25 Years

I have written much about my memories of 9/11: My story of surviving the day; recording what I witnessed; a meditation on the Yahrzeit; then five years on; ten; and twenty years and what I recalled still.

Now twenty-five years after I must write of my regret. 

All this time, I had convinced myself of the common belief that the trauma of 9/11 brought us together as a nation and showed us a model of what we could be.

That was myth. I was wrong. 

After a decade of Trump, of American fascism, of my own profession’s — journalism’s — negligent failures in the face of it, how could I still believe that we are in any way better now than we were before? That the United States has twice elected an incompetent, ignorant, bigoted, dangerous, warmongering, authoritarian to the presidency is evidence that this nation has learned nothing and indeed fails to respect learning. That Germany — of all nations — can see one of its states grant an electoral landslide to right-wing extremists demonstrates that any lesson, no matter how profound, can be forgotten.

9/11 led to extremism in response to extremism. It elevated a fringe culture of conspiracy theorism to the core of right-wing politics and media. It enabled a security state built on constant suspicion and paranoia. It led to a sense of American victimhood and entitlement, muffling the empathy we should have for the suffering of other nations under attack. It made permissible an interchangeable American bigotry aimed at one group and then any group. 

I do not mean to sound cynical. But to deny the cynicism that has taken root and spread in this nation in the last twenty-five years would itself be an act of cynicism. 

If there is a way out of this, it is not through annual incantations of lost unity. It must be through fighting: fighting authoritarianism, ignorance, suspicion, bigotry, terrorism — domestic and foreign — and fascism. That requires that we — beginning with political leaders and journalists — first recognize these palls on the land so we may organize to oppose them. We must specify which institutions are under attack — democracy, education, equality, inclusion — before we can defend each.

My first emotion after surviving the attack on the World Trade Center was anger, not relief. In the flush of the moment, I at first titled the blog I started a few days after the attack “World War III;” before long, it was Buzzmachine. That was misplaced anger, anger that could be exploited. 

Anger properly channeled is a powerful force. We who defend democracy must direct our anger at those who threaten it, at those who have exploited 9/11 to seize power. I am angry at institutions — universities, media companies, law firms, civil service — that fail to defend themselves against unjust attack. I am angry at my fellow journalists for succumbing to their reflexive tropes of imagined unity, objectivity, normalcy. 

After 9/11, we asked when we would return to normal. In the midst of COVID, we asked the same question. But in truth, normalcy is nostalgic fraud: the belief that there is some better day to return to. If you are Black, Latino, an immigrant, disabled, LGBTQ, female, poor, or in any way disenfranchised, that day never existed. The past is nothing to fight for. What we must join together to fight for is a different and better future: progress. 

Looking back, I see that 9/11 robbed me of dreams. It allowed the forces of the past — of so-called conservatism — to set their agenda of protection, exclusion, and reversion, instead of progress.

On that beautiful, clear, September day that I shall remember for the rest of my days I witnessed and survived horror. The specific aftermaths in my life — a heart condition, two cancers, PTSD, and burdens on my family — are nothing next to the loss and trauma so many others have experienced, bearing scars still. On that day and to this day I know how fortunate I am. But I am also angry at the progress and potential we have lost. I am angry at myself for not fighting hard enough to regain them. 

That is how I feel, twenty-five years on.

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