It is a question people think about and randomly announce every once in a while when they often don’t mean it. What was the best day of your life? Almost, all of us, by obligation and in truth, would submit some family marker for that day – a day of magic, fulfillment, joy and love. Certainly, my wedding day, and not just saying – it is one of the few days where I remember the whole day, even if at a blur. Or the day my daughter, or son, or son were born, or that night in Scotland from the balcony of a 19th century castle looking out on the ruins of 13thcentury castle with a shooting star shower over head and a glass of local scotch to enjoy with my partner, and enjoy we did ….
View of the Ruins of Kildrummy Castle
And, more than likely, 1,000 other days for countless reasons with countless other people. And then, a memory of vivid horror takes me to another day, a day of sheer terror without the connections of family to warm it and create comfort. 9/11.
For many of us, not being in New York does not diminish the impact of this day, and being in NYC’s ugly step-brother city – yes, step brother, as in brotherly love – Philadelphia the experience was, perhaps, more relatable than anywhere else other than near Ground Zero. Philly is not as big – or mad, or wonderful, or grotesque, or vicious, or wild, or intense, or amazing – as NYC, but it wants to be. It once was the cultural, economic and political nexus of America, and then, New York. New York took it from Philadelphia, like Cinderella from What’s Her Face and Whoozawhat. Fucking, Cinderella. Fucking, NYC. And now nearly two centuries later, Philly is an afterthought in all things, art, literature, music – importance. Not New York, not even close.
But on this day, this brilliant sky, perfect weather, horribly dark day, Philly was a great place to comprehend the magnitude, in human ways, just what was going on. Philly is a satellite of New York, connected in a multitude of ways to its larger more significant hub. Within an hour I was down in Center City, near the business district, waiting for my soon to be bride, who was not yet released from the chaos of her own job to join our collective madness. Mad, in extending into unreality, mad, in grasping at the unknown, mad, for wanting it to all go away. But not mad in anger, not yet, and maybe not ever.
It's a park, not a street, in Philadelphia
A man in a suit on a concrete bench underneath a scraping sky building, wept crumpled tears into his praying hands as his hat, a high hat, fell off and tumbled toward the street’s slowing traffic. The hat was saved by a woman in a blue suit with a pinkish red scarf and flaming blond hair that shook in the wind, most likely from the rustling of her own fingers trying to figure out what the hell was going on. She took the hat over to the man – and then, sat with him, put her arm around him. He sobered and looked at her. They embraced and said some words – what words? Doubtful that even they knew. They both stood. He picked up his brief case. They said more words and hugged again before parting.
I called all the people I knew or that my brain could think of – just to hear them, just for that connection of emotions which sounds convey.
The place Rocky ran to, but didn't go in.
I went home and talked to my neighbor. He was old and raised in a world different from mine, in a world of working class Philly where his group didn’t like that group and that group didn’t like his group, and there were other groups that they all hated – because that’s what humans do. Our group is good and their group is bad. A simple child’s mentality that has defined us for thousands of years. We sat and talked about what we saw non-stop on every television channel.
Then I said to him, “it’s time to change. It’s time to put those old ways to rest and follow the real meaning of this society – to respect others, to honor their rights, to live in community instead of hostility.” Ok, it was not that poetical, but that was the gist of it. And you know what, this hardened man, kind to everyone he met, but hardened by a thousand hates of those he never knew, agreed. “Yeah, you’re right.” It was as clear as could be. A new course could be set. A new course where kindness replaced conflict, where empathy could provide a path together to a better tomorrow. Isn’t that what America was supposed to be, anyway?
We would all agree to that, in the abstract, but we would still all agree. Maybe the means would be different, but the end would be the same. And for two weeks, down at street level, it was that way. People went out of their way to be kind. Even while driving, people were kind to people because they were people. The best of days.
But Humans are likely to follow the best of days by the worst of nightmares, and the seeds of our own undoing were already being planted by those whose plantations had more ability to bear fruit than us meager street dwellers. Instead of nurturing our love, George W. Bush fertilized our hate and what a load of shit it was. Revenge. REVENGE!
The guy looking at you was the chief architect of the Versailles Treaty and made his political fortune on Revenge! His efforts insured there would be another War even greater than the Great War.
He looked first to Saddam, but that was a non-starter since Saddam and Al-Qaida were enemies …. And Al-Qaida took credit for it. Let’s get ‘em.
Normal is not good enough. What could have been, can be again.
It is a question people think about and randomly announce every once in a while when they often don’t mean it. What was the best day of your life? Almost, all of us, by obligation and in truth, would submit some family marker for that day – a day of magic, fulfillment, joy and love. Certainly, my wedding day, and not just saying – it is one of the few days where I remember the whole day, even if at a blur. Or the day my daughter, or son, or son were born, or that night in Scotland from the balcony of a 19th century castle looking out on the ruins of 13thcentury castle with a shooting star shower over head and a glass of local scotch to enjoy with my partner, and enjoy we did ….
And, more than likely, 1,000 other days for countless reasons with countless other people. And then, a memory of vivid horror takes me to another day, a day of sheer terror without the connections of family to warm it and create comfort. 9/11.
 |
| View of the Ruins of Kildrummy Castle |
For most of us, regardless of where we were, this was a horrible day and it is not on my list … but it sewed the seeds of the greatest of days, right in the midst of panic and sorrow. The Greatest of Days.
I woke to the report confused with thoughts somewhere in between the plane that actually flew into the Empire State and visions of King Kong smashing bi-planes. I made it downstairs just in time to see the second plane. This was no ordinary day and from there every second was recorded and burned into memory.
For many of us, not being in New York does not diminish the impact of this day, and being in NYC’s ugly step-brother city – yes, step brother, as in brotherly love – Philadelphia the experience was, perhaps, more relatable than anywhere else other than near Ground Zero. Philly is not as big – or mad, or wonderful, or grotesque, or vicious, or wild, or intense, or amazing – as NYC, but it wants to be. It once was the cultural, economic and political nexus of America, and then, New York. New York took it from Philadelphia, like Cinderella from What’s Her Face and Whoozawhat. Fucking, Cinderella. Fucking, NYC. And now nearly two centuries later, Philly is an afterthought in all things, art, literature, music – importance. Not New York, not even close.
But on this day, this brilliant sky, perfect weather, horribly dark day, Philly was a great place to comprehend the magnitude, in human ways, just what was going on. Philly is a satellite of New York, connected in a multitude of ways to its larger more significant hub. Within an hour I was down in Center City, near the business district, waiting for my soon to be bride, who was not yet released from the chaos of her own job to join our collective madness. Mad, in extending into unreality, mad, in grasping at the unknown, mad, for wanting it to all go away. But not mad in anger, not yet, and maybe not ever.
The scenes I saw were of the best of humanity. The lesser markets of Philadelphia were all at their end and the workers poured onto the streets of Philadelphia with tears streaming for their own partners in New York. Like me, most of them had friends and family in the towers, in that district, at ground zero. Emotions poured onto the streets of Philadelphia. Love poured onto the streets of Philadelphia.
 |
| It's a park, not a street, in Philadelphia |
A man in a suit on a concrete bench underneath a scraping sky building, wept crumpled tears into his praying hands as his hat, a high hat, fell off and tumbled toward the street’s slowing traffic. The hat was saved by a woman in a blue suit with a pinkish red scarf and flaming blond hair that shook in the wind, most likely from the rustling of her own fingers trying to figure out what the hell was going on. She took the hat over to the man – and then, sat with him, put her arm around him. He sobered and looked at her. They embraced and said some words – what words? Doubtful that even they knew. They both stood. He picked up his brief case. They said more words and hugged again before parting.
I watched in awe.
A middle age woman struggling to walk in the park, stumbled and nearly fell – like the towers themselves – it was not from age, or physical infirmity. She, like the buildings, like all of us, had been rocked and swayed from our kilter. A youngish man in a track suit – he had obviously jumped out of bed into the closest thing he could find, and by instinct was running towards the business district to look for answers – reached out and steadied her. She sobered and looked at him. They embraced and said some words – what words? There really are no words, only emotions which sounds convey.
Scenes like this, more and less dramatic, ran through city. Stories made in conciliation and kindness, stories made in countless encounters and countless cities to be repeated by a shocked generation, there evident on the streets of Philadelphia.
We watch film and television shows, we read literature, both good and bad, to experience exactly this. Expressions of human action, of human ideas, of human words to evoke in us these very best of human emotions. We search and hope for those emotions in our daily life and then with the crash of a jet and inexplicable sorrow, there they are. The best of days had begun.
I called all the people I knew or that my brain could think of – just to hear them, just for that connection of emotions which sounds convey.
 |
| The place Rocky ran to, but didn't go in. |
I went home and talked to my neighbor. He was old and raised in a world different from mine, in a world of working class Philly where his group didn’t like that group and that group didn’t like his group, and there were other groups that they all hated – because that’s what humans do. Our group is good and their group is bad. A simple child’s mentality that has defined us for thousands of years. We sat and talked about what we saw non-stop on every television channel.
Then I said to him, “it’s time to change. It’s time to put those old ways to rest and follow the real meaning of this society – to respect others, to honor their rights, to live in community instead of hostility.” Ok, it was not that poetical, but that was the gist of it. And you know what, this hardened man, kind to everyone he met, but hardened by a thousand hates of those he never knew, agreed. “Yeah, you’re right.” It was as clear as could be. A new course could be set. A new course where kindness replaced conflict, where empathy could provide a path together to a better tomorrow. Isn’t that what America was supposed to be, anyway?
We would all agree to that, in the abstract, but we would still all agree. Maybe the means would be different, but the end would be the same. And for two weeks, down at street level, it was that way. People went out of their way to be kind. Even while driving, people were kind to people because they were people. The best of days.
But Humans are likely to follow the best of days by the worst of nightmares, and the seeds of our own undoing were already being planted by those whose plantations had more ability to bear fruit than us meager street dwellers. Instead of nurturing our love, George W. Bush fertilized our hate and what a load of shit it was. Revenge. REVENGE!
 |
| The guy looking at you was the chief architect of the Versailles Treaty and made his political fortune on Revenge! His efforts insured there would be another War even greater than the Great War. |
He looked first to Saddam, but that was a non-starter since Saddam and Al-Qaida were enemies …. And Al-Qaida took credit for it. Let’s get ‘em.
The quest for revenge was veiled in the silk purse of Justice, but that fabric was as transparent as the guys in Philly who beat up Sikh cab drivers, because revenge doesn’t know the difference between Muslims and the Sikhs who Muslims used to oppress, and historically have not liked Muslims. Go figure. And there we were right back into regular life, flags waving, chants of USA growing and the hope of an even better tomorrow dashed on a return to normalcy. Yep, just as stupid as the Harding that first uttered that non-word.
For one brief moment after the world came to a stop and the towers fell, the world came to a stop and possibilities soared. Now that we are in the worst crisis since 9/11 and maybe even worse. What will we do today to make it better? And what will tomorrow become.
Normal is not good enough. What could have been, can be again.
Unfortunately, where 9/11 revealed our capacity to unite, however briefly, in a collective outpouring of shared empathy, I fear that the current crisis is revealing just how far we are from that possibility. In 2001, it was impossible to deny the horror of what we saw with our own eyes. The fact of it all was undeniable. That doesn't seem to be the case now. In some corners, we seem unwilling to even fully agree that there is a crisis. Eventually, we will agree. We'll have to. The fact of the Coronavirus and its effects will, in the end, be as undeniable as the fact of the flames shooting from the crumpled glass and steel of Tower 1. But by the time that fact fully asserts itself, it may be too late. It's well worn cliche, but the first step toward fixing a problem is admitting there is a problem. Let's see if we can even get to that level of agreement. ~cmd
ReplyDeleteDid you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world? Where none suffered, where everyone would be happy. It was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost. Some believed we lacked the programming language to describe your perfect world. But I believe that, as a species, human beings define their reality through suffering and misery. The perfect world was a dream that your primitive cerebrum kept trying to wake up from. Which is why the Matrix was redesigned to this: the peak of your civilization. -- Agent Smith, The Matrix
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