Response to Hannah

I believe that a lot of our generation are on the same boat. We are all filled with gaping holes in our memories from events such as this. Certain parts of the memories, a teacher's grief-stricken face, the squeak of a cart as a television is pushed into a hushed classroom, will always be strongly remembered, because those parts are parts of the memory that we can understand. We weren't old enough to fully comprehend what happened. We couldn't understand death and malice, despair and destruction. And so we forget, because we were too young to understand.

I can relate to the silence of your parents. When I was three, my father passed away during a drunk driving accident (his fault). Of course, I went for years not knowing the real reason for his death. What can you tell a child to make them understand a death like this? "Your father was drinking and because of that he ended up killing himself." I know this isn't even remotely the same situation, but in a way, it is. People were silent about the real cause of his death (crashed into a tree, they told me, no alcohol involved, merely an accident) because I wasn't old enough to understand. And now that I'm at the age where I CAN understand, where I need to know everything, it's almost impossible to get an answer. I can't move on, because there was nothing to move on FROM. A man I was related to died before I even knew him. I don't even remember him. But everyone else has moved on. My mom is remarried (again), we don't even speak to his side of the family anymore, and really, the topic just doesn't come up.

Life seems to be full of puzzle pieces, regardless of the tragedy. I still don't know things about my father that a normal child should, and I probably never will. But it seems to me that this not knowing that we all experience does have some good in it. We as humans always seek information, and once we gain this information, it usually sits in the recesses of our mind, never to remerge again. Perhaps this not remembering, as frustrating as it may be, will give us more reason to reflect, because of its frustration. We can reflect because we want to know the whole story, but never will. Maybe we'll think about our individual tragedies more, in the absence of memory.

Brittany Clark



Original Post:

When I think of 9/11, what comes to mind most is this: I don't remember.

In my mind, the day exists in snippets and chunks. Flashes of events and words and images. But mostly, I just can't remember.

I remember my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Allan. This is how she usually looked - smiling and laughing and full of life, ready to encourage and teach a class of rowdy nine- and ten-year

-olds. I do remember that on this day, she wasn't smiling. She was crying.

I remember her in front of our classroom, tears running down her face. I remember being confused.

I think I was sitting in the back corner of the room. I think I was at a group of desks with my friends Katie and Jenny.

I don't remember what she said. I think she told us that planes had hit the Twin Towers. I don't remember if she said the words "terrorist" or "attack". I remember her saying she had to go tell another teacher's class, because that teacher couldn't. I think the other teacher just couldn't bear to tell a group of fourth-graders that their world had been attacked.

But to be honest, the Twin Towers weren't my world. New York was far away, and as a nine-year-old, I had no clue what they were or what they symbolized. I didn't understand the attacks. But I don't remember asking questions.

I think we went home early. I do remember riding the school bus home that day.

I don't remember our teacher telling us that the Pentagon had been attacked. She must have, because I remember thinking about it, but I don't remember how she told us or what she said.

To us, that was more real. We lived in Falls Church, Virginia, a mere 20 minutes from D.C. The Pentagon was a tangible place to us, a place we had driven by and seen and knew. We were a group of fourth-graders with knowledge about D.C., fourth-graders who had seen the Washington Monument and the White House, fourth-graders with parents who worked for the government.

"I don't know if my dad was at the Pentagon today or not."

I remember that sentence. I remember that thought running through my mind, coming out of my mouth. I remember not knowing.

My father is an economist. In 2001, he was frequently at the Pentagon for meetings. I remember riding the bus home, thinking that he might have been there.

I don't remember being afraid for his life. I don't remember being afraid for myself, either. The thought that either he or I could be harmed - that he might be dead - never truly occurred to me. Maybe it did, but now, all I seem to remember is this fearlessness, this belief that we were invincible.

I don't remember what my mom told me when I made it home. I don't remember if she knew where my dad was then, or if he called yet. He was at the Pentagon that day. He was in the parking lot, just leaving. He saw the plane hit.

I don't know much more than that. He doesn't talk about it much. Maybe it was because he didn't think my brothers and I were old enough to understand, and now that we're older, it just doesn't come up.

So I'm left with puzzle pieces about September 11, 2001. The tears. The school bus. The thoughts about my father.

It's frustrating, this not remembering.

Blog 2 Resonse to 9/11

I was there. I was standing in front of the memorial made to remember those affected by 9/11. It had been a year after the event occurred, but there were still mourning hearts out there. Pictures filled to memorial with smiles and picturesque moments of those who lost their lives that sad day. People were still crying. People were still hoping for something good to come out of this. People were still anxious to get over this event and move on. It still weighed heavily on the hearts of loved ones. This was not something one could get over any time soon.

Beside the memorial in New York City lies the rubble remains of Ground Zero. The church across the street serves as a memorial as well. This church held injured victims and weary firefighters. A bent piece of metal in the shape of a cross lies in the yard. It was one of the largest pieces of wreckage found in the piles of debris. God is in this place.

The firehouse on the other side of the street has a monument in memory if the many firefighters who lost their lives in order to help those in need. There is such a deep sense of loss in this area. Being one of the most popular attractions in New York, venders have set up their shops along the street. They take advantage of the area as a place of business rather than a place of mourning. They do not respect the area.

People died here. People said their last prayers here. Those who survived are still shaken by the recollection of events that day. The memorial is one of the only things in New York that speaks to those affected as well as those not affected. When I was there, those who did not come to remember loved ones were not allowed in the memorial area. They had it gated off so by-standers could only catch a glimpse of what meant so much to those who come to remember. Mourning was on restricted to those who were immediately affected by 9/11.

We are more open to the mourning process today. It is not restricted anymore. Anyone can come and honor all those nameless faces. Remember all those fathers, mothers, boyfriends, girlfriends, wives, husbands, best friends, family members, and workers. May God continue to bless New York City and help us use this tragic event to become better people.

-Megan Christy

Katrina: Good or Bad?

Was Katrina just a disaster or a blessing in disguise? Sure, it was a horrible disaster, but it did bring America closer together. When the hurricane struck in 2005, New Orleans had little hope of coming out of this. Homes were lost. People were killed. Buildings were torn down. The entire area was in ruins. The only thing not in ruins was the hope in the hearts of the people affected by this incredible disaster. Communities were brought closer together. People worked together to come out of this devastation with heads held high and hearts full of joy.

When I was in the 10^th grade, my youth group traveled to New Orleans to help clean up. It had been a few years after the disaster, but there were still plenty of things that needed to be fixed. One day we were walking along the beach. As we marched silently through the sand, our eyes were transfixed on all the things buried within the white sand. Beaded necklaces, jewelry boxes, nails, and buttons were just a few of the things we noticed. Our leader today us how the waters were still considered contaminated. We had to avoid the waters at all costs in order to keep our health. Bodies were still being found lost out in the middle of the ocean. Structures were still torn down.

However, when we walked past a small neighborhood on the banks of the ocean, we noticed a message painted on the side of a house. “We are ok. We love you all. God bless.” Hope was still here. Houses were being rebuilt. People were returning to the place they had called home. They felt a since of pride in being a part of New Orleans. I was inspired by their integrity and ability to stay strong amidst times of great trouble.

To this day, I have still been touched by the pride found in New Orleans. Hurricane Katrina could take away as much as it could physically, but it could not mentally devastate the people involved. It brought them together to overcome a tragedy they were all experiencing at the same time. People from around the United States have reached out to the communities affected by Hurricane Katrina. Organizations are forming and have been formed on behalf of Katrina. We are coming together to help in any way possible. We are becoming a true nation where we find the greatest joys in life from helping others. Devastation cannot destroy us, but it can bring us together in a tighter bond than ever before. I am glad we received a slap in the face from this huge hurricane. Without it, we might not be as close a community as we are today. We are becoming more focused on helping others in need rather than ourselves. May God continue to bless this nation and being us together to overcome anything that may stand in our way. We are the nation others look up to and I encourage us to keep building this reputation up until it becomes contagious!

-Megan Christy

Response to Karl

There we were, all stuck on the subway. It was just another day heading to work, preparing for the daily grind of meetings and coffee and long hours. I happened to be squished between several people, clutching my briefcase tightly. I felt slightly claustrophobic, but shook it off. There was no need to panic, right? My therapist told me I needed to take deep even breaths whenever I felt the beginnings of a panic attack. Standing there, below ground and in a metal tube, I had to breathe deeply when my vision started to tunnel at the thought of being stuck there. I was simply waiting for my stop so I could ascend the stairs and see the familiar sight of the two World Trade Centers. Something went wrong. We were only about halfway there when the train came to a screeching halt. The air became thick and stuffy and it was difficult to breathe. I started to panic, wondering what was happening. I couldn't help thinking of all the things that could have gone wrong. Did the breaks fail? Had it been some minor technical problem? Wait, what was that loud noise? Was that people screaming? That just sounded like an explosion! Oh God, what is going on? I noticed the elderly lady across from me hang up her cell phone and completely dissolve into gut-wrenching sobs that shook her frail frame. People began murmuring to their neighbors, all of them wondering what had happened. It spread like a wildfire, someone said the Towers had been hit. Who on earth would attack us? Why were we being attacked? There were so many questions and no one had the answers. We could only helplessly stand there, as imaginations ran rampant. Confusion was everywhere.

Confusion Everywhere

SEPTEMBER 11, 2001
8:30 AM - Entering Subway Train 5 in New York City

It's been a long while since I've been through this route. Usually I'd drive, but today seems like an exceptional sunny morning to see all the unfamiliar faces of an everyday routine. I like to take a moment to absorb the splendor of this glorious city, this Center of the World. African-American, Asian, Caucasian, Indian, and the mixed ethnicities; there's so much variation. But why did I take route today? My psychiatrist recommended I deviate from my normal routine once in a while. It would make life more interesting. I don't know. Besides, I don't have to check in for work until nine o' clock.

8:40 AM - Inside Subway Train 5 in New York City

I've been here for about ten minutes now and it's crowded. The air is almost unbreathable. The harsh conditions of such a small compact mode of transportation. What's wrong with the air vent? ...It's broken. Oh, the events of today. "Focus on the positive side." I think that's what my psychiatrist would say. Come on, self. Suck it up. Enjoy the moment and the city bustle.

8:43 AM - Inside Subway Train 5 in New York City

Stay positive. Stay positive. Stay positive...and focused. Might miss my stop.

Positive: There's an attractive lady glancing at me. Oh, she's married.

8:45 AM - Inside Subway Train 5 in New York City

Great. One more stop. Hey, that's positive, right?

One more step closer to work. Just gotta' get up to Church Street in view of the Twin Towers.

8:46 AM - Inside Subway Train 5 in New York City

Loud explosion. What was that? Emergency! A bomb? That was obviously not the subway brakes. Engineering malfunction? Stay positive. Stay positive.

Oh hell! Something is wrong! What was that deafening and extremely startling noise? Why is this lady crying? What's wrong? What do we do? There is too much noise to hear any instruction. When will the doors open?

Confusion is everywhere.

SEPTEMBER 11, 2011

8:46 AM - Home in Newark, New Jersey

As I recall this moment in time ten years ago, I remember smelling the fear accumulate in Train 5. We did not know why or what we were afraid of. At that moment, we were simply following the natural response of loud noises. I saw this older lady (about her 50s) sobbing in her seat. No one really came to help her or offer her something to wipe the steaming tears away. It was every man of his own. They all just worried and rumored among themselves. We just stood there.

Confusion was everywhere.

- Karl Abordo

Blog 2: Response

In response to A Plane Ride to Remember, by Megan Christy

Planes don't scare me. I don't really think they ever did. Before 9/11, after 9/11, my worries about a plane haven't changed.

It's kinda funny, really.

I don't think about it. I go to the airport and all the security is just there. I don't stop and think about why. I don't think about why I can only have 3 ounces of shampoo in my carry-on, and why I can’t have water in my water bottle. I just go through security and complain about the line.

I don’t look at the people around me and question if they may be terrorists. I don’t watch as the plane pulls up to my gate and wonder if the engine is going to fail, or if the plane might break apart, of if someone is going to fly the plane – my plane – into a building.

I don’t think that I might die.

I line up to board the plane, joke with my brothers about cutting in line. I stand in line, I move at a snail’s pace toward the door. I step on board, always looking down at the sliver of light and ground between the gate and the plane. I smile at the stewardess.

I find a seat (window if I’m lucky) and settle down. I pull out my book, get comfy. Watch as people board.

A teenager. An older couple. A man in his 20’s. A family. A mother with her young child (oh, great. Screaming baby on this flight).

As the stewardess (excuse me, “flight attendant”) begins to give the safety lecture, signaling toward the exits and demonstrating how to use the oxygen masks, I only half-listen. It never really occurs to me that I might have to use this information.

Is it foolishness? I bet the people on those planes did the same things I did. Grabbed a book, turned on some music. Did the crossword puzzle or Sudoku. Tended to children. Napped. They never expected their plane to crash into the Pentagon, or into the Twin Towers.

Maybe it’s not foolishness. Maybe it’s the only way. Maybe it’s the only way, the American public, can still board an airplane. By convincing ourselves that we’re invincible. Not America. Not our planes. Not our country. Most definitely not MY plane. I’ve got a meeting to be at, a connecting flight to catch, a family member to see. There will be no delays, no turbulence. We don’t even list “no terrorism” in our lists of wishes for the flight.

Is there a middle ground? Someplace between forgetting and paranoia. We can’t live our daily lives in constant fear of terrorist attacks. We can’t see enemies on every street, around every corner. In every person that has a different skin tone or accent or faith. That’s no way to live, in a constant state of suspicion. But we also shouldn’t live in complete ignorance of the fact, ignoring the lives lost, the people who died in the attacks, the people who died trying to save strangers, the people dying in a war to allow us to live in blissful ignorance.

Blog 2 Response

Prior to the attack on the Twin Towers, Grandma and Aunt Mary were watching the event hoping and praying that there sister and her daughter will survive. Grandma was on her knees while Aunt Mary was tearing up, grandma told her to don’t worry about it she WILL make it. As long as her name doesn’t show up on the screen then everything is ok. Unfortunately it did and it hit family as a whole and it made everyone speechless. Aunt Mary was hurt that the fact that her only sister died by the hands of the Terrorist that the whole thing was too hard to handle. Grandma on the other hand went to her room and couldn’t believe that she lost her oldest daughter. Every emotion was going through her mind and she couldn’t stomach the lost. The only question is now how can she tell her granddaughter the tragic news without breaking her heart. Everyone was still in shock and couldn’t fathom on the situation and what it has done to the family. “I can’t believe that she’s gone.” Said Mary “now what are we going to tell Suzy?” “OH MY GOD?! You know what I just realized? Didn’t Darrell was making his way overseas? I think it was Flight 308” “In todays news innocent lives were taking by the hands of the Taliban, Flight 308 crashed into the Twin Towers, hundreds died and few were injured who would do such a thing?” Said the Anchorman.”(Crying) NOOOOOO!!” Said Mary. Everyone in the room was stunned by the simple fact that both Suzy’s parents died in one day. Now what can they say to this little girl that both of her parents died and they didn’t realized it?
I am responding to Lucas Wheelers blog post, and I have to say that it touched my heart because I was talking to someone who lost both of their parents from 9/11 and now they’re living with their grandmother. It affects children as well as the parents who lost someone. To lose both parents at a young age can really affect them physiologically and emotionally. Because they die completely and be a shell of one’s self knowing that one special person won’t be there to hug you and tell you that I love you and see you grow as a successful person that your destined to be. Also to lose both of them at the same day can take a toll on a person’s heart, it can feel like they lost a piece of themselves and they will walk the earth knowing that physically their not there. Personally this is one of my favorite blogs that I’ve read simply because it can relate to most of the US and it can alter ones sight on the world and what it has in store. One thing is for certain that reality can either hurt you or can make life better for you. When I was little I thought I lost my aunt because she worked in New York and it scared me till I realized she went home early. I thank God everyday for that.

Blog 2: Response to Hannah Bonning

From the teacher's point of view.

"Good morning, class", I told my 4th grade students as they all filed into their desks, chatting to one another about things I could only dream of having the imagination to come up with anymore. "Pull out your Geography books on turn to chapter 5." As the class all turned to one of my favorite chapters, their pages filled with bright pictures of the New York skyline. Today they were going to learn about New York. I told them all to read silently to themselves. As I was awaiting for there curious hands to raise, I sat at my desk and checked my email. As I was at my desk my world rocked. I saw breaking news on my emails homepage stating that the Twin Towers had been hit. "Oh. My. Gosh." I couldn't believe what I had just taken in. I visited those towers during Spring break of my Freshman year in college. Those towers were landmarks of America that signified such prestigious power. As I looked at the image of the falling towers on my computer screen, I looked up at my class room and all of their books filled with more joyous pictures of what used to be. My students were engaging in their readings to only read what in the next edition of the book, would be inaccurate information. The next edition of this text book will not include statistics or images of the Twin Towers and how they fulfill the perfect image of the Big Apple's notorious skyline. These books would instead, be filled with images of devastation, horror, and accounts of innocent lives lost. When I came to school this morning, I had a smile on my face, now my eyes are filled with tears as I think of the lives lost in this tragedy. "What am I going to tell my students?" I thought to myself how hard it would be to explain the importance of these buildings to the apathetic children. They wouldn't be able to conceptualize why this is so upsetting for me or for their parents. They wont realize why the images of two buildings falling like Jenja squares are replacing their cartoons tonight, or the next few weeks. "Why right now? I've got to pull my self together for my students", as I was thinking of a way to present this news to my students, I couldn't hold back the tears. My students were so baffled by my expression of emotion they didn't know how to react. Some held themselves back, trying to act like they didn't notice an adult crying. Others, more sensitive, brought me over the box of Kleenex their parent most likely donated. "Something very bad just happened to very innocent people..." was all I could make out before school was dismissed early that September day.

Blog 2 in Response to Aza Green

Eight Months later…. Marian sat down on the couch after putting her child bed. She finally has time to make sense of her hectic day. Over on the coffee table there is a picture of her husband and her sitting beside the stack of mail. Marian thinks back on photo and remembers getting the news that your country has been attacked by terrorist. That day and event was horrible and once it sinks in there is a deeper meaning. Your husband is registered as an active duty solider. For you this means that your husband could be sent to fight depending on what the government feel is necessary to protect its citizens. You pray to God that this is not the case. Eventually, everything returns to normal. You find out that you are pregnant, the greatest day of your life and cannot wait to tell your husband. That night at home you are about to tell him and then you see the news of President Bush’s announcement that Congress has just approved his motion for declaration of war on terrorism. Your husband, who is sitting beside you, turns to you and said I got the cal and my platoon is preparing for the invasion I am being deployed”. Everything comes crashing down you finally find the courage to tell him the news that you found out earlier. He is happy but feels guilty at the same time for leaving you alone. You do your best to assure him that everything will be okay and the only thing that he needs to worry about his returning home safe.
Marion thinks of the time that has passed since that night. Her husband was deployed on one of the first invasions of Iraq in March of 2003. The baby was born month after his deployment. It was the hardest to deal with the loneliness in the beginning. By this point it was a part of her everyday life. Marian knows that life was harder without her husband but she was an army wife, it was reality. Thankfully, her community and friends had embraced her with loving arms and were helping her in a struggling time. Some of her friends were going through the exact thing she was so they had started a support group and met regular. She just hates that her husband was missing all of the excitement and preparations that comes with a new born child because he is worrying about keeping his family and country safe. He did however write frequently and call whenever he could to ask how she and the baby were getting by and to remind her that he staying safe so he could come home. This warmed Marion’s heart and now Marion was looking forward to telling their child about the kind of bravery and integrity that their father posses to go and defend his country.
Before going to bed every night Marion prayed for the said for the safety of her husband, his return to home safely as well as the other men he was serving with, and to help her have the strength to get thru the next day.

Lauren Epperson

It would take only hours for people to talk about ‘bringing the country together’. For words like ‘unity’ and ‘patriotism’ to become everyone’s everyday language. Those words had been my words for years. When I told my parents I wanted to join the army, when I had to accept that I’d never be able to provide Marian with the kind of life she was used to. Unity and patriotism were the words that I used to make things alright again.

Marian takes my hand. “All those people,” she says.
The thoughts I’m having are not allowed, not for anybody but certainly not for a soldier. I don’t care about those people. I live a million miles away from them in a military base with a family that is just starting to take shape. So no, in that moment, for one moment I choose to be selfish. I don’t care about the people falling or crying. I care about myself and my wife and the child that I am about to be pulled away from. I care about missing lamaze classes and random cravings and all the other things good, faithful husbands go through before they hold their babies in their arms. I care about the most amazing thing I could ever possibly make being brought into this world without me. I especially care that I made a promise I no longer want to keep.
“Do you know what this means?” I ask. I didn’t mean to but it slipped out.
Marian shakes her head. Her mind and her eyes are focussed solely on the television.
That’s my wife. Single minded to a fault. Determined to the point that it is almost detrimental. The coffee table in front of us is littered with baby books. Evidence of her latest obsession. The Modern Girls Guide to Motherhood. The Mother of All Pregnancy Books. Even A Womb With A View. I worry that now this tragedy will eclipse the birth of our child. Not so much in her mind (for even as she watches the screen Marian’s fingers rest inside the folds of Baby Wise, marking her place). But perhaps in the world at large. In the extended family who will try to smile at this new familial addition without thinking of all the people who’s lives were cut short a mere two months before the birth. How can any child compete with this kind of overwhelming sadness? How can a child grow up in that kind of miasma without a father to lead the way?
“You’ll have to go,” Marian says. “You’ll be deployed.” Her fingers have drifted to a book called Dad’s Pregnant Too! Perhaps intentionally. The cheery exclamation point is giving me a migraine.
“Yes,” I say. Simple. Sorry. Sad. S-words are drifting through my mind to keep terms like ‘absent father’ at bay.
I don’t immediately know what she’s thinking when she goes to get the camera. But then it all makes sense and I even manage a small, nervous smile for the photo.

Aza Green

Blog 2: Response to Lauren Epperson

I go up to New York every year during the summer. My mother and I drive there, it’s a 12 hour trip but that all depends if you hit Washington traffic. We go to see my God parents in Long Island. It’s probably my favorite drive, I guess if I had to pick anywhere to drive to. I love driving though the different cities and seeing the different geography. But ultimately what makes me so excited is when we cross the Brooklyn Bridge into the City. You can see the skyline and underneath you is the traffic driving in the opposite direction. When the lights are all lit it’s my favorite view. I feel like a kid in the candy shop when I see it or like I could do anything. Somehow I feel most at home, most like “this is where I belong” when I cross the Bridge. I assume this is what makes New York, New York. As often as I went up to New York I never visited Ground Zero. I would not see it until my sophomore year of high school.

I went on a school trip up to New York (like every school) with my Drama Class (like every Drama Group too). The intention was to go see Broadway and learn about acting and the actual process of auditioning and what it’s like for actors in the real world. The class made an impromptu trip to Ground Zero. It was seven years later before I saw the memorial. It did not look much like the pictures one might see. There was a giant hole in the ground. A lot of construction items (trucks, tools, etc.). To look at it there was an observatory, kind of like a balcony overlooking the construction in the adjacent building. It was kind of surreal. It sounds stupid because seven years later one would think this would not hit you as it does. When you look at it it’s kind of like wow. It’s different seeing it in person rather than through a screen or from a person. It is something that stays with you unlike anything else.

But anyhow the skyline. The most amazing one in the world is now somewhat lost. Yet I still kind of feel like it never looked more beautiful than it does now. It sounds cheesy but I still get that excited feeling of being there as I travel over the Bridge. I know that New York, America will come back better than ever. Our skyline will only improve. Because not only will the new buildings be better, prettier, more architecturally sound but filled with more meaning and love than the other ones. I look at the skyline and personally think that New York has more to offer and can still be the best without the twin towers. And I still don’t feel like I do going over the Bridge, looking at the skyline with the traffic underneath and the lights into New York anywhere else.

-GDP

Reponse to Franks post

After reading Frank’s blog I couldn’t help but feel a little offended myself, considering I am part of the LGBT community and I am a bit of an advocate for gay rights and equality, but I have learned that the word “Fag” only gives power if it offends the other person. Words tend to have meaning only when they have effect on someone else. After being called a “Fag” most of my high school years the word has become less and less effective. I don’t tend to think of “Fag” as being a term against gays or lesbians but against someone who is different and a term you use when you can’t think of another insult. I wouldn’t necessarily consider this to be a sign of our countries ignorance but just the ignorance of the sailor and his lack of vocabulary.

Now I’m not going to say that it was a good idea for him to write this on the bomb, in fact it was his own little way to say “FUCK YOU” to all those who would do us harm. However I do agree with the thought that oppressing gays and lesbians would be doing something that the Terrorists would approve of but I think it’s missing the point of the photo, when the sailor wrote this on the bomb as a way to show his anger. He wrote something without thinking clearly and thus showing everyone how clouded with hate he became after the attacks. In fact the whole idea of a bomb should be enough to say, “Hey you pissed off the wrong group of people!” Now whether the bomb had actually been used or not that sailor would have been able to say, “that’s right I said what I wanted to!”

If gays and lesbians are upset by such a word why would they use it within their own community? I have seen two gay men walk up to the other and as a greeting say “Hey Fag” and they have no problem with it. It’s when other people start to use this term as an insult that people become offended. That is a real problem with this country. We are so divided in our own culture that in one group the same word might be taken as offensive if said by another group. Another instance of this is the word Nigga. You can’t be a white man and say this to a black man because it’s racist, but yet I’ve seen two black men go up to each other and say “Hey Nigga what’s up?” or “That’s right Nigga.” As powerful as words can be they are just words and only take offense when used in a certain context or given in a certain tone of voice. I believe if we could just fix the problems in our own society first before trying to fix everyone elses we might not have cared so much about this War on Terror and certain actions like writing this on a bomb wouldn’t cause so much of an up roar.

Lucas Wheeler

The date is October 11, 2001. One month ago to the day, four planes were hijacked by terrorists and attacked the Pentagon and the World Trade Center. A U.S. Navy sailor on the U.S.S. Enterprise is preparing a bomb to be dropped over Afghanistan. The sailor decides to write a message to the recipients of the bomb. He scrawls, “High jack this fags,” onto the head of the bomb to show that no matter what they may try against us, we will fight back. Knowing that the bomb would explode and leave no evidence of his “graffiti”, the sailor did not worry about his message. He figured that his message was merely an additional, symbolic attack against terrorism that only he would know about. However, a photographer for the Associated Press was there as well, and they snapped a photograph of the bomb.

The Associated Press released the photograph to the public, and there was an outrage over the use of the word “fag.” In the sailor’s mind, “fag” was simply an insulting word, and therefore worthy of our enemy. But the word refers to a specific group of people, and that group of people is not our enemy. How can the enemy in the War on Terror be “fags?” The Terrorists are supposed to be religious extremists. Their religious beliefs would never permit homosexuality. If anything, our country’s LGBT population represents a freedom that is allowed in America that the Terrorists want to get rid of. Does that not mean that we should embrace the LGBT community in our war against Terror? If our troops alienate gays and lesbians, then they are oppressing people in a way that the Terrorists would approve of.

This picture demonstrates how imperfect the War on Terror is. Our troops are fighting against an enemy that seeks to destroy our freedom, but at the same time our troops are inadvertently denying the freedom of our own citizens. Homophobia is only one example of how confused we are as a nation. After America began its second war in Iraq, many Americans believed Saddam Hussein and Iraq to be a part of the War on Terror, and that they had been the aggressors in the September 11 attacks. The fact that we are at war against “Terror” is simply a vague concept that is difficult to understand. As this picture was circulated in the news circuit, members of the LGBT community were offended. The word “fag” is enough to strike “terror” in the minds of many Americans who have had to endure ridicule and hatred for having a different sexual or gender identity. As a result of this one sailor’s action, that terror and hatred was spread once again.

Blog #2: Response Blog

A Response to A Plane Ride to Remember by Megan Christy

Upon reading everyone's first blogs, A Plane Ride to Remember struck me differently. It reminded me of my own thoughts and imagination on the perspectives of those trapped in the hijacked planes and the people’s lives they left behind. From a documentary I saw a couple weeks ago, there was an interview with a fiancee who never got married. The reason: her long-distant fiance was on one of the planes that hit the World Trade Center. Who would have ever thought that such an unnatural incident would occur? Now coming from a similar long-distant situation, I thought about what ran through this supposedly soon-to-be-wife. All of their plans for the future and all their time invested in each other was left with nothing accomplished.
I’m sure there were likely many other personal situations that could have been as tragic (though the whole thing is tragic in itself). Think for a moment: There’s likely that father out there left to take care of three young children. There’s likely those young twins left without a mother and a father. There’s likely that only son who was soon to carry on the family name. There’s that grandmother who was soon to be back together with her beloved husband. There’s that dream of being back together again with those loved ones. There’s always that.
Now, let’s take a step back and account for the last thoughts of the people inside the plane. At the last few moments when they realized something was tragically wrong, I imagine a husband frantically calling for his wife on the cell phone. “I love you. I love you so much.” Then, the line goes dead without even a response from the wife yet. A teenage passenger is unaware of what is going on. He is sitting and simply listening to his iPod (volume blasted of course). The pilot is unable to gain control of the plane. His own life is in danger. He promised his wife he would be home for dinner. There’s bound to be endless stories and countless if-I-only-knews.
Each passenger had their own story; their own thoughts. There were feelings of regret, guilt, sadness, and fear. I have almost no doubt that if they could turn back time and make things right, everyone would. Yet, there is a lesson to be learned here…a personal one. From the people that were lost, we regret over things we should have rightfully said and done for them. We feel guilty of not being better fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers…human beings. However, we know that time is irreversible and we can only look forward and use these events to change our course of life. We can treat those we have here now better and with more compassion. By this, we can put aside the previous regret and guilt for what we should have done and use this tragic event as positive reconstruction. Though this should not be considered as a needed catastrophe, we form it as a way to better ourselves and use it as a way pay back what we owe to the lives lost.

-Karl Abordo