Farther Away Than Ever
Farther Away Than Ever
The promise of the day after and the betrayal that followed
Like many New Yorkers, that day and in the days that followed, I pored over every report, every video, and every photograph (I obsessed particularly with “The Falling Man”), in order to try to make sense of what had happened. But there was no sense to be made. Not long after, I turned inward. I didn’t want to hear other people’s stories. I didn’t want to tell my own—it was too personal, too difficult. And I didn’t want to see the pictures anymore.
It wasn’t about forgetting. Everything about that day is perfectly preserved in my memory. In fact, the slogan “Never Forget” has always offended me a little bit. Built into that short phrase is the implication that forgetting is even possible. Though we still fly the flags at half-mast and the names are called out in solemn ceremony, as they should be, even in my hometown paper, mention of the anniversary is below the fold. Maybe that’s as it should be, too. I don’t know.
But that’s different from forgetting. That’s different from failing to exact justice. The problem is that it seems like we’ve lost sight of the promise that arose in the wake of that day. In the intervening years, starting with the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, we squandered the global goodwill that sprang up in the atrocity’s aftermath, missing opportunities and, instead, creating new horrors.
I often wonder how those who lived through World War II feel—not the soldiers who fought to defeat Nazism, not those who survived the concentration camps (how they feel I cannot imagine), but those who stayed home, sacrificing in their own way and witnessing the battles from afar. How must they feel watching the rise of American fascism, the alarming spread of anti-Semitism, and the normalization of scapegoating and hatred as political strategy?
How similar is the experience of those who survived and lost and suffered on that day in 2001? How brutal the betrayal when the leader of one of our two political parties has been indicted for attacking American democracy after already having embraced the autocrats and dictators of Russia and Saudi Arabia and yet continues to have the full support of almost every other elected official in his party?
That Tuesday morning in New York 22 years ago was spectacularly beautiful and full of its own promise. The crisp breeze carried a hint of the autumn to come and the startling blue of the sky was indelible.
But the atrocities that followed, as intended, planted a seed of destruction in our midst. Since then, in large part because of the mistakes we continue to make, it has taken root like an invasive species designed to choke the life out of everything worth living and fighting for.
And we need to make it stop.
I still call beautiful Fall days like that September 11 weather. And you’re right the memories don’t fade. I was born July 28, 1945, near London, England, just as the war was ending. I grew up there and in the Isle of Man and remember we still had rationing when I was old enough to want sweeties. And our Christmas stockings had an orange in the toe because the fruit was a hard to find treat. After emigrating to Canada, we finally ended up in the States. But other family stayed in Canada. One cousin married an American and worked on the 95 floor of one of the towers. It seems like yesterday that a received a call from her sister in Toronto asking me what I thought from seeing the television coverage. All I could say was, “She’s gone.”
Born at the end of ww2, raised during the aftermath in the worst bombed UK city. Loosing my Dad at 5yo, who had fought behind enemy lines in both wars. My own experiences fighting in a mid east oil war. Seeing the 9/11 images on the TV, and a little later personally having had the background story from the photojournalist who created those images. These are some of the most profound events that have shaped my life, my beliefs. Yes it must stop it must stop it must........ Peace, Maurice