Remembering
Some people have told me September 11 wasn’t, and isn’t, a “big deal” to them. Hard as I try, I simply cannot understand why.
It’s been three years, and I still remember every detail of that day — what I did, what I wore, what I had for lunch, what time I came home from work, who I called, and who I went to go see. I remember being so horrified I couldn’t cry, even as I stood with Ivan, unable to move, watching as the towers collapsed on top of themselves. I remember how fast and hard our site crashed under the load of all the people franticly seeking information. I remember e-mailing internal versions of the homepage to Heather and Scott because they didn’t have access to television. I remember hurting for the victims and even more for the police officers and firefighters who did not stop for one moment before rushing into a battered, burning building to try to save just one more person. And I remember wondering what the events of the day would mean for Muslims in America.
It’s been three years, and our world and country have each become a much scarier place. The Patriot Act, the erosion of civil liberties, the “crusade” launched by our president, the cavalier use of the word “evil,” global estrangement, and misinformed wars that so far have resulted only in an ever-mounting death toll. And of course, the car bombs, the suicide bombs, the hotel bombs, the airplane bombs. A different kind of school shooting. Hostages. Fear.
It’s been three years, and we like to think our lives are no different than they were before — except there is a “before.” And we are expecting an “again” even as we work towards education and tolerance and, God willing, a different commander-in-chief.
Some people have told me September 11 wasn’t, and isn’t, a “big deal” to them. Hard as I try, I simply cannot understand why.
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