9/11 SPECIAL EDITION: "A Child of the Bush Years" Grew into "An Adult of the Trump and Pandemic Years"
Remembering 9/11 in 2023.
In 2015, I wrote a piece on Medium about remembering 9/11 — which I reproduced below for your inbox. At the time of writing that, I was living in New York City. I had not yet experienced an America that elected Trump. Nor had I experienced a pandemic in New York City that by April 2020 would take 3x more lives than 9/11 did in just a few months. During my lockdown in New York, neighbors who had lost loved ones to 9/11 terrorism were losing loved ones to a bizarre disease we did not yet understand.
As much as I am a “Child of the Bush Years,” I’m now an adult of the “Trump and Pandemic Years.”
And in many ways the latter is a consequence of the mistakes of the former.
Eight years ago when I wrote “I’m a Child of the Bush Years,” I had begun to think anew about security. More than protection from terrorism or external violence, security had also begun to to take on a more sophisticated meaning. It was not just about “enemies foreign and domestic,” but about mental, physical, and spiritual well-being.
In my 33 years, I’ve since lived through 9/11, Wars on Terrorism, the 2008 Financial Collapse, an Opioid Crisis wrought by pharmaceutical greed, and what they say is a “once in a lifetime” pandemic — though experts assure us more will come with climate change and environmental devastation. “Bad guys out there” still exist, but the things that impact one’s life the most are often much closer to home. The pains of addiction, wrought by hopelessness and unchecked capitalism (Sacklers). The impact of collapsing mental and physical health. The pains of economic inequality that make buying a home increasingly out of reach.
One thing I learned during the Trump years and the Pandemic years was that I felt least secure when I was alone — which is perhaps why lock down and loss has left lasting scars on my spirit. Yet I felt most uplifted and secure when I was in community with others. When we worked together to get food to elderly neighbors. When I received a rare KN95 to go to the hospital from an actress-turned-activist friend. When we collaborated online to collect data. When we zoomed to just listen to each others’ grief.
Security is when you know your neighbors and do not fear them. Security is when you love those people who are different from you and leave space for disagreement. Security is trusting and verifying. Security is cooperation. Security is regenerative, not destructive. Security is love in the face of fear.
A rabbi once told me of the Holocaust, “Do not say ‘Never Forget’ but say ‘Always Remember’ because that is an active stance, a positive posture.” Today I remember 9/11, where it took us, and where we are. I am meditating on the neighbors I had who lost loved ones during both that attack and the pandemic. I think of New York, my love, and I think of the forces still at work — not terrorists abroad, but fear and greed and nihilism at home — trying to tear that city of cooperation apart.
“I’m a Child of the Bush Years” - September 11, 2015
I’m a child of the Bush years. I was 11 when 9/11 happened. I was a young girl just learning about things like Republican and Democrats, how Norway had month long vacations, cell structure, and my dad had just purchased 1984, A Brave New World, the Good Earth, Catcher in the Rye, and other books, trying to bolster my public school education. My brain was ripe.
Looking back, I realize what an impact that day had on me. I was suddenly aware of a bigger world than the farm and the scrap yard. I watched fighter jets fly over my house. America seemed like a real concept suddenly. “Oh. America. I see.” I thought.
Muslims, you say? I loved the Egyptian family who ran the mini mart. What? They did this? I don’t believe it. Small town finger pointing inspired a sense of renouncement in my little mind. Yet, I thought “Fighter jets. America.” I wanted whatever “war” was because they said it would make us safer and more secure. Security. What is that?
Then, I was 12-going-on-13 when we invaded Iraq. I remember watching Baghdad light up on TV, imagining myself as myself — a child, but with bombs falling on her house. I cried. I had a big imagination as a girl (and now) so the sensation of the daydream haunts me.
If I felt so insecure, how did those children feel? I could never blame them for that feeling. Someone probably told them “war because…” just as they told me “war because…”
I wanted to be in “National Security,” whatever that was. I wanted to prevent the world, and maybe myself, from feeling like that again.
Until I was about 21, I turned all of my attention to studying the world, in a weird unconscious reaction to 9/11. I studied Arabic. I helped a girls’ school in Afghanistan. I studied in Egypt and Spain. I contemplated military service. As soon as I could drive, I took my sister to Shanksville (40 min from my home), to see how 5 years later, there were still handmade memorials adorning the site. I lived in post-conflict zones. I hitch-hiked with soldiers who felt numb from the process. I saw how the world had a currency of pain and they were just trading it across borders, some with rockets, men and tanks, but others with love, writing and theater.
Looking at the past 14 years, I see security is a nuanced thing. Now I crave to understand not National Security in a vacuum, but mental security, community security, security to feel and to speak without judgement. Security is as internal as it is external.
Today as I remember the event that sparked my adolescence and the war that marred it, I think a new way about security. I hope that the next 14 years bring about a world more sensitive to nuanced notions of what security means. That family, connection, caring, and inclusion… as well as clear boundaries that are not judgments so much as they are limits, are important to feeling safe.
In the meantime, my prayers go out to all of the souls of victims and their families. New York, my beautiful, resilient New York, is my new home for the foreseeable future and I absolutely love you with all of my heart.