I was sitting in 2nd period American History class with Ms. Arcuri. She had a reputation as the toughest grader with a cold personality and great dislike for all humans, especially teenagers. I was sure she once had big dreams that just fell through for whatever reason. I sympathized her because, at 17, I was afraid to turn out like Ms. Arcuri 30 years down the line. I don’t remember the lesson or which period of American history we were in on this particular morning, but I remember about 15 minutes into the class a messenger from the guidance counselors office interrupted the class. He handed Ms. Arcuri a note and she waved one of my classmates, Asha Dhananjay*, out the door. Asha returned within minutes. I noticed her face had turned pale and her eyes–I detected a strong emotion in her eyes. Maybe it was concern or fear. I could not guess and I didn’t want to pry. Well, I was unable to even if I had wanted because Ms. Arcuri would have probably deducted a point off my final grade for talking in class.
Another 10 or 15 minutes passed and the messenger from the guidance counselor came and asked for Asha again. Once again, Asha got up and left the classroom. This time, she didn’t return until a few minutes before the class ended. Her eyes were teary and there was very obviously something wrong. Even Ms. Arcuri (in a rare show of softness) asked her if she wanted to leave class early, but Asha assured her she felt well enough to stay. When the bell rang signaling the end of class, her neighbors immediately leaned in to ask her what was wrong. As the door opened and other classes let out, I heard snippets and shouts about how one of the Twin Towers was on fire. Some students rushed into the classroom to greet their friends and pass on the latest rumor about a plane flying into the World Trade Center. The rumor about the fire quickly snowballed into a story about planes flying into both towers.
“They’re probably shooting a movie,” I said to someone. “It can’t be real.”
As I walked out into the hall and headed towards my next class, AP in US Government, the halls were more chaotic than usual as students flocked to the north side of the school building which faced downtown Manhattan. Students who emerged from classes in that side of the building confirmed that not just one but both of the towers were on fire after planes flew into them. I was in utter disbelief as I sat down in my next class; a part of me hung on to the thought that this must be a bad rumor. Everyone was asking questions. Asha was also in the same AP class with me and I quickly found out that her mom worked in one of the towers; she was unable to get a hold of her.
Within minutes into 3rd period, an announcement was made over the intercom. I cannot remember if it was the principal or vice principal who made the announcement. I only remember someone saying that there was some sort of attack in downtown Manhattan. Students who had parents working in the downtown should immediately report to the guidance counselor’s office to use the phone to try and contact their parents. For those of us who had cell phones, there was no reception.
Neither of my parents worked in and even rarely visited downtown Manhattan, but a panicky fear seized me. What was going on? What kind of attack was this? Were we at war? Would I make it home that day? The next few hours were hazy, like I was walking through fog. I started worrying about the most trivial nonsense. What about the shopping concourse underneath the towers? Will the stores remain open? And my cousin, Quincy’s wedding–she had planned to hold the reception in a restaurant in one of the towers.
By the time I walked into 4th period, Yoga with Ms. Russell, I was completely numb. The sight of my cousin, Sandy, was very comforting somehow. We had decided to sign up for the same class that semester. I asked her if she had heard from her parents. My uncle worked in a restaurant close to lower Manhattan. I don’t remember what her reply was. Ms. Russell told the class we didn’t have to change into our workout clothes that day. Instead, she piled us into her office where there was a tube television. The image was fuzzy because of bad reception, but the local news channels reported that both towers had fallen.
More announcements came over the intercom. School was closing early, but all of the trains were shut down. We would either have to walk home or call our parents to come pick us up. I can’t remember if I ever got in touch with my parents, but the next thing I remember is seeing my parents waving at me in the crowd on Dekalb Avenue. We also dropped Sandy off at home. Her father was fine.
When I got home, I turned on the TV and discovered that we were only receiving two or three channels through our rabbit-ear antennas. I later learned that one of the towers had an antenna on top that broadcasted several local channels. For the following months, they kept showing footage of the planes flying into the towers, people jumping out the top floors, people on the ground fleeing from the smoke and flying debris… Even though we lived in southern Brooklyn, cars were coated with dust that wafted down from Ground Zero. The terms “terrorist,” “extremist,” “al Qeada,” and “national security” entered my vocabulary for the first time.
Our senior trip to Disney World was canceled. Our senior yearbook was printed with the American flag on the inside covers. I decided not to apply to my dream schools, University of Florida and Vassar College, so I could stay in New York. I regretted it within my first year at Baruch College. I felt guilty for studying marketing and accounting. Everything suddenly seemed so trivial and superficial. What about people who lived conflict regions? People suffering in wars? People who were in constantly feared for their lives?
In the summer of 2005, I studied abroad with Semester At Sea. The theme of study was “Europe and the World.” We learned about social democracies and experienced them firsthand in Norway and Belgium. We revisited the World Wars through Powerpoint slides and assigned readings, then learned about them in person visiting Auschwitz. Two days before we arrived in London, we received news that a bomb went off in the Underground. The shock and numbness I had felt four years ago rushed back. SAS had received many nervous phone calls from parents concerned about the safety of their children, so the MV Explorer was diverted to northern France.
Living aboard the Explorer was the first time I encountered reactions on 9/11 from peers outside of New York. I felt that that my friends from Denver and Portland was only able to sympathize with us (people in New York), but they would never understand the fear that gripped us. In 2006, sailed again with SAS and this time I took a class called the Psychology of Dying and Death. Because it was the 5th anniversary of 9/11, a section of the class was on Terror Management Theory and trying to understand why someone would volunteer to walk onto a bus with a bomb strapped onto himself. After one of the classes, I ran into my professor on the 6th deck. I told him about my experience with 9/11 and how ever since the Manhattan skyline changed, I suffered from panic attacks while crossing the Manhattan Bridge. He told me I had low mortality saliance. Whatever the explanation was, every time I heard a classmate from the Midwest saying how scared they were on 9/11, my worldview defenses went up.
Last week, I attended a speaker event called “September 11th and the Millennials: Perspectives on the Future of Foreign Policy 10 Years On.” The event was organized by Young Professionals in Foreign Policy and held at the Navy Memorial. At the start of the session, the founder and president of YPFP, Joshua Marcuse, gave a brief history of the organization. He was from New York and founded the organization in 2005. He told us that 9/11 had a profound effect on his life, as it did with many New Yorkers who experienced it. One thing he said that resonated with me was that at the moment when the towers collapsed, “it wasn’t a national or international event. It was a local event.” Soon after, several people in the audience admitted that 9/11 had no formative impact on their lives and it was probably because they weren’t in New York at the time or had lost anyone they knew. For them, the profound moment was when we invaded Iraq. That was when the questions of “Why” came up for them.
Since 9/11, the US missed its chance to seize the unity and support the global community was ready to offer. Instead, the Bush Administration took advantage of the situation, violated the rules of sovereignty, and made a lot of money. Since 9/11, the once strong political and economic standings of the US has fallen to an all-time low.
As for me, I escaped corporate America and indulged myself in studying conflict, security, war, and genocide. Now whenever people ask me, “Where were you on 9/11?” I tell them I was in my high school in downtown Brooklyn, just a bridge across from the World Trade Center. I was scared, but since then I’ve found strength and resilience in meeting people who have lived through wars yet refuse to identify themselves as victims.
*Name has been changed for anonymity
