We've Already Forgotten 9/11
The persistence of memory.
More than a Salvadori Dali painting, the persistence of memory is one etched into our brains. Memory is our key to the past but it is a past that may have never been. Twenty-two years after the Twin Towers fell, people yesterday all over social media shared their recollections about that fateful day. They shared where they were, who they were with, and how they felt. While emotion is a powerful way to recollect particular events, the fact remains that people often misremember events, even if it is not their intent to do so. Whether it's simple omission or rosy retrospection or simply using our imagination to fill in the gaps, our memories lose more and more accuracy over time. Having to think back about a single event five or ten years ago means we've lost part of that accuracy. An event that took place over twenty years ago? We've lost even more.
While just about every one of us of age can recollect where we were the moment the second plane hit the Twin Towers, many of us have chosen, either consciously or subconsciously, to ignore the days and weeks that followed. There is this perception that the country came together, united in goodwill and hospitality. That children waved American flags in the street, side-by-side with retirees. That the national anthem at sporting events somehow created a crescendo of voices, singing united as one. That political differences were put aside and neighbors freely opened their doors to anyone and their child to bop right in and enjoy a delicious treat. There was the perception that we were joined as one and that there was nothing that could happen that would break this newfound national pride.
But it was all a lie.
That's not to say there weren't pleasant moments. Everyday Americans did feel a renewed sense of patriotism, to be sure. Yet simmering just beneath the surface was a heightened sense of fear. Fear of another attack. Fear of a government overstepping its bounds. Fear of a stranger wearing a turban in a crowded public space. Fear of a world that we knew would never be the same.
This fear ate at us all. It affected each of us differently. It was largely dependent upon who we were and what our lived experience was. The elder generations now feared the newest, brownest faces that were arriving upon our shores. The first-time parents now feared sending out their children on public transportation or dropping them off at the busy downtown city square. And we, teenagers, now feared the impending war. Who would attack us? Why would they do this? When would we fight back? And in what capacity would we be asked, or told, to serve?
The first attack on American soil in nearly 200 years wasn't our generation's Pearl Harbor. It was something more. It was something different. It was raw. It was unnatural. It was confusing. But most of all, it was scary. It was scary because we never thought it would happen here. To us. We were the goddamn United States of America for Christ's sake! Nobody had attacked our mainland since the War of 1812. And not only that, but it was the way they attacked that made it so frightening. On commercial planes. That you took. That I took. That families took. Planes that crashed into office buildings where men and women were simply going to work to provide for their families. Stuff like that happened in wartorn foreign countries. But not in the United States. Not in our very own backyard.
Sadly, this newfound led to anger. Not an anger at our own government for allowing this to happen, mind you. But an anger at those who did this to us. And since we all know how rational angry Americans can be, that anger immediately became directed at anyone who appeared to be like the September 11th hijackers. It didn't matter where these people were from. It didn't matter if they were Muslim or Sikh or Hindi. Try asking a Pakistani Sikh how "patriotic" he felt after 9/11. Ask him what it was like for his children in school. Ask him how people responded when he wore a backpack on a busy subway car. Because these are memories that tens of thousands of Americans felt in the weeks that followed 9/11. And these aren't the memories that were shared all throughout social media yesterday for those who used the hashtag #neverforget.
We did forget. We forgot what 9/11 was like for those who won't try to sugarcoat the historic day for future generations. But history is painful. It can hurt. It can make us feel ashamed. If you are accurately recalling history and there is no pain then you aren't telling the whole story. That is what must be done for 9/11. We cannot ignore the pain, fear, and anxiousness that so many of us felt in the days and weeks that followed. We cannot ignore the very real xenophobia that reared its angry head and led to some of the most invasive government surveillance that this country had ever seen. Because in order to truly remember and honor those 2,776 lost lives we cannot tell a feelgood story. We must tell the real story as painful as it might be. September 11th forever changed who we are as a nation and as a people, for better and for worse. That is the story we simply have to tell.
We owe it to future generations to tell this story in an honest way. We can glorify the 9/11 first responders while simultaneously acknowledging that law enforcement created xenophobic policing policies that targeted those to happened to "look" Arab or Muslim. We can speak to the bravery of the American soldiers sent overseas while simultaneously acknowledging that there were not, in fact, any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. We can attest to the barrage of American flags duct taped to car antennas to show a renewed sense of patriotism while simultaneously acknowledging that countless Middle Eastern businesses and restaurants were damaged by hateful racist neighbors. It is not an anomaly to admit that there existed a time were both patriotism and xenophobia significantly increased at the exact same moment. In fact, you'll find that combination all too common throughout American history if you just look hard enough.
And it is that looking that is the key. Because for us to understand the good, the bad, and the ugly of September 11th we need to look beyond the feelgood posts and tributes. It's important to honor those who needlessly perished, of course. But we cannot allow ourselves to accept the false notion that for a brief shining moment, there existed a sort of utopia here in America. That view, that perception, insults those who lost their lives. It tells a dishonest story. Nearly 3,000 men, women, and children died, and in the days and weeks that followed there was a deeply conflicted America. That is the story that needs to be told. That is the discussion we still need to have. And that is the reality that social media completely ignored yesterday doing a disservice to those who lost their lives that tragic day. For their sake, and for all of ours, let us tell the true story of the days and weeks that followed September 11th.
It's the least we can do.
More than a Salvadori Dali painting, the persistence of memory is one etched into our brains. Memory is our key to the past but it is a past that may have never been. Twenty-two years after the Twin Towers fell, people yesterday all over social media shared their recollections about that fateful day. They shared where they were, who they were with, and how they felt. While emotion is a powerful way to recollect particular events, the fact remains that people often misremember events, even if it is not their intent to do so. Whether it's simple omission or rosy retrospection or simply using our imagination to fill in the gaps, our memories lose more and more accuracy over time. Having to think back about a single event five or ten years ago means we've lost part of that accuracy. An event that took place over twenty years ago? We've lost even more.
While just about every one of us of age can recollect where we were the moment the second plane hit the Twin Towers, many of us have chosen, either consciously or subconsciously, to ignore the days and weeks that followed. There is this perception that the country came together, united in goodwill and hospitality. That children waved American flags in the street, side-by-side with retirees. That the national anthem at sporting events somehow created a crescendo of voices, singing united as one. That political differences were put aside and neighbors freely opened their doors to anyone and their child to bop right in and enjoy a delicious treat. There was the perception that we were joined as one and that there was nothing that could happen that would break this newfound national pride.
But it was all a lie.
That's not to say there weren't pleasant moments. Everyday Americans did feel a renewed sense of patriotism, to be sure. Yet simmering just beneath the surface was a heightened sense of fear. Fear of another attack. Fear of a government overstepping its bounds. Fear of a stranger wearing a turban in a crowded public space. Fear of a world that we knew would never be the same.
This fear ate at us all. It affected each of us differently. It was largely dependent upon who we were and what our lived experience was. The elder generations now feared the newest, brownest faces that were arriving upon our shores. The first-time parents now feared sending out their children on public transportation or dropping them off at the busy downtown city square. And we, teenagers, now feared the impending war. Who would attack us? Why would they do this? When would we fight back? And in what capacity would we be asked, or told, to serve?
The first attack on American soil in nearly 200 years wasn't our generation's Pearl Harbor. It was something more. It was something different. It was raw. It was unnatural. It was confusing. But most of all, it was scary. It was scary because we never thought it would happen here. To us. We were the goddamn United States of America for Christ's sake! Nobody had attacked our mainland since the War of 1812. And not only that, but it was the way they attacked that made it so frightening. On commercial planes. That you took. That I took. That families took. Planes that crashed into office buildings where men and women were simply going to work to provide for their families. Stuff like that happened in wartorn foreign countries. But not in the United States. Not in our very own backyard.
Sadly, this newfound led to anger. Not an anger at our own government for allowing this to happen, mind you. But an anger at those who did this to us. And since we all know how rational angry Americans can be, that anger immediately became directed at anyone who appeared to be like the September 11th hijackers. It didn't matter where these people were from. It didn't matter if they were Muslim or Sikh or Hindi. Try asking a Pakistani Sikh how "patriotic" he felt after 9/11. Ask him what it was like for his children in school. Ask him how people responded when he wore a backpack on a busy subway car. Because these are memories that tens of thousands of Americans felt in the weeks that followed 9/11. And these aren't the memories that were shared all throughout social media yesterday for those who used the hashtag #neverforget.
We did forget. We forgot what 9/11 was like for those who won't try to sugarcoat the historic day for future generations. But history is painful. It can hurt. It can make us feel ashamed. If you are accurately recalling history and there is no pain then you aren't telling the whole story. That is what must be done for 9/11. We cannot ignore the pain, fear, and anxiousness that so many of us felt in the days and weeks that followed. We cannot ignore the very real xenophobia that reared its angry head and led to some of the most invasive government surveillance that this country had ever seen. Because in order to truly remember and honor those 2,776 lost lives we cannot tell a feelgood story. We must tell the real story as painful as it might be. September 11th forever changed who we are as a nation and as a people, for better and for worse. That is the story we simply have to tell.
We owe it to future generations to tell this story in an honest way. We can glorify the 9/11 first responders while simultaneously acknowledging that law enforcement created xenophobic policing policies that targeted those to happened to "look" Arab or Muslim. We can speak to the bravery of the American soldiers sent overseas while simultaneously acknowledging that there were not, in fact, any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. We can attest to the barrage of American flags duct taped to car antennas to show a renewed sense of patriotism while simultaneously acknowledging that countless Middle Eastern businesses and restaurants were damaged by hateful racist neighbors. It is not an anomaly to admit that there existed a time were both patriotism and xenophobia significantly increased at the exact same moment. In fact, you'll find that combination all too common throughout American history if you just look hard enough.
And it is that looking that is the key. Because for us to understand the good, the bad, and the ugly of September 11th we need to look beyond the feelgood posts and tributes. It's important to honor those who needlessly perished, of course. But we cannot allow ourselves to accept the false notion that for a brief shining moment, there existed a sort of utopia here in America. That view, that perception, insults those who lost their lives. It tells a dishonest story. Nearly 3,000 men, women, and children died, and in the days and weeks that followed there was a deeply conflicted America. That is the story that needs to be told. That is the discussion we still need to have. And that is the reality that social media completely ignored yesterday doing a disservice to those who lost their lives that tragic day. For their sake, and for all of ours, let us tell the true story of the days and weeks that followed September 11th.
It's the least we can do.
***
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