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| Home Page > Articles in English > New York Stories > Tilting at Windmills Previous article: Freedom of Speech in New York
Reminiscing
9/11
[…] "What times are these, when to speak about trees is almost a crime, because it implies silence about so many horrors." [...] —Bertolt
Brecht
It has been almost six years. When we inched closer and closer to the second anniversary, we were anxious, but it stayed quiet. By the third, fourth and fifth anniversary, other disasters, man-made and natural, occupied our minds. As did a war fought far away. Nevertheless, New Yorkers are still hurting, still waiting to be hit again. Two wars have been launched as a consequence of the attacks on September 11, 2001. But none of us in this crazy city feels any safer. Far from it. A sudden blackout once caused us to freeze for a second, in anticipation of worse things to come, a terrifying feeling of déjà vu. A massive convention brought security measures to the city not seen since the days immediately after 9/11. And when in September the crisp autumn air arrives, each day with a cloudless blue sky and abundant sunshine will remind us of that day when we walked north, when the weather was as beautiful, after all hell had broken lose. Since 9/11, many have left the city, others, who live far from New York, already question the impact this event has had and still has on our lives and the city. Surely, we've moved on by now. But New Yorkers are stressed out, still very saddened, wonder if the subways are safe. We miss the towers, and we miss our skyline. And we hold on to our jobs with tooth and nail, or try to cope with unemployment; we continue with our daily grind, while wiggling through a stalled economy that has affected all of us. We want to stay afloat. And many can barely afford the rent.
September 11, 2001. 9 a.m.: After I watched on television the first plane crashing into the Twin Tower, I had the feeling that this was not an accident. I was sure of it. Having lived 14 years in the Middle East, my senses are heightened. I took the last subway downtown to work. My friends and colleagues did not share my initial reaction. "Until the second plane hit, I was sure this was just a freak accident," they told me in disbelief. Something had been violently taken away from them: their "lightness of being," their belief in good. Then we were told to leave the Southern part of Manhattan. Like a funeral procession, thousands walked north, crossed the bridges to Brooklyn and Queens by foot. I was impressed by the mature somberness of the New Yorkers, the quietness and their determination. Some were walking in their torn stockings without shoes; some were covered in white dust. They had never witnessed anything similar in their lives. Never thought it could ever hit home. They could grieve, they could cry. But I walked the 100 or so blocks home dry-eyed, a small radio held up tight against my ear, thirsty for news. I only felt numbing sadness, because I have been through similar times: During the Gulf War, in Tel Aviv, I had experienced the fear of death; the feeling of slow paralysis that creeps over your body, makes you shiver and at the same time angry at your own vulnerability and weakness. Now, this belonged to a distant past, overshadowed by more recent tragic events. This usually decadent city held mass prayers in sports stadiums. So many pictures of the Virgin Mary were on the sidewalks, propped up against postcards of the Twin Towers, next to a color copy of a missing person. All neatly arranged behind a Yahrzeit candle from a kosher deli. A simple, touching display of grief that you could find all over the city. Back to Normal? The feeling of complacency has been dealt a blow, however. We have changed. All those who believed that the world was not as bad as it seemed from their vantage point, have been proved wrong. The "war on terror" is not a "new war," rather it is a war that we now have become aware of. It is not the "new war of the 21st century." It has been brewing for a while, but has been conveniently ignored for years because it was fought far away. So many lives lost. So much pain. Only after a direct hit do we wake up. Is this really a war against terrorism? Terror is a means not the enemy. So, is it a war against fundamentalism? Against Islam? A war against our naiveté, our innocence? A war in order to make us feel better, to take a stand against a common threat? Or, is it just another political manifestation, a conflict that will divide the world even further? Turning it topsy-turvy, the fronts ever shifting, its players changing, a convenient tool in a feverish presidential race that has torn the country apart. This war was meant as punishment. Not revenge, but punishment. But did we punish the right people? Are we fighting a just war? In our world — where thieves, rapists and drug dealers all too often get locked up only for a short time, where women have acid thrown into their faces, are stoned to death and where widows are burned alive — in this world, ideological and political mass murderers will never be brought to justice. For a while, New York was covered in red, white, and blue. Flags popped up everywhere, in apartment buildings, on cars, cabs, in storefront windows. Some gigantic, some as mere background for slogans, which reminded me of the pathos-filled patriotic banners of the former Eastern Germany. New York's buses and subway cars are still adorned with flags. But most flags have been taken down. Terror Level, Up and Down Life goes on. New York again spews exhaust fumes; the smell of smoldering buildings, of death and destruction, is gone. We snap at each other. The number of rapes in the city is up. But the terror level is constantly raised and lowered, yellow, orange, up and down, randomly. So utterly useless. We anticipated that all hell would break loose during the Republican convention in New York at the end of August 2004. Mass rallies would engulf the city in a sweeping anarchist storm. Would the subway be safe? At the end, the biggest threat seemed to come from a toddler wearing a "Bye bye Bush" onesie on the Great Lawn in Central Park, the day before the Republican convention started. We let out a breath of relief. Yes,
life is still a bit more precious here, less taken for granted. At least for now.
But overall, the lack of compassion has remained. This is what we should fight
against: Tilting at windmills, but nevertheless.
For Further Reading: The
September 11 Digital Archive—Saving the History of September 11, 2001.
A collection of essays, images, video- and audio clips, and background info submitted
by the public. Battle Without Borders. The War Against Terror. How the world reacted to the Sept. 11 attacks. Archived material gathered by World Press Review.
Home Page > Articles in English > Tilting at Windmills |
New
York was under fire — our city came under siege. Martial law. And with it
came the well-eschewed cliché that the world would "never be the same"
after the attacks. Nonsense. The world didn't change, it always has been a battlefield,
cruel and merciless, where children are blown to pieces, people evaporate, never
to been seen again. 
