I must admit that I am not an overly sentimental, overly patriotic person. I mean, we don’t choose where we were born. So to me, showing overt patriotism, especially in a government that I don’t necessarily even agree with, would be ridiculous.
All of that being said, September 11th, 2001 was no doubt an important day for everyone on planet Earth. It’s not an Americo-centric view of the world, its just true. Because of the actions of 19 blind followers (don’t get me started on religion either, that is a post for another day) and a group of psychopaths, the world has had to live in fear. Fear of reprisal. Fear of terrorism. Fear of American response. Therefore, you don’t have to be a patriot to care about what happened on September 11th. You just have to have a shred of humanity.
I was thirteen years old, sitting in Mr. Eisman’s Ninth grade World Studies class when I first heard about the attacks. It was about 11 AM EST or so. This was before every classroom had a highspeed internet connection, or a television, or 30 students with smartphones (let alone cellphones). Kids were getting called home from school by this period in droves, so we knew it was pretty bad. Most of central and northern New Jersey act as a suburb to New York City, so when we heard about it, many of the kids were afraid for their parents. My neighbor and close friend’s parents both worked in the Towers. Several other neighbors frequented New York City daily for work. It was a scary time on a personal level for these people.
Yet I didn’t see any real panic around us. No one was crying in public, no one was screaming. I guess the teachers kept us calm. We were just unsure of what was going on. When I got home, I turned the TV on to see the second tower fall. Surreal even for a desensitized teen like myself. My friend who’s parents worked in the towers called me for some counsel, but also to let me know that his parents were in the hospital (turns out they weren’t actually, he was just joking…a joke I will never understand apparently).
What I remember most about that day, and that first week after the attacks was the solidarity that Americans showed. People helped each other in and around ground zero. United 93 was an amazing story of human strength. Hospitals, emergency responders, policeman, firemen…all worked together, round the clock, without overtime or even normal pay to get life back to normal. To help people. I remember Democrats and Republicans standing at the stairs of Capitol Hill singing God Bless America together. I remember the signs plastered around New York City and New Jersey about missing loved ones, candlelight vigils and memorial services. Despite being modern, cynical Americans, everyone was working together, helping each other to be one. It was like the end of Dr. Seuss’ The Grinch, when all the town’s people were just standing together, despite losing everything, and singing.
And as good as all of that was – overcoming disaster – September 11th’s real affects for me were in the weeks afterwards. Americans quickly returned back to their divisive selves (its not just Americans, its humans in general, but I digress). Being a brown kid living 40 minutes away from the heart of it all, my days were filled with terrorist jokes ranging from “Uncle Osama” (which made no sense) to Gandhi (which made no sense) to “You can just tell he hates America” (which isn’t true). I didn’t like it, but I did my best to not let it affect me. It was sad though. We had made progress as a nation in the week after the attacks, but it was more like it was all just for show. As soon as the Cameras pointed elsewhere, people returned to normal. We started to hunt down Osama, months later we invaded Iraq and Afghanistan…people were looking for a scapegoat. I could blame a lot of people for making those first two or three years of high school a terrible place to be, but no one deserves it more then the bastards who shed innocent blood.
Please, excuse me for sounding jaded or selfish. I know people have had it much worse than me. There have been minorities who have actually been tortured and enslaved in this country simply for being born a certain way. A few names and threats from teenagers to me aren’t a big deal. I know that there are bigger things to worry about after a terrorist attack. But in remembering the good that lit up the night in those weeks, I can’t help but remember the bad.
And I can’t say it was all bad. It made me a stronger person. It was September 11th that made me realize was a minority. Up until Ninth grade, I never thought of myself that way. No one ever really said anything offensive to me directly, and I just assumed everyone my age saw each other the same, despite race, religion, skin color…whatever.
My conclusion on this 10 year anniversary is simple. We must never forget the death of the innocent. We should be thankful for the sacrifices made by all those on that day, and in the months (and years) afterwards. But most importantly, we must remember the courage, poise and respect that we as survivors had for each other in those days. And we must find a way to return to it without being bombed or attacked.
Good is innate to humanity just as evil is, but it shouldn’t take the second one for the first to appear.
P.S. I am not attempting to spark political debate by posting this. This is simply my recollection of the time. Disrespect to any party will not be tolerated.
