NEW YORK CITY, SEPT. 15
I DON'T know what I was expecting to see. I went to New York this weekend because I wanted to see history in the making, and because I wanted to experience the weight of the situation that I feel so detached from in Charlottesville. I thought that coming to view the wreckage that was once the World Trade Center would allow me to truly understand the circumstances that we as a country now face. I thought the emotions that these sights would conjure would give me answers that reason and lectures on Middle Eastern history couldn't deliver. As I sit now on the front steps of Penn Station trying to make sense of my thoughts, I realize that I am more lost than ever.
There is no clear reasoning in my mind right now because the deep-rooted complexities of this situation render full comprehension impossible. As the sun sets on Manhattan, I look around myself and reflect on all that I have seen today. I soon realize that the feelings I am experiencing are reflective not only of the atmosphere in New York City, but of the entire nation. There is no true understanding in America tonight.
The state of affairs in the city right now truly is bizarre. In the voyeuristic hopes of catching a glimpse of the remnants of the greatest terrorist attack on American soil, I climb the stairs out of the subway tunnel and out into the crisp air of the late summer. Walking downtown through the Village, those who know the city - and doubtlessly even those who don't - are struck by the eerie silence.
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Streets that are packed daily at 4 a.m. now stand virtually deserted. The infamous car horns of New York City have been silenced; the roar of conversation is gone. The neighborhood is vacant, a virtual ghost town. When passing through these streets, I cannot help but retain a sense of disturbed and awestruck silence. This complete nothingness is the single thing that I wasn't prepared to see. There is the sense that the sight of it is somehow worse than any crowd of mourners could ever be.
I keep walking along this road, however, and sooner or later I reach what seems to be more of an average New York neighborhood. Large and noisy crowds become visible, cheap imitations of expensive pocketbooks are sold on the sidewalks, even the smell of honey roasted nuts drifts to my nose from the roadside. The only difference? Posters on every telephone pole and mailbox, depicting fading images of missing persons and encrypted with desperate pleas from their friends and family members, begging the city to find what they fear so greatly to have lost.
Candles and flowers line the streets where throngs of police officers guard the barricades that seal off the city within a 10 block radius of ground zero. Rescue workers, firefighters and national guardsmen emerge dust-covered from the wreckage that lies down the road. Regular people walk around wearing masks to protect them from the tremendous amount of dust and asbestos in the air. As a marching band plays "America" in the middle of Canal Street and American flags wave from every window, police barricade, passing car and bicycle, I cannot help but feel touched by this incredible sense of patriotism and unity that has never before been experienced by our generation.
Tenacious and lucky enough to successfully weasel past the thousands of security guards policing the area and reach the final barricades - merely two blocks from the remains of the World Trade Center - I found yet another unique atmosphere. So close to ground zero, the only people to be found are those involved directly in the relief process and those who are unlucky enough to live within blocks of the ruins. Here there is an odd mix of weariness and incredible energy. The sounds of shouting and moving vehicles fill the air, but still there is a feeling of quiet suppression in the area.
Rescue workers and media personnel rush back and forth hurriedly, but looking into their eyes, their fatigue is evident. The thick cloud of dust the wreckage emits seems to have surrounded all in the area and they have absorbed it, but still they keep going. This overcoming of physical and mental exhaustion is taking place in New York City right now, in the name of the larger cause. Seeing this, the beauty of which the human race truly is capable is made evident.
Upon reaching midtown after a long walk, I'm again stuck by yet another radical change in atmosphere. Just a few short miles uptown from the destruction, the city is business as usual. The billboard lights flash as busy people rush back and forth to unknown destinations. Cars whiz by and the sounds of chatter and blaring horns again fill the air. At first this diversity of attitude between blocks seems confusing - even impossible - but it's only now that I realizes the truth: This city is in mourning, and it doesn't know where to start or how to react.
And so, like us, the city waits. We do this in a million ways while somehow still standing united. We watch for the inevitable next step that will either provide for us a return to normalcy or change out lives forever.
(Laura Parcells' column usually appears Fridays in The Cavalier Daily. She can be reached at lparcells@cavalierdaily.com.)
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