War on terror: A bus ride in BK
I was taking the bus into downtown Brooklyn to pay my rent, to a destination that just happens to be right across the street from both the Brooklyn Municipal Building and federal courthouse.
About 10 blocks away, a very clean cut man in a business suit, and of Middle Eastern descent, boarded the bus and took a seat in the very back, two rows behind me. Immediately, he began loudly singing and chanting what sounded like Islamic prayers and rocking back and forth slightly. This was slightly disconcerting, as most of the crazies are significantly less groomed than he was. A blocks later, another Middle Eastern man boarded the bus, went all the way to the back and sat directly in front of the first, who was still chanting and now violently rocking. He began murmering to himself loudly about ground zero, 9/11 and why it happened. At the next stop a third Middle Eastern man boarded the bus, went directly to the back and sat on the other side of the chanting man. The two latecomers cast several glances at one other. The rocking man stood up and went down the aisle to the front of the bus, to the driver, chanting loudly as he went. He yelled at the driver in Islamic, who yelled back at him to sit down or get off the bus. He returned to his seat, while the other two men continued to glance at each other and watch the first.
Around the time the second man boarded, I felt a tightening in my chest, a feeling I recognized as fear, and began an inner dialogue with myself about what to do. My instincts were telling me to get off the bus, and get as far from it as I could. Certainly, living in the city and passing National Guardsmen with automatic weapons patrolling the train stations and streets of Manhattan on a daily basis, random bag searches and soundbytes about the "War on Terror" permeating the media, the threat is not lost to New Yorkers . Most of us, I believe, approach our daily lives with a 'whatever happens will happen' attitude, not cowering or allowing an unnamed threat to inform our daily routines. I include myself in this group. On the bus, though, though I felt myself becoming genuinely afraid that the men on the bus were terrorists about to set in motion a terrible act.
At the same time, I rationalized to myself that two Middle Eastern men on a bus and a religious crazy did not constitute a terrorist cell, and my fear was being generated by post 9/11 racist paranoia. I don't want to be the kind of person who looks at a Middle Eastern person and assumes they are a terrorist. Yet, as the bus rolled toward downtown, I began to feel nauseous and in the back of my mind I was scoping out each block, thinking about the physical surroundings and where I would run to if something bad went down. My guilt was mounting as my desire to get off the bus grew and grew, and I was having a strong inner debate on whether my principals and desire to not participate in 9/11 racial profiling were worth dying for in the face of what to me felt like suspicious activity.
My principles won, and I stayed on the bus.
I was never so relieved as I was when I got to my stop and got off.
I had been really, really afraid.
People say that as a nation we're becoming numb to 9/11. People say that as the grass keeps growing and we have gone back to spacing out in front of the television, obsessing over the latest TomKat drama, and perpetuating our consumerist way of life, we have begun to forget about the pain, and shock, and horror of that day in September... the reality of the lives lost and how our nation was permanently altered.
People wear t-shirts, signs and bumper stickers with the catch-phrase "Never Forget," and use our grief to justify phantom occupation in far away countries.
People say that to disagree is unpatriotic.
To me, the real damage of 9/11 isn't about any of those things. We lost something deep and imbedded that day, and it isn't measured by buildings that fell, a generation off to war, or even lives that were lost.
It's in the clench of fear around the heart of an otherwise neutral girl, just trying to pay her rent, and the bitter tastes of suspicion and judgement where it didn't used to be. ¶ 11:19 PM
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
This happened to me the other day.I was taking the bus into downtown Brooklyn to pay my rent, to a destination that just happens to be right across the street from both the Brooklyn Municipal Building and federal courthouse.
About 10 blocks away, a very clean cut man in a business suit, and of Middle Eastern descent, boarded the bus and took a seat in the very back, two rows behind me. Immediately, he began loudly singing and chanting what sounded like Islamic prayers and rocking back and forth slightly. This was slightly disconcerting, as most of the crazies are significantly less groomed than he was. A blocks later, another Middle Eastern man boarded the bus, went all the way to the back and sat directly in front of the first, who was still chanting and now violently rocking. He began murmering to himself loudly about ground zero, 9/11 and why it happened. At the next stop a third Middle Eastern man boarded the bus, went directly to the back and sat on the other side of the chanting man. The two latecomers cast several glances at one other. The rocking man stood up and went down the aisle to the front of the bus, to the driver, chanting loudly as he went. He yelled at the driver in Islamic, who yelled back at him to sit down or get off the bus. He returned to his seat, while the other two men continued to glance at each other and watch the first.
Around the time the second man boarded, I felt a tightening in my chest, a feeling I recognized as fear, and began an inner dialogue with myself about what to do. My instincts were telling me to get off the bus, and get as far from it as I could. Certainly, living in the city and passing National Guardsmen with automatic weapons patrolling the train stations and streets of Manhattan on a daily basis, random bag searches and soundbytes about the "War on Terror" permeating the media, the threat is not lost to New Yorkers . Most of us, I believe, approach our daily lives with a 'whatever happens will happen' attitude, not cowering or allowing an unnamed threat to inform our daily routines. I include myself in this group. On the bus, though, though I felt myself becoming genuinely afraid that the men on the bus were terrorists about to set in motion a terrible act.
At the same time, I rationalized to myself that two Middle Eastern men on a bus and a religious crazy did not constitute a terrorist cell, and my fear was being generated by post 9/11 racist paranoia. I don't want to be the kind of person who looks at a Middle Eastern person and assumes they are a terrorist. Yet, as the bus rolled toward downtown, I began to feel nauseous and in the back of my mind I was scoping out each block, thinking about the physical surroundings and where I would run to if something bad went down. My guilt was mounting as my desire to get off the bus grew and grew, and I was having a strong inner debate on whether my principals and desire to not participate in 9/11 racial profiling were worth dying for in the face of what to me felt like suspicious activity.
My principles won, and I stayed on the bus.
I was never so relieved as I was when I got to my stop and got off.
I had been really, really afraid.
People say that as a nation we're becoming numb to 9/11. People say that as the grass keeps growing and we have gone back to spacing out in front of the television, obsessing over the latest TomKat drama, and perpetuating our consumerist way of life, we have begun to forget about the pain, and shock, and horror of that day in September... the reality of the lives lost and how our nation was permanently altered.
People wear t-shirts, signs and bumper stickers with the catch-phrase "Never Forget," and use our grief to justify phantom occupation in far away countries.
People say that to disagree is unpatriotic.
To me, the real damage of 9/11 isn't about any of those things. We lost something deep and imbedded that day, and it isn't measured by buildings that fell, a generation off to war, or even lives that were lost.
It's in the clench of fear around the heart of an otherwise neutral girl, just trying to pay her rent, and the bitter tastes of suspicion and judgement where it didn't used to be. ¶ 11:19 PM
