9/11

On the actual day, not too long after arriving at my office, I was in a meeting with a coworker. Someone came to my office door and told us the news that a plane had flown into The World Trade Center. Neither of us knew how to process the information. Someone else walked down the hall, saying the people on the plane intentionally flew into the building, and they were terrorists. As she kept walking, she said she intended to withdraw all her money from the bank, because surely there would be war.

My coworker and I stared at each other, wondering what we should do. She was young, an American citizen, a Pakistani immigrant, a counselor, in a family doctors. We were both stunned, but she was visibly shaken. As the day went on, and another plane hit the other tower and another airliner crashed with passengers in Pennsylvania, and the Pentagon was targeted, it became clear we were under attack by Islamic terrorists supported by al Queda.

My coworker and friend had a physical reaction, beyond tears she was shaky and unable to focus. “As you know, I’m Muslim,” she said. “We believe in peace. It’s fundamental to our religion.” She was young, just out of college, concerned for her father, a doctor, who was traveling at the time. She also knew someone who worked at the World Trade Center and feared for their safety. While I was devastated by the news, I couldn’t think of anyone I knew who would be directly impacted. However, I called and checked in with my closest family.

On that very day, Canada responded by implementing Operation Yellow Ribbon, actions to take in incoming air traffic and their occupants. Canadians supplied food and accommodations to American passengers unable to land at their destinations in the U.S. I imagined being on a plane that day and being unable to get home due to closed airspace over the United States. We were safe in our cubicle offices, listening to the updates on the attacks. It seemed surreal.

Along with the shock of the devastation were reports of people rushing to help the injured, workers reentering the buildings to find other survivors, and New Yorkers setting up places to feed and attend to the injured and the workers. At the time, none of them considered the long-term effects of breathing the toxic dust from the fallen buildings. Everyone rushed to deal with the crises at hand. And our allies responded, offering help and financial assistance if needed.

I watched from afar, unable to comprehend the chaos or what the aftermath would be like. At the same time, I brainstormed with my Muslim coworker about what resources would be needed in the coming days for those in New York. After making sure her father was safe and talking with her mother about other family, she was able to think about moving forward but continued to wonder how the tragedy would impact Muslim Americans. She was much more familiar with hate crimes against Muslims than I was. She’d had first-hand experiences. It was one of the first times I realized most Americans were insulated from such threats.

Today, I cannot believe it’s been 25 years. One of my children, who was then away at college, is in her 40s, owns her own business, and is married. The other will be 50 next year and has worked steadily since graduating from high school. My coworker, who I remain in contact with, has had a child and is preparing for retirement. She posts photos of her family on social media, and she has traveled the world. She still believes in peace and so do I. In my mind, that day, we may have been Americans, but we were citizens of the world, no borders extended into the sky for protection, and there were no barriers to people who wanted to help. We were and are all connected.