(Thoughts on waking up this morning, not edited)
…I was woken up by a friend asking me if I was watching TV. What was happening was something that she couldn’t describe. I don’t remember if she tried. It was 7:30am in Oakland, California. The first tower had fallen. The second tower went down within thirty minutes of my waking up and turning on my TV. And then the world changed.
I’m not sure what happens to me when I see horrifying events live on TV. I didn’t gasp and start crying like so many friends. Perhaps it was the fact that it was on TV and so many of us, me included, watch films and “make believe” on that same screen. I remember thinking that I could be watching a film. What or how did people react on December 7, 1941 when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbour? They had to learn of it via the radio. Their horror would be dependent on the reporter’s descriptive skills and whether they had a relative stationed in Hawaii.
9/11 didn’t need description. And in case anyone missed the falling of the towers while it was happening, it was replayed over and over, a hundred, two hundred times until we were numb.
The world was cancelled before it changed. Everything stopped. No flights, no trains, travellers were stuck in strange places and couldn’t get home, no baseball, no theatre, no nothing. Grocery stores were open. Baseball resumed ten days later. I don’t remember who the A’s played against. I do remember the pre-game ceremony, the singing of the Star Spangled Banner and America the Beautiful. There were prayers for New York and for the world. That was when I cried. I was with my tribe and we were together.
Two and a half months later, I flew to NYC. I had to see in person the destruction, the relief efforts, some of the Firehouses with their signs telling how many men they had lost. It was an unseasonably, beautiful, warm weekend in December. 70o. My friend, Michelle, and I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. We visited two Firehouses. A church group from Georgia was visiting one of them. They’d brought toys for children, lots of food, and donations for the families. We were invited in to join them but we didn’t stay.
We walked by the hole left by the towers. There was a makeshift wall with a makeshift wooden walkway for people to line up and slowly walk by to look at the charred skeletal remains. A huge white sheet was tacked up on the wall. We were all encouraged to write something hopeful and sign our name. And, of course, American capitalism was present. A man sat near the line selling American Flag earrings and pins that people vulnerable with grief would purchase to show their patriotism.
We wandered up to the Crisis Center. Huge boards with notices “looking for….” accompanied by a photo crowded the large room. Photos of the destruction were everywhere. People stood in lines to check in with a government official who had a list of the identified dead. New York was very much in a generous mood, love thy neighbor mood. Christmas was coming. The bereaved felt noticed and cared for. But as I learned after the huge Oakland FireStorm ten years earlier, once January comes, the world begins to move on. The suffering family members are left a bit paralysed, not knowing what to do next. Alone with their loss and grief, they pull back and find it hard to identify with the lives of those not suffering.
Today, twenty-two years later, we have beautifully written stories of that time. We have TSA and airport security. We have huge acrylic walls surrounding and protecting the Eiffel Tower. We have the memory of declaring war on Iraq, and the endless war in Afghanistan that America finally pulled out of two years ago.
And, for people like me, all the blinders have been torn off my eyes, ears, and heart to expose the truth about the United States of America. It is not the land of the Free—although its citizens are much freer to express their hatred and fear of others in unspeakable ways. It is not the land of the Brave. Most of us are sheep and look for the door painted either red or blue. We walk through it asking few questions.
For the first time since FDR, we have a President who is truly America’s friend, who has done more to help Americans get on their feet and defend democracy than Obama did in his eight years in office. I love Obama, don’t get me wrong. It’s just the facts. But this president has low ratings because he doesn’t have charisma, because he doesn’t soft sell a crowd while on TV. Here we are back to TV again. Each of us in our Living Rooms alone or with a small family and we believe what’s on TV. We have lost the ability to educate ourselves, to fact check, to form an opinion that is our own (With apologies to my sister who knows exactly how to do it all).
I don’t know how to end this piece. Probably because I don’t want it to be the end. The pandemic has changed us once again. More in the direction of being alone yet feeling connected technologically. Where are we headed?
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Out My Window 