Looking back to September 11, 2001. What a hideous day! My mother-in-law and her partner of some 20 years were scheduled to get on a plane to go to the “Reed Reunion,” across the country. The flight would stop in New York. The reunion for the ship took place every five years, but as the survivors of the Reed, a ship that had been sunk in World War II, now faced the inevitable, their reunions got smaller and smaller, of course. Over time they were attended mostly by the wives and children of the crew more than the military men who had been on the ship. People may live through a sinking ship, but even hearty military men cannot outlive death.
On that September day I called my mother-in-law. She was spending the night at her boyfriend’s house, because it was close to the airport. On 9/11 they were traveling together to go to the Reed reunion. (He hadn’t been on the Reed, either, but after her husband had died, she and her friend became a couple; adorably, they always traveled together. I knew their flight would be canceled, of course. I told her to turn on the news. She asked, “what channel?” and I replied, the predictable answer: “Any channel.”
As the smoke swirled up from the first building of the Twin Towers, the observers down below ran for their own safety. The rest of the scene played out. The spectacle, which unfortunately wasn’t a movie, continued. Horrifically, people jumping out of windows, screaming, people running from the Towers, the sounds of sirens, police, fire trucks, ambulances. There could not possibly be enough first responders that day. Bless the ones who were there. 9/11 would eventually become like the day of Kennedy’s assassination, a memory of, “where were you when…” and people would remember. I remember, too.
In the minutes, then hours to come, the same horrific scene would play on the news, over and over: smoke flaring up, the Twin Towers exploding then crashing, almost dissolving as they crumbled down and collapsed. First one, then the other. Bystanders, observers and TV viewers watched in horror, trying to wrap our heads around what was happening, had happened. We could not.
In the days that followed, there was a sad unity in the country. So many people proudly hung the United States flag. We knew our country was one, brought together in our tragedy and grief. But the ugliness began, too. People of Middle Eastern descent, or anyone who appeared to be, were at risk of attack or even murder. The first was a manager in a 7-11 beaten almost to the point of death. Many Muslims and Sikhs were beaten. Others were killed. Sikhs, especially, were visible targets because they wear turbans. It is part of their religious practice. Some Muslims wear turbans, too, but they are not required to by their faith. Vengeful people assaulted other people, simply because of what they looked like. One of the murderers described how he had wanted to kill some “towel heads,” as he called the Sikh man he’d murdered. Singh Sodhi, a 49-year-old Sikh, was shot and killed outside the gas station he owned.
In the months that followed 9/11, hate and violence spread. Graffiti on a temple that said “Rags Go Home.” Slurs and epithets. Baljeet Singh had his jaw and nose broken when attacked outside his temple by his own neighbor. Threats to Muslims and Sikhs such as “go home, Osama.” More than 300 hate crimes against Sikhs alone were committed in the year that followed 9/11/2001, according to the Huffington Post. This includes murders. Those murders included children, people at prayer in Sikh temples, almost all of them US citizens. (Not that it should make a difference, but it does for some). It was an ugly time. It continues.
Another Sikh man, Jasmir Singh, was attacked, the assailant using a broken glass bottle. Singh lost vision in his left eye. A 9th grader was attacked by another student. Outside of his home, a decorated U.S. Navy veteran of the Gulf War, Kuldip Nag, was approached by a police officer for an expired vehicle registration tag. The officer then assaulted Nag with pepper spray. A gunman opened fire in a gurdwara (a Sikh temple) during Sikh prayer services, killing six worshipers. He was shot and killed by police. I have a hard time feeling sorry for him, if I’m honest.
There are more, countless more acts of hatred, not just on Sikhs, but also on Muslims. An ignorance of the distinctions, of religion, of culture, origin, ethnicity. Though all but one of the pilots on 9/11 were Saudi Arabians, the United States went to war with Iraq. Afghanistan. If Michael Moore is to believed, members of the Saudi Arabian Royal family, however, were escorted safely back to Saudi Arabia within days of 9/11.
So yes, the shock and disbelief we all experienced surrounding 9/11 were extreme. The aftermath of the terrorist attack was tremendous; it is something our country is probably still recovering from. 2977 people died and over 6000 were injured, according to multiple sources. Certainly the survivors from the buildings have carried their own PTSD for years. Beyond the deaths and injuries at the Twin Towers themselves, the wounds inflicted upon so many of our citizens by so many of our other citizens have made scars that may never heal. It is a time to remember and mourn for the dead, to be sure, and a time to recognize the first responders and the good that the police and so many others did that day in New York City. All of this is true. It is also important not to overlook the pain that was caused by the hate and violence of others, beyond the acts of terrorism committed by the pilots who flew into the Twin Towers. So on 9/11, when we honor the innocent people, the injured and the dead from the Twin Towers, we should also take a thoughtful moment to remember all of those innocents who were also hurt in the aftermath, and whose pain was equally unfair. This, too, should be part of our memory, part of our collective grief. We must do better.
