It’s sad to say that fear veils some of my earliest memories of childhood. But from the age of six, I began to look over my shoulder, lock my door and windows and practice mock-lockdowns after routine fire drills. I was born in Washington, D.C., a city that will forever hold my heart — not just because of the culture, people and lifestyle, but the resilience it instilled it all of its citizens after the terrorist attacks that pierced the early 2000s.
I remember that September day the way our grandparents may remember JFK’s assassination. Our parents came to pick us up early, and as a bouncy six-year-old, I was more than happy to leave the confines of Catholic school. Yet when I got home, my dad was glued to the television. My mom arrived soon after, hugging me and my dad — an odd gesture, considering they were taking their first steps towards becoming separated. They sat next to each other, again, closer than I had seen them in a while. I joined them, and don’t remember much save for the stories they’ve told me since.
My mom was at work with the radio on, another typical Tuesday morning. She heard over the radio that the Twin Towers had been hit, an accident she was sure. Then the other was struck — her office was now buzzing with talk of what was going on. Then the Pentagon was hit, and immediately she called my school. Oddly, considering most school offices have a radio playing in the background, the receptionist and principal were unaware of what had happened. At this point, I remember the entire school gathering in the gym, and within an hour or so my dad was on his way to pick me up. Little did he know he was one of the last people to drive on I-395, the highway facing the Pentagon, until 2002.
This day shook our District. Everyone knew someone who was affected by the 9/11 attacks — if it wasn’t your brother, it was your neighbor’s brother. I remember a girl in my class, Emily, missed a week of school to go to her uncle’s funeral in New York. Others were affected not because they were linked to a victim, but because they were erroneously linked the hijackers. My own neighbors and oldest family friends, who shared nothing in common with the terrorists save their Islamic faith, were shunned for months. Interestingly, the same ignorant hate is at the forefront of many new stories, Facebook posts and a certain presidential candidate's agenda today.
Just like New York, D.C. was grieving and subdued. Just over a year later, the Beltway sniper attacks sent new waves of distress throughout the greater D.C. area. For the month of October 2002, there was one shooting nearly every day. Kids were urged to wear their backpacks on their front, while adults walked behind them. Recess was held indoors, and the carpool lane was brought up to right outside the entrance of the school. It was a truly bizarre time for humanity, as the methodic shooting of one person a day led to the feeling of relief — the attack of one person meant safety, if only for 24 hours.
While our city was experiencing a foreign feeling of vulnerability, we banded together. It was subtle, and came in nondescript form — people letting each other merge on the highway, holding open elevator doors and an overall sense of solemn patience came over the community. We knew what we had been through, and we knew what we had experienced, but we kept calm and carried on.
Nearly 15 years later, I still feel the affects of 9/11 and the sniper shootings. I still lock my doors, I still get nervous to fly, I still get angry when people argue that body scanners are completely unnecessary in TSA security. Most of all, I remember the thousands of people who knew those who died, and also the people on board one of the planes who prevented further destruction from happening. I can’t imagine how much more different Washington, D.C. would be if further atrocities had occurred, and I wonder what the children of Nice, of Orlando, of Istanbul, of the Middle East are thinking. They don’t need the anxiety of wondering if their own home is safe — these thoughts are too much for kids so young.
What is scary today is that these attacks are no longer as isolated as they were 15 years ago. It seems that we are waking up every other day to a new attack, a new shooting, a new hopelessness. I urge you not to ignore the news coming in, because as large as our world may be, it is actually quite small. Remember how the world paused in remembrance for American lives lost, how countries declared national days of mourning. I also urge you to not be swayed by pundit chatter blaming this race or that religion. Remember: the actions of a few do not define all.
