There is an image I keep on a shelf amongst photos of family, travel mementos, and other treasures from events in my life. Its a photograph taken by my niece Felicia when she was 13 — a lovely shot of jellyfish swimming in their tank in the Monterey Bay Aquarium. The date stamp on that photo was 9-10-01.
The photograph memorializes a beautiful Sunday in early autumn in a world that had shape and structure — a continuum filled with family activities, a solid group of friends, thriving self-employment, and a fulfilling creative life. A day made vivid in my memory today because of what would come.
I woke up early that next morning, Sept. 11 just past 6:30 am, to the sound of neighbors talking outside. “Some bomb went off in New York City. It blew up the World Trade Center.”
I clicked on the remote. Black smoke was rising from one of the towers, and the muted sound of CBS News anchor Bryant Gumbel’s incredulous voice, giving a blow-by-blow account of the day-long horror unfolding in New York, the Pentagon and in Pennsylvania.
For three days, I was glued to the television mesmerized, wondering whether I was asleep and still dreaming. And it was a dream. A dream filled day after day with non-stop images of violence. There were bodies falling to their deaths from the towers, the smoke from the explosion, and the broken airliner laid out like an autopsy on a field in Pennsylvania. Then there was the same tape run over and over again of jubilant people from a Muslim country burning flags and holding signs saying “Death to America.”
The dream images did not cease. Instead they fast-forwarded on an ever-escalating pace with the president’s address to a joint session of Congress, the magnanimity of the world attempting to come to our aid becoming our allies in the war on terror in Afghanistan, the power and presence of that red tie on George Bush while the news media fawned on his leadership in a time of peril.
With the onslaught of these images, dreams, the speeches, the implied foreboding of potential threat — coupled with reassurance from our leaders that we would be safe, and that the nation “was at a crossroads in its destiny” — I felt a vicarious thrill. It was a thrill akin to appreciating the beauty of ultraviolent films. The gore is graphic, horrific, sickening, and yet you’re exhilarated by the fact that its over and you survived. And the cinematography was oh so stunning.
Our everyday life, which once had a shape, a structure, a trajectory, was no more. It was now replaced by an existence bent on achieving sensation based on potential threat of violence and our ultimate rescue. It was a roller-coaster ride of the subconscious, watching reel after reel of life which was now a film. It was an addictive, adrenal thrill, lodging itself deep into my psyche. Days continued into weeks, weeks continued into months. The long dream in which I watched this film unfold wore on and I couldn’t take my eyes away or wake from the fog that had enveloped the very center of my solar plexus. I was disempowered.
Such is the effect of being forced to believe a lie.
There is a haunting scene in the film The Prince of Tides where the lead character recalls in therapy the night where he, as a young boy, his brother, mother and younger sister survived a brutal assault and rape by a trio of vicious, escaped prison convicts. Saved by an act of desperate violence by his brother — the family continued on, acting as if nothing happened — at the behest of their mother. When their father came home after the attack, the family sat down for dinner like they always did, there was something wrong, but nothing was said. The one mute statement that a violation had taken place was that his sister wore her dress backwards, and with a button off — a signal for help, and over biscuits and gravy and lemonade, no one noticed.
I lived with “one button off” — a long fog, until the pieces fell together. The fog started to lift. It started with the diversion of focus from Afghanistan to Iraq and Saddam Hussein. Then came the reports of yellowcake uranium, coupled with the death of weapons expert David Kelly. It grew with the outing of Valerie Plame as a CIA operative who could have verified Iraq had no weapons of mass destruction. Suspicions were confirmed with the shifting rationale for war in Iraq from Saddam “having WMDs” to Saddam “having the potential of making WMDs.” The drumbeat for the war on terror in Iraq had to be approved by cowed Democrats and rabid Republicans otherwise, they would be accused of being soft on terrorism. These facts were clasped together by an election decided by the Supreme Court and Vice President Cheney’s secret energy meetings in the White House with oil energy corporations the first month after the Inauguration of 2001. We had fallen under the thrall of a military empire gone mad under an illegally elected emperor, and both of whom were out of control. By February of 2003, I was among millions who marched across the planet in opposition to the Iraq War.
Seven years later, 4,300 Americans are dead and there are tens of thousands of casualties, many of them involving brain trauma. By known count, 105,000 Iraqis are dead — but truly, there are many more. Millions of Iraqis displaced, turned to refugees. Then 50,000 American troops are now stationed as a non-combat “presence” while Iraq re-takes itself back. We are still detaining enemy combatants. And I pray but cannot be certain that we are not engaging in torture. In the interim, the huge credit card payment owed to China which financed the war demands a high interest payment and is come due. Most of our treasury has been taken by bankers, sharks and corporations whose payout closed just before the old emperor left. This war will be remembered by our grandchildren because they will be paying for it for years to come.
The new movie is about to begin. The opening scenes are of an idiot who wants to burn Qu’rans in a bonfire in response to a Muslim cultural center getting built two blocks away from the old World Trade Center. I guess that means we’re well past the “A” list of star players for the old film, and resorting to the “D’s.” We seem to be running low on ideas and definitely out of capital for another blockbuster film. Yet, we continue to cast the actors for yet another adrenal distraction to disrupt our sense of morality. The political, military and corporate agenda, particularly now at midterm elections, wants, needs the 24-7 movie to continue.
We keep talking about September 11 as “this is what happened to me.” To us. To Americans. But this dream was a reality that happened to so many more innocents in harm’s way, lives lost, families and nations ruined, and will continue to do so for generations.
The last time I looked, there’s still a hole in the ground which has not been filled. Our national dress is still on backwards and for some of us, one button is still off. We have survived through a violation, and there is a hole where we once were. Where I was. But do the rest of us know we were violated? This hole is not on our landmarks or our cities, but in our hearts, our sense of justice, our humanity. When and where do we begin to reclaim ourselves? When can we fill that hole? Nine years later, as Eric reports in his weekly audio address, the nodes for 9-11-10 are in exact opposition to the nodes of 9-11-01. This could be a time for when the truth comes out. We could begin to put the dress on right.
There may or may not be a fire taking place tonight in Gainesville, Florida. In a few years, there may or may not be an Islamic cultural center built a few blocks away from the World Trade Center site. As I finger the contours of the jellyfish Felicia photographed, bonfires, book burnings and cultural centers don’t much interest me. I worry more about the elevation of our thoughts, feelings and actions for us now, and for years to come when Felicia can recall this day in time, and talk about it with her kids.
Can we grow through this? Can we take a break from the movie now? Are we ever going to leave the cinemaplex? Wake up little Suzie. There’s talk of a new sequel. You know, the terrorists are still trying to win. But in reality they do not have Muslim names.
By waking now you can leave the theater and not have to pay the price of the ticket.
Yours and truly,
Fe Bongolan
San Francisco
lissam:
Regardless of the circumstances of how the event occurred, no one forgets the voices or experience of the people directly involved and closest to this event.
One of my closest friends lost an old college classmate of his on one of the planes. Up until that point, no one from that era in his life spoke or connected to each other. But Facebook and social networking rejoined this group of roughly thirty people, and last month they met for a reunion in Manhattan.
The world has a way of mixing it up to bring it back together.
I was there, too. I lived in a sixth floor walkup in the East Village and had an amazing view of the towers, the bridges, and lower Manhattan.
I didn’t have a tv at the time, so I went outside looking for one to watch. I walked west from Avenue B to the place where I worked on Lafayette. Lafayette is a very wide, old street that runs north/south.
When I got to it, it was full of survivors walking north from ground zero. Walking (all the roads were closed- except for tanks). They were covered in ash, soot, some were bleeding, injured, missing shoes, shirts, skirts, missing the things they’d worn to work that morning, walking, stunned, determined, alive. What did it mean to be alive in that moment? It was the most incredible and screwy display of mass survival I have ever seen. I could write volumes.
I went into the student lounge at NYU. The room was packed and everyone was huddled around one [box]. The news anchors tried to make sense of the information they had. I watched long enough to know that what had happened was unfathomable. And irreversible. Whatever had happened, thousands of people had perished less than a mile away, and no one really knew what was next.
That big full room of people was like a soundless vacuum. I looked around for faces showing feelings, reactions. I didn’t find any; it didn’t make sense. Grief affects people so differently. The full weight of the death toll, its proximity and our collective vulnerability sunk. in. there in that student lounge. My grief was acute and quick. Others I know felt it more delayed, like a sucker punch that takes a few days. I started sobbing right there as if my little piece of floor just gave way.
From my apartment, later, I watched thousands of people cross the bridges to Brooklyn on foot. Day into evening I could still see massive streams of walkers leaving Manhattan, however they could, walking home. A real, live exodus.
That was a terrifying day. There were thunderstorms that night, and the lightning and thunder added insult to injury. The whole next week was terrifying actually. Tanks and armed guards filled the streets, helicopters and fighter planes filled the air; the stench was inexplicable; to go outside we had to wear respiratory masks. I had not been a fan of Rudy Guiliani, but during that time he was an amazing, amazing leader.
The event triggered old post-traumatic stress for me personally. It took quite a toll, for several years. Nothing in comparison to so many.
Carrie:
Even if we just concentrate on the kids, help them adjust, healthily and courageously in this world, we will have fulfilled an amazing karma. Its a way to settle the score caused by so much of the trouble we’ve experienced.
I am glad your son is well.
Fe,
He isn’t having “symptoms” per se, he just gets all fearful whenever anyone says anything about his health or body. The first time he got the sniffles, he panicked thinking he was going to die. We patiently and gently explained ot him that people get the sniffles for lots of reasons and that his body is a wonderful mechanism for fighting off allergens and other things. The amazing thing is, of all my kids he has been sick the least. he never got an ear infection or strep throat or needed any antibiotics until he was 7 years old. Contrast that to my daughters who had ear infections as infants and toddlers despite all my kids being breast fed and my careful eating and exercising during my pregnancies.
We do need to share our stories and think of ways to heal ourselves and our kids. Thanks for writing this Fe.
Carrie:
One of the things eric and I talked about when I pitched this article was the hope that people shared their real 9-11 stories. This thread needs to be full of them as a record for how we really should deal with this day and our personal history around it.
What is obvious is that fear is a chemical reaction in the body, and that chemical reaction can be toxic. Living on high alert has its affects, as you point out with the mothers of Afghanistan and Iraq. Baby making during war will produce and interesting subset of society. If we continue this fear mongering and intolerance, what kind of children will we be bringing into this world?
As a child from a mother who lived and survived during a brutal occupation, there are physical effects one must overcome. For me it was nervous allergies — caused by overproduction of cortisol – a chemical reaction from stress. It took life experience to know that exercise is a way to balance that. That didn’t happen until my 50s.
But what of your child? I wonder if there are any homeopaths out there who can help with his symptoms. Can we get a chime in on this?
Oh God, Fe. Your article is the primal scream I have been keeping inside for these nine years. I want to scream it out to everyone, to print it out and pass it out and paste it up everywhere; if only I had the means and a voice big enough to do it.
I was three months pregnant with my son, my miracle son, when 9-11 happened. I remember the older three kids going to school that day, my husband going to work and the school shielding the kids form the constant replays. We also shielded them from the constant replays when they got home but told them what happened so they would not be even more fearful. We felt they didn’t need to be exposed to that day-after-day barrage of violent coverage. I watched the television that day and cried most of all when I heard the guy from Cantor-Fitzgerald crying and saying “all those employees we lost, they all have families, wives, husbands, kids, how will they cope without their loved ones?” It was the first time I had EVER heard a leader of a major company express the thought that their employees actually have families who were important and valued people; their feelings mattered. If only all companies felt like that guy did. I remember C-F setting up funds for those family members and phone numbers to call for help; you can read about it all here at: http://www.cantor.com/public/charities
I recently read a study that babies born to mothers who were pregnant during 9-11 are fearful hypochondriacs. My son is most definitely so and we had, unitl I read that article, not been able to figure out why. The article said the fear their mothers felt and the deep grief was transmitted in utero via the body chemistry changes within the mother. Makes me wonder how much worse the fear, grief and anguish affected babies born to mothers during these wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
We MUST get the truth out of this somehow. The truth may hurt a lot (sounds like Chiron) but it will allow us to heal. We cannot heal until that scab is picked off, the deep infection cleaned out and the wound finally be allowed to heal cleanly. The amount of blood on our American hands is horrifying; god help us when that karmic payment comes due. Until then, we must all work together to make things better everywhere for everyone.
Thank you very much, Fe.
A wonderful, thoughtful piece that gets one to thinking about what has happened in the years since. There is no road back, only forward, and we need to keep the truth in mind and action.
Carly, Len and word:
The real stories are yet to be told. The ones where we express what we really thought of the event instead of the official story that’s been force fed into our culture and political rhetoric for the last nine years, and advertised, reported on, and glorified as the official story — the one that drums up feelings of fear and anxiety and isolation from the rest of the world. We keep running to 9-11 like a beacon for war. In that its usage is quite efficient. As a brand, it is complete.
Carly – thank you for your story, a real story about 9-11. We cannot let that brand take over the true story — about the human costs for lies, deception and promulgation of violence hollowing out the core of what should be a civil society, the humanity of a country, and the breakdown of its highest principles. We need to stop leaning over that edge.
Fe,
Thank you. This is one great piece of writing. Sooner or later, the strategy and tactics of the “Big Lie” will break down and it won’t work anymore. Your piece is catching the begining of that process and, implicitly, the start of a new stage in human evolution.
Carly and aword,
Thank you for your touching and thoughtful comments. Both of you make a difference for me.
On the morning of the Nine One One attacks, intuition screamed like a banshee that the horror that was being played out visually in real time did not remotely match what we were being told about it; the incessent verbal lies.
Clearly many other brave people – some who are now dead as well for their bravery – knew this as well.
We are oh so very hung up between wanting the lie and hurting from the truth……displaced grief and fear over what we have created here in the USA boldly dots our landscape.
Really good piece, Fe. Thank you so much for your voice.
Carly, it must be especially difficult for the truth to peer through in NYC where the level of grief is ultra high. Best to you with your son and understanding that all is not as it appears.
Dear Fe,
You are doing us a great service to sound this wake up call.
Sept 11 is NOT an anniversary and it is not an event to be celebrated. I was there. The sound of a passenger jet crashing into a building will be with me forever. The feeling of the ground trembling as the buildings collapsed is one I hope to never experience again.
I always wondered how it was that the buildings did not topple to one side or the other but went straight down. BOTH of them. Several of my engineer friends who worked at WTC told me that it was not possible for the buildings to come down in pancake fashion without some serious planning.
My 8-year old son was conceived in the month after the jets flew into the World Trade Center. Today, he is EXCITED to go downtown for the 9/11 celebrations. His excitement is innocent. I feel it is misplaced and I will work to help him understand that what happened right before he was born is not something to party about.
When we stop being fearful, we will demand the truth. Or when we start being more afraid that our government is working against our best interests, we will demand the truth. Right now, we’re all too scared of everything. Too scared of losing our jobs, of losing our homes, of losing our THINGS. Too scared of “The Other” no matter who that “Other” is. We have been taught to fear those things as a distraction from the abuse that we suffer every day from the protectors of corporations and corporate profits.
As you point out, this kind of abuse and deception has been going on for centuries. We need to find the tools to end it now. Or our children won’t stand a chance.