Not in My Name

When I look into the eyes of this child, I wonder what he was doing on September 11, 2001. Was he even born then? Who is/ was  he? What was his name? I look into his dead eyes and I feel shame and I wonder if we really do think there is any time where his death, or the deaths of children like him, is ever actually justified. I wonder about people who believe this...

... and I have to sneer derisively at the image of some flag-waving yahoo talking about America kicking ass...

... because, more likely than not, it's this child's ass we kicked. It's this child's ass, and tens of thousands like him, we kicked... I wonder about such people... and I feel ashamed because in some way, I've had something to do with that child's destruction -- we all do...

Those of you who read this blog already know I live right by what is now called "Ground Zero." My building shook when the towers fell...
I walked the streets in that aftermath, covered with white powder -- we all did...

Quietly...

We all lost someone that day, there isn't a New Yorker that wasn't somehow connected by six degrees to the loss of that day. I too breathed in the fumes and developed what eventually became known as the "Downtown Cough."

I had to walk daily through police barricades and checkpoints for months after just to get home and I did it because I didn't want those who are twisted enough to destroy in the name of ideology to win. If I ran in fear, then they would win... so I stayed there in my apartment despite the urging of friends and loved ones to stay somewhere "safe"... It was my own little act of defiance.

I smelled the "smell" everyday... the smell no one wanted to talk about: the smell of burning flesh mixed in with only God knows what was emanating from the toxic pile where once stood the Towers. It burned for months... and we know now that the whole area should've been closed off...

I facillitated quite a few groups in the aftermath of 9/11 and I heard a lot of anger, much grief, shock, and disbelief. But I also saw people coming together in heroic ways in that most crucial defining moment in our history...

Stores opened their doors and put out tables with free water

Strangers took to helping those who were injured... consoling one another...

People embraced one another...

Strangers took strangers into their homes if they were displaced... 

... and on and on -- the stories of that day are now forgotten as politicians basked in the limelight of news cameras. Time voted a person as "Man of the year" -- but the real people of the year were the people of New York City...

I hoped that the more noble aspects of human nature, as exemplified by my fellow New Yorkers, would hold the day, but time has shown differently.

I despaired that the actions of my fellow New Yorkers would be buried in an avalanche of the bullshit jingoism passing off as patriotism that would surely follow. I despaired that our leaders would exploit this to deepen the culture of fear and hate.

I heard many people express outrage -- wanting to punish those who were responsible... but more often than not, I heard people expressing my own fears that politicians and the powers that be would exploit the tragic events of 9/11 as a pretext for thier own, not so noble, agendas. All this immediately in the aftermath of 9/11.

In the days that followed 9/11, the NY Times would publish snap bios of every person who perished in the Towers. It was a way to insert a humanity behind the tragedy, a way to discard the anonymity. My people, my fellow New Yorkers who died in the Towers, were just regular people who had lives, dreams, hopes.

But what about this child?  Look into his eyes... is he alive? Dead? Did he have hopes? Or did he, like many other children, just cared about playing with his friends, getting birthday presents, eating his favorite sweets...

Many, in their rush to wave their flag and puff themselves up into a patritotic fervor, wouldn't give two shits about this child. Many, in the comfort of thier suburban enclaves, would say that such is life, that if that child's death means we save 100 of ours, then that child's death is justified and -- shit -- let's nuke the whole lot of them - fuck the towel heads.

The irony is that the people who flew those airplanes into the Towers that bright, sunny, beautiful New York City day, felt the same way... fundamentalism, fervor, and rabid ideology of any kind leads to destruction, in whatever flag you want to dress it up...

I'm here today to give testimony to that day -- that on September 11th, 2001, we New Yorkers were a power of example of what humans, driven by compassion and courage, can accomplish. I'm here to say that knee-jerk, "Yeehaw!" type false patriotism desecrates the memory of that day... I'm here to bear witness that waving a flag and talking about kicking ass was not what we were doing in those tragic days...  we were reaching out to one another, tending, healing...

I'm here to hopefully bear witness that this child was human too...  he was a boy, he lived, he had dreams, and he laughed...  and perhaps he died needlessly because we failed to hold our leaders accountable and allowed them to go to war under false pretexts in the name of fear and hate... all the while waving flags and talking bullshit about kicking ass... well we kicked this child's ass, didn't we? We really showed him, and 1000s of others like him, didn't we!

Well, I'm here to say that you can do this, but don't do it in my name... don't do it the name of 9/11... because it's disgraceful and shameless...

Not in my name...