Saturday 15 September 2001
No more journal. I’m one of the lucky ones who will be returning to life as normal soon. Yesterday I did some laundry and booked a performer for a child’s birthday party. Today I picked up a replacement contact lens. Tiny errands of ordinary life feel like victories of productivity in a morass of distraction, mourning, frantic activity, and then crippling lethargy.
I keep thinking of images and thoughts I forgot to include though, and instead of going back and editing, I figured I’d write down a few just to get them out of my head.
Strange sights: possibly just New York’s normal characters, possibly normal people reacting to stress. In Washington Square park I saw a woman resting her feet in the fountain with her stockings still on. Coming home late I saw a doctor in scrubs smoking a cigaret.
Last night I walked home from Times Square after Movie Night at 2:00 a.m. (early show, The Glass House). I walked past Port Authority and Penn Station (screens at Madison Square Garden showing Old Glory at half mast) and down skeezy Eighth Avenue because I needed to feel safe in my city and I did.
One confusing sign said “No more killing in the name of God.” Was the sign writer speaking in the name of god or objecting to killings made under religious pretext? Other signs: “Hug an Arabian. We’re all suffering.” Someone in my building put up a red, white, and blue poster with bald eagles that said “God have mercy on terrorists. America will not.” Someone took it down afraid it would threaten the Arab owners of the deli next door so he replaced it with “God have mercy on Americans of all races, religions, and ethnic backgrounds.” Too much god and too much America everywhere.
I have often felt pride in being an American and pride in being a New Yorker, but in the light of the nation’s “patriotic” response I question that. Today I am no more proud to be an American than I am of being white or female or any other accident of birth. Be proud of your actions — individual and collective. I am proud to be an American as a group that legislated the separation of church and state, finally abolished slavery, let most citizens vote. I am not proud to be a part of a group that is opening fire on muslim-owned businesses, preaching a blind military retaliation, saying openly on the news that they should have noticed the hijackers “because they dressed different,” or blaming the secularism of our country for its vulnerability to such an attack. I don’t want to give up our freedoms. I don’t want to spend another hour at the airport answering useless questions and having my baggage hand-searched. Seal the cockpit. Lock the flight trajectory. Be willing to lose the passengers to save the nation. We take risks when we step out the door. We cannot eliminate risk; manage it.
Today there are no ambulances, only dumptrucks and memorials. The smoke hangs low like fog over lower Manhattan, and in an otherwise almost cloudless sky, pillowy clouds gather there. The streets are open to Canal and packed with tourists, and I don’t want to be a part of it anymore. Day one was survival — the bodegas and ATMs were packed. Day two was action — the crowds had moved to the hospitals. We’ve gone through anger and sorrow well and are still going through them, but we’ve also seen some opportunism. Postcard stands were packed today and street vendor booths with pictures of Manhattan. Well, some people are putting the postcards on the memorial walls, but some are collecting them.
There are huge sheets of cloth hung up in Washington Square Park with markers for people to react. Also hundreds of candles, flowers, postcards, pictures, and more. Amazingly, after pouring out all this text I had nothing to say there.
I did have a moment of sheer joy today. On my way somewhere I skated by the fire chaplain funeral letting out, and there was a whole team of Connecticut fire department members in kilts. Firemen in kilts! Firemen in kilts.
Everyone I know is distracted and forgetful. I’ve been starving since this happened. Maybe it’s the stress and odd schedule and hours on rollerblades, but I think I just feel hollow. I’m going to cook some food and watch the juggling videos Team RootBerry gave me because I love them and I love juggling and even while the whole thing gives you perspective on all the stupid stuff that seemed so important but now doesn’t, it also makes me hold onto what I do care about.