Once weak, always weak?

This morning, I checked the news site, and felt our common air turn thick and yellowish in my throat. How could he?
There was a high resolution picture of Arnold with a firm jaw,
The same firm jaw as the Terminator.
There was no apology, he said. Without an apology there could be no forgiveness.
It wasn’t true, I wanted to say. It wasn’t. The forgiveness never exists in the apology. Didn’t anyone tell him?
But I was at my desk, far away, wishing desperately that I had walked the 25 miles from San Francisco so that the soles of my feet burned and so that my throat could burn too while I tried to scream over the din of camera crews. I wanted to travel back in time to save a small part of our world. I wanted to know how things as subjective as apologies or forgiveness (how many apologies will do? With or without tears? How much forgiveness? Enough to make the pain go away?) could make it legitimate for a country to kill its own citizens.
But I’m not there, I didn’t save anything. I have emails to send and people to call, and shitty little tasks that will result in more customers, more units, less air.
America flourishes on the belief that people can experience true, down-to-the-bone change. In fact, we make billions convincing people that they can improve themselves and their lives. We built our nation on it. We tell people who are weak that they can find strength and be redeemed.
Obviously, we are lying. We believe that weakness is ultimately more powerful, more unforgettable, and more convincing. It is certainly true for our own weakness.