The Day After THE DAY

911 was not a one-day crisis. It was the first domino to fall, causing two decades of erosion upon the American soul.

                      

Photo by History in HD on Unsplash

I struggled to update, rejuvenate, resurrect an ancient and very bland piece from my old website, Ring Around the Basin, about my love of our road trips and Sunday drives along the Eastern Sierra Nevada. Some ridiculous falderal about hobbies started the piece and it became more pathetic from there. I thought my video posted on YouTube a decade ago would spice it up a bit. To my dismay, it was long gone or buried under tons of videos describing others' adventures along this scenic route. Bleech! The subject had been done to death.

So, I took a break and discovered this devastating poem on page 62 of Garrison Keillor's book, Good Poems for Hard Times.  

September 12th, 2001

by X. J. Kennedy

Two caught on film who hurtle

from the eighty-second floor,

choosing between a fireball

and to jump holding hands

aren't us. I wake beside you,

stretch, scratch, taste the air,

The incredible joy of coffee

and the morning light.

Alive, we open eyelids

on our pitiful share of time,

we bubbles rising and bursting

in a boiling pot.

As I read it, I realized I would be posting my Sierra piece on September 11th. In my attempt to perk up any relevance in it, I'd actually mentioned a brief encounter between hikers, two of whom hadn't yet heard about the Twin Towers. They'd been living in a state of bliss from the news media for a week. The other hikers wondered if they should tell them or let them enjoy the last shreds of innocence left to them.

The poem reminds us that, while over three thousand people lost their lives because of the attacks, and many more died from residual maladies for years afterward, most of us carried on in the usual mundane way. That is, we believed we would carry on, hoisting ourselves up, tiny flags flying, to face whatever struggles lay ahead. Within months, those tiny flags littered the land much as the face masks have from the pandemic. Since 2001, the media has beat the drum of mayhem and crisis daily, and the beat goes on.

We all remember where we were that day. It's like when JFK was assassinated or Pearl Harbor was attacked. Those events shifted our place in the world order. Our personal order also shifted as part we adjusted to the edicts of war and national insecurity. Many lost members of their families. A surprising number along the West Coast lost their farms, businesses, and their freedom because of hysteria and racism.

The attack on 911 affected those in the American West much differently than it did for residents in the Northeast. The distance from the tragedy produced a surreal disconnect emotionally. Many of us couldn't quite grasp the emotional impact of it. One columnist from the Reno Gazette actually wrote about this disconnect. A friend of mine read her poem about it at our writers' group. She told how, because of the attack, she had to travel by train back home to Truckee, CA from upstate New York where her parents lived. The train was stopped at a midwest RR crossing for an auto accident where a man was killed. She noted that his would be among hundreds of deaths on 9/11/2001 that would never receive the news coverage of those killed in the attacks.

On Sept. 11, 2001, I was just leaving my house for a morning walk when I saw my neighbor standing, dazed, in the street. At my greeting, he turned on me. "Haven't you heard the news? Don't you ever watch the news?" Unlike many people I know, the constant newsfeed is turned off in my home.

"No," I said, unaccustomed to his sudden anger against me.

He told me about the towers and the U.S. may declare war. I spent the rest of the day mesmerized in front of the tube. The encounter also shifted my relationship with those neighbors. Every Christmas thereafter, they sent out maudlin homemade cards with one of his dour black-and-white photos and a dreadful poem by his wife. Ultimately, our worldviews separated us by such a distance that whatever friendship we had withered. Haven't heard from them in years.

Other friends followed as our country's political climate wiped out faith and civil discourse like a tsunami. It amazed me how the poisonous dust from Ground Zero had blown across the country to our little mountain ski town. People were starting to go crazy.

One of the founders of our writers' group, the instructor of our poetry class, was enflamed with anger about the war that soon followed the attacks. I heard that he screamed at one of the members, a Vietnam vet who joked he was right of Hitler. It was a public scene between two people who once respected each other's beliefs, but it illustrated how the town was separating into tribes.

Even a few years later, I also got the cold shoulder from him as he had perceived I wasn't as feverishly anti-war as he was. He told me he was joining friends for a protest in Sacramento. I remarked that he can protest on behalf of me too. Apparently, I was supposed to drop everything and rally along with the others, whoever they were. I'd never been caught up in such activities, especially since I then had a young child and animals to care for. He never spoke to me again.

A young Pakistani visitor to the Truckee Library was arrested while reading an article in a news magazine about how the war in Afghanistan was affecting his country. You can understand his concern, but a "proud American citizen" called the sheriff's office to have him arrested as a suspected terrorist.

In another ridiculous incident, somebody spilled baby powder on the floor of the local drug store and a hazmat crew was called to investigate and clean up. We were experiencing the ramp up of the same prejudice and hysteria that sent thousands of American Japanese to prison camps during WWII.

Personally, I didn't have much to lose after the attacks. No one in my family or social circle was serving in the military, not even my Quaker/Mormon ancestors, unless you count people involved in the Utah and Mormon Wars in the 19th Century. It alarmed me, though, that the process of losing friends because of politics continued as the 2020 election a continuation of the absurd reign of terror started in 2016.

I made the mistake of telling a friend I couldn't vote for either candidate … again, that I really couldn't trust anyone in government anymore. I chose a third candidate, which is now thought of as a vote for the "monster" candidate.

This usually cheerful woman, who seemed more concerned by the condition of her lipstick and hair than anything else, was horrified. As I watched her walk jauntily back to her car, affecting a breezy, never-a-care gait, I realized I would never see her again. Granted, our friendship only involved a monthly gossip session over coffee and a few thrift shop binges, not a particularly deep relationship; but it bothered me that my vote mattered so much to her. I'd lost yet another acquaintance due to the madness infecting our society.

My parents refused to tell anybody who they voted for. Politics was a topic not to be discussed among friends. It was nobody's business. Now, though, people don't want to have anything to do with anybody until they check out and approve of the person's political beliefs. And if there's a difference of opinion … ever … the air suddenly becomes "unbreathable."

It's a sad toxin to be infused into our society. It's at the very basis of what ails this country right now. I don't really know what to do about it anymore other than hang out in the safety of my home. Apparently a lot of people are resorting to that lifestyle these days. Just stay out of the way.

I could rant about all kinds of things people could do to serve their communities or improve the civil discourse among their friends and neighbors, but it all sounds so hollow on paper. The fact is, 911 cut us adrift as a nation. The rift is still growing with no remedy in sight. I wish I could add something useful to the discussion.

Perhaps all I can do personally is watch how I may be contributing to the angst or malevolence around me.  I've already done that by pulling away from people who disturb me or whom I've abused in recent times. At the very least, by holding my own angry opinions in check, I don't add to the mayhem. I can't really influence others in a positive way, but I can control my words and actions. It's been a worthwhile effort for me to recognize and turn my negative behavior around to more positive actions.

Scroll past the trigger memes and discussion. Keep my friggin' mouth shut when a "stupid" comment passes my ears. Remember how useless it is to change others' points of view, to which they have a right to hold as dearly as I hold mine.

Learn how to apologize for being a jerk. That was a huge, humiliating epiphany!

I will end this piece with a quote from Good Will Ambassador Audrey Hepburn:

"As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others."