Every year at the end of August and the beginning of September, e-mail reminders start arriving in my computer’s in-box. There are pleas to remember those killed in New York, Washington DC and Pennsylvania on September 11, 2001. There are photos and video clips of that dreadful day. There are essays and songs encouraging us to never forget.
When asked, I think everyone in America can clearly describe where he or she was and what he or she was doing on September 11, 2001. I can still picture the clear blue skies here in Minnesota, mirroring the cloudless sky surrounding the World Trade Center. I remember getting ready for work, grabbing a last cup of coffee and watching the news update of a plane crash in New York. “How sad,” I remember thinking. “What a horrible accident.”
Then, the horrible turned to the unimaginable, when before my eyes, live on national television, a second plane crashed into the famed Twin Towers. I, with millions of others across the nation—and throughout the world—realized that this was no accident. This was an attack on America.
In shock, I finished getting ready for work, which that day meant covering the county board meeting. It felt good to see other people, to see that at least in our little town, things had not changed. Those of us at the board meeting shared the fear and frustration as periodic updates came in—the Pentagon was in flames, a plane had crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. What would happen next?
A few days after September 11, 2001, I traveled to visit relatives in Forest Lake, Minnesota. My cousin, Sue, and I rode together for a family gathering. We talked a lot about the attack and what it meant. We were unable to find answers to our many questions, but we found solace in the outpouring of patriotism we saw along the way. Signs and posters wallpapered bridges and buildings. “United We Stand” and “God Bless America” was spray painted on sheets or hand-lettered on cardboard signs. Flags flew from every window and nearly every overpass had people waving flags at motorists. It felt good to see all those other people, to see that at least in our midwestern state, things had not changed. We were facing this together.
I’m saddened that as this eighth anniversary of the September 11 attacks passes, we’ve lost that solidarity. We are incredibly lucky in our little town in northern Minnesota. We weren’t as affected by the September 11 attacks as those in New York, Washington DC and Pennsylvania. Crazed men in crashing airplanes didn’t forever change our skyline. We don’t have solemn monuments to the dead like those erected at the Pentagon or in a Pennsylvania field. And we certainly don’t have the devastation of Ground Zero in our midst.
So it’s easy to get caught up in arguments over health care and presidential speeches and the environment and the economy. We start dividing ourselves into red states and blue states and let partisan politics push us away from one another. But we need to remember that we are all Americans. We need to remember those that died on September 11. The almost 3,000 people that were killed were true representatives of America— individuals from all walks of life, young and old, rich and poor, with connections to every state and just about every nation in the world.
We need to not just remember the horror of the September 11 attack. We need to honor those who died by remembering that feeling of unity. We need to remember that we are all Americans.
Except for necessities we never stopped that day, aiming at ground zero as if it was the end of a tunnel. The corridor of flags gave me personal comfort and certainty that day, that despite the darkness, there was light and strength. Even while standing at ground zero a few hours later, breathing the remains of the World Trade Center, the American flags that guided our way to lower Manhattan made it clear that we as a nation would survive.
Chuck Goudie, reporter, ABC 7 Chicago
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