Talking about Terrorism Part 2 or 9/11 - 5 Years Later

I didnt even notice that today was September 11, esconced as I have been in the arms of a smaller world, till we were driving to work this morning onto the George Washington Bridge from New Jersey into New York, and my fiance noticed the large flag suspended over the bridge. While Times Square and Broadway were still neon and colourful, I did see two posters on the door to the Union of Operation Engineers, with 4 men - one black, two white, one olive-skinned, on the north, south, east and west of the poster, with a faint outline of the twin towers in the centre, on which was written "We will never forget". I immediately wondered where the South Asian looking guy was (or for that matter, I could contend - where are the damn women in the union of operation engineers? - but now is not an appropriate time for a feminist rant). Either this omission, in my opinion, is because South Asians are not a major part of the population of America quantitavely, or a major part of the population of Operation Engineers, or that it would rather forget that they exist, or not remind the public of the terrorists, or the many wars that followed targetting that particular racial type. (Though, again, in my opinion, it would be a show of solidarity, and contribute in a tiny way to promoting once again a positive stereotype of South Asians, whose image, unfortunately, has been greatly tarnished since then. ONly if, of course, there is a significant number of South Asians in the population of Operation Engineers who contributed to the 9/11 rescue operations).

Then I do my daily blog rounds upon reaching his office and come across some 9/11 reminiscences on Sepia Mutiny. Then I remember that my personal piece, as promised in this post is more than a few months overdue.

Practically every individual in America knows what s/he was doing at the time those planes rammed into the World Trade Centre. I for one, had spent all night that Monday up and working on some French essay. It was about 7am and I went down for a cup of tea. When I returned, I was surprised to find a couple of messages on my answering machine. It was a friend, mumbling some incomprehensible stuff about the world trade centre falling in an awestruck voice. Huh??? Maybe he had a bad dream or something. Anyway I took my time calling him back, focusing on my own computer stuff. An hour or so later my best friend Patty burst in with news from her mom who works at the UN about it. I had spoken to my friend by then, but I just didnt believe it - it just seemed so impossible and in some sort of alternate reality scheme of things.

The rest of the day was surreal. There was a subtle layer of stillness underneath the sudden buzz that had infected the calm leafy air at Vassar. Absences were excused in classes, leassons suspended... I remember our Introduction to Macro-economics class with Patty and Tim Koechlin, with students eager to talk about their friends, their parents, their relatives who had anything to do with the twin towers, of people who were on the subway at Pace University (that was Dahlia's friend), and a classmate's dad who was ill that day and didnt go into work. Of people fearing a bomb at Vassar, a low-lying set of widespread buildings in myriad architectural styles scattered over a sea of grass and trees, of us considering how this truly was our haven, our bomb shelter, an extended Blodgett Hall basement, a bubble. Of us coloured students, american and non-american, among the few considering the possibility that it could have been Bush himself, or a Timothy McVeigh situation all over again. Of refusing to condemn till we had proof. Of laughing at the conclusions being drawn so rapidly.

Support was rapidly set up for students - counseling for any students sufferent from losses, special phones set up to reach home in the Main Building, etc. I think there were more but I didnt avail of them - I had no one who worked in the WTC area. I did try to call my cousins at home, but they werent in.

September 11 was the day I was going to attempt to get my social security card. I went in and sat in front of the Student Employment advisor. And I think the impact of the day hit me then. I told her about how I needed a job, and then for some reason we started talking about the day - and thinking of how I couldnt get in touch with my cousin, my bhabhi, and my little year-old nephew Aadit who I had been helping potty train, I burst out crying. I spoke about the possible effects of the bomb on the world, vague as my awareness was of them. Anyway, she granted me permission, I got in touch with my relatives the next day, and I was mad that they didnt think to tell me that they were at some other cousins - it's silly how when you get attached to someone, no matter how old or capable they are, you still feel that they are personally responsible to you.

I did feel removed from the day, in a sense. I couldnt commiserate because I wasnt personally aware of the impact of the situation - sure Id been to a party in the Windows of the World hall atop the WTC but its not like one looks out of the windows then - my bf had pictures of the planes, but it just seemed morphed - you know - the possibility, the motive, just seemed so alien to my perception of the world. My parents didnt call me to discuss excitedly, and I didnt them. My concerns were more mundane and everyday. But still, at some level, that was my jolt into reality. It was all of ours, a rude shove into a new reality, because everything rapidly changed. The war in Afghanistan started, then the war in Iraq, we heard stories of Pakistani girls being stabbed to death in high schools with PENS by their boyfriends, comments on "towelheads", ignorance from whites, felt fury that the Indian consulate was advising women to wear saris and bindis and telling people that the bindi made them Hindu, not Muslim. Having lived through the 1991 riots, the Pokhran nuclear Tests, Operation Blue Star of 1984 (even though I was a toddler then), it made me so angry to think that our own consulate could be promoting communalism in this manner, placing many of its own citizens and expats at risk in such a blatant manner.

It was the year I was secretary of SASA - the South Asian Students Association at Vassar. I was flooded with emails and essays from the forums and groups that had joined to keep teh desi populace updates with events and issues in NYC etc. Those, in turn, I passed on to my mailing list. A massive mail every half hour - of essays, of pleas for help, for translators, for lawyers, for volunteers. I figured that you never knew what quarter help could come from - someone somewhere might have a friend/relative who could help - who was being affected. This was my little contribution - pitiful and annoying though it was. It frustrated me that no one understood that.

I 'passed' every time. I dont know if I was thankful. I was of course, and that made me feel very ungrateful. Very undeserving, when so many of my fellow South Asians were dealing with so much physical and mental violence. I resented being frisked at airports though - having check-in personnel just look at my name and at my face and THEN decide that my bags would go through a random search - having to stand in a separate search line at the gate, the irony of their ASKING me if it was ok if they could conduct a body search on me - well - did i have a choice? what would happen if I said no?

I dont know if things have really changed since then. We live with a little bit of fear, a little bit of defiance, a little bit of fury simmering just under our skin, ready to lash out any anything or anyone that vaguely challenges what we hold dear, and maybe that holds more true for some of the population rather than others. We have become intolerant, and I dont really think that's a sweeping generalisation. I hide behind a veil of political correctness more than ever now, in an attempt to go back to a happier, more innocent time, not one in which every belonging and personal item is scrutinised, doubted and confiscated. In which the majority is punished for the minority's wrongdoings, for the sake of a 'greater good'. What is safety without happiness and peace of mind? Where is the security when there is fear? The threshold has been upped a few notch or two within our lifetimes - a span indeed, of five years. The struggles of the past half century it seems, were for naught. Now we have liberation, but also crackdowns. Equality, but also suspicion. Technology, but still inconvenience. Money, but still, the essential tragedy of survival. Life still goes on. But. But. But.

Today, I think for some reason about how people tell me I dont look Indian, and how they mean it as a compliment and say it with wonder, and how I dont really know how to respond. How i finally mustered the courage to tell them that there are many types of Indians, not just the dark indentured labourer-types they seem to have in mind. And how I really dont know what to say when a black taxi driver tells me that I must be one of them white Indians. I sigh, accept the literalisation of the comment, and say thank you when I exit.