PulpLit.net

Reflections on 9/11, one year later

Has it really been a year? The axiom holds - time does start to go faster as you get older. It was just a year ago that I was on the subway in Boston at 8:46 AM, heading to my internship at the Atlantic Monthly. I remember that day vividly, as I'm sure many do. That clarity may account for why the anniversary seems to have come so quickly.

September 11, 2001 was not one of my finer days. To put it quite simply, I freaked out. Badly. It became clear that, at that time at least, I was not the person to be around in a crisis situation. Things might have been different were I in the thick of it; I like to think I would rise to the occasion, though one always hopes never to find out. But at the offices of the Atlantic, I was a wreck. And I continued to be a wreck for many weeks afterward. I watched (and surfed) CNN constantly. I fed myself a daily diet of liberal news media, amassing huge amounts of data in some sort of vague hope that I could process it and find a solution to all the world's problems. I spiraled into a deep depression - not my usual seasonal depression but the drafty, damp corridors of the contemplation of death. I cried regularly. One night I drank too much, though I rarely ever drink. I stumbled my way into a bad relationship that ended even worse. It wasn't until late February that I approached anything close to my "normal" self.

In some ways, I see September 11 as perhaps the final major hurdle between childhood and adulthood. I went through dozens of the usual stages of maturity in the space of a few months - facing mortality, a broken heart, depression, anxiety, and politicization. There's no question September 11 wrought huge changes in my life.

Already this piece sounds rather egotistical. It's not intended to. I could use this as a forum to give my thoughts on the current adminstration's handling (or mishandling) of the War on the Concept of Terrorism. I could bemoan the kitschy commodification of 9/11, but that has already been well-described in this article by Heather Havrilesky. I could give my thoughts on where to go from here, but Bill Clinton has already done a better job than I could. And journalist Ted Rall has fairly encapsulated all my thoughts on everything that has happened since 9/11 (with a few rather hyberbolic references to Orwell's 1984).

So instead of opining, I briefly reflect on how 9/11 has affected me. It has made me a better person. Is that ironic? I'm not sure. I don't believe the claim that suffering brings out the best in people; often it brings out the worst. It is suffering and desperation that breed the most violent terrorists (as well as the most violent revolutionaries). And it's difficult even to think of myself as a victim - no one I know was lost. But like so many other Americans today, I think part of me wants to find some way of truly grasping the immense significance of 9/11 - so I can feel better when I forget about it and move on. But what has happened instead, as I think has occurred to many other countries and races in the past, is that I have incorporated the events of last September 11th into my "character," that set of traits and thoughts that defines who I am and dictates my thoughts and behavior.

Despite the losses of the Civil War (which occurred over a hundred years ago) and the deaths of thousands in wars during the twentieth century (which occurred on foreign shores), America was a stranger to loss and suffering. Few other countries, even in the West, shared that kind of innocence. I think such suffering has given many of those countries and their inhabitants a sense of perspective that America has never had and, unfortunately, doesn't seem to be developing - yet.

But I've started to editorialize, and I want to avoid that as much as possible. It is one year since September 11. Amazing how time flies.

--JC

We watched on television live in San Francisco as fire slowly engulfed the first tower. Then a plane hit the second one, and the news reports started escalating.

When the first tower fell, they started replaying the footage over and over, with both the live footage of the second tower burning and the replayed footage of the first tower falling filling the screen. When the second tower fell, even the news anchors were confused as to whether it was the replay or, in fact, live footage of the second tower falling. There was a brief interview with a fireman as he cleaned dust and soot from his eyes before going back in. I remember watching an aspiring young female reporter bend down to make her report to a waist level camera, as down the street we could watch the towers burn. Some asshole was hanging around in the field of the camera, trying to look up her skirt.

Some hours later, I went out to get some coffee for my sister, her husband and myself. I passed by some people waiting for the bus. I felt like there was a world between us, with them going about there lives as if this was a normal day. I didn't feel like telling them.

At the cafe, they had the T.V. on. When a young man came in and asked what was going on, and someone told him that the World Trade Center towers had collapsed, he laughed and shook his head, and I wondered if this was just a difference between Boston and San Francisco or if it was just me.

The weeks and months afterward were complex and confusing. I'm not sure what my politics are, where I stand on certain issues, how I view the War on Terror.

But I shall always remember September 11th.

--JO