Remembering 9/11

Ten years ago, while exiting the NYU gym – proud of myself for having made an early-morning effort – I passed someone coming in who was commenting about a low-flying plane that had just gone over the building.  Walking outside, I suddenly became part of the surreal drama that would redefine our generation.  Stepping onto the street I looked downtown just as the first explosion happened.  I couldn’t wrap my mind around what was happening.  An airplane into a building?  And then I saw the second plane – I couldn’t figure out why the towers suddenly were attracting planes.  A second explosion.  A new type of horror.  Standing with others in the street- cars stopped –doors opened – radios on, narrating the drama as it unfolded before us.  We became one – one unified whole.  One pair of eyes to witness, one set of knees to fall, one soul to cry.

So many images play over and over – a seemingly endless loop:

Photo taken on my small webcam

The small specks from the top of the tower – leaping off and falling beyond view.  The radio tells us they are people . . . we refuse to believe.

The radio tells us there are still 20,000 people in the building.  Maybe more.  The towers shudder and collapse – as do we.  Hundreds of people kneeling, crying, staring in disbelief at the now vacant hole in the skyline.

The smell – the otherworldly smell.  With dust and ash covering everything – permeating everything – holding everything.

Vacant stares and disbelief on the ghost white faces of the survivors walking north – looking for water, an ear, a hug, a connection . . . an explanation.

And later-

Washington Square Park 9/12/01

The layers and layers of melted candles covering the ground at Washington Square Park after the nightly vigils – the songs – the signs – the children.

National Guard, dogs, machine guns, showing ID in order to go to my own apartment.

A stopped subway train, no announcement, the lights go off.  Panic.  Crying children.  Praying women.  Weeping men. 

Sprinting from the Empire State Building, “There’s a bomb!!”  Knowing it was true.  No doubt.  This was the new world.

Huddling together with my new cohort at NYU – barely a week old, turning to each other and the city around us for hope, for support – for meaning.

And always sweeping, brushing, gathering - sweeping the dust – the dust that kept coming – the dust that was ash.

In those first weeks, I would frequently sneak past the police line and walk a few blocks from the site – watching the fires, the smoke, the seemingly endless piles and twisted metal – all that was left, all that remained.

As I surveyed the devastation, I would often wonder what would become of us?  Now that we lived in a world where planes, overtaken by religious fanatics, crashed into buildings and murdered thousands – Now that our narcissistic world view had been smashed, our mortality reaffirmed – how could life ever go on?

But ultimately, as my welcome call into NYC, 9/11 heralded a period of my life that would see broad- sweeping changes and ultimately a re-dedication to living.  It was a sign that life was precious, fleeting and that I had a responsibility to myself and others to make something of it.  It also seemed to herald a new period of life in NYC and the greater community.  Suddenly we took notice of those around us.  Suddenly we cared, we engage with each other.  Donations poured in, volunteers by the hundreds, countless prayers, countless vigils.  For a time, we loved - we held each other.  America was unified. 

Here – 10 years later – as I now find myself in another city – in another country – it is at times with a sense of sadness that I look back on America.  9/11 gave us the opportunity to be different – to change – to reprioritize and grow.  And for a brief time, we took advantage of that opportunity.  We stood tall.  We came together.  We blossomed.  However, it is my fear that in the long run we have squandered that opportunity.  In the days and months following 9/11, NYC and the rest of America experienced a greater sense of closeness and brotherhood than ever before.  We were unified and united.  But look at us now.  Our country has never been more divided.  Our global reputation has never been more tarnished.  And perhaps most terrifyingly, in many ways, aspects of our society have adopted the very mindset that guided the 9/11 terrorists.  Religious and ideological extremism often guides our politics and our policy.  Rigid, fundamentalist responses preclude us from compromise or unification.  We won’t give in.  We won’t bend.  Right at all costs . . . even if it means . . .

And for me, as someone who was there – who witnessed firsthand the horror, the sights, sounds, smells and terror of that day – to see some of these people use the events of September 11, 2001 to justify their actions is beyond belief.  It is unconscionable that 9/11 can be used as a battle cry for divisiveness, for imperialism, for small-mindedness and for policies that take away the rights and freedoms of others.

What happened to the atmosphere of unity and love?  Where did the goodwill and tolerance go?  How did we allow the very fundamentalism that drove the 9/11 terrorists to become our own motivation?  Are we so daft that 10 years later, we have, in some respects, reversed roles with the villains of that day?

Muslim, Christian – right or left – it makes no difference what the ideology is – when taken to extremes, when used to draw lines, to exclude – to delineate “better than” or to create “us” and “them” – it is the ideology of destruction and will ultimately be our downfall. 

We are better than that.  We are stronger than that.  It shouldn’t need to take a major tragedy like 9/11 to remind us what is important.  For the rest of my life I will remember 9/11 – I will remember the terrifying images and the horror – but more than that, I will strive to remember those instances – fleeting as they were – where for a brief moment, we took time to notice our neighbor – to breathe – to see – to connect - a moment where we were bigger than the camps to which we were aligned.  That is the America I believe in.  That is the country I proudly call home.