whitsitt, of Bigfork, is a retired energy executive. He is currently a visiting professor at the University of Montana and executive-in-residence at its Bureau of Business and Economic Research. The opinions expressed are his own.