Celebrating September 11

There are many activities which take place in New York during the fall such as the US Open, the New York Marathon, the Thanksgiving Day Parade and to these high profile events; we can now add the commemoration of the September 11 attacks which left over 3000 dead. It having become an annual ritual in New York to perform ceremonies in memory of the September 11 attacks much in the same way as it is also tradition to put up and light the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Plaza. Naturally with every politician who is running for election to try to get in his or her message to the public in between speaking of the real tragedy which was September 11.

As a further personal comment, I can clearly imagine that on this particular day, the occasion will we be used by President Obama to highlight his performance as president which has not exactly fulfilled all the expectations of those who elected him in 2008. Naturally Obama, not leaving out that it was during his administration that Osama Bin Laden was killed though this action by Navy Seals really had nothing to do with his administration apart from its having taking place in the same time period. Of course in all this I do not exclude some republican politicians like Bachman or Perry using the occasion to press their candidatures for next year's presidential election when making political speeches disguised as messages to the American public concerning the tragic events of September 11.

In all this however I do not wish it understood that I am advocating that the tragedy that was September 11 be forgotten along with many others which have taken place through out the world and history. I however do feel there is a difference between having a moment (or many for that matter) to commemorate a tragic event and having these ceremonies which in the eyes of some might even be seen as celebrating it if not blatantly using it for self-serving purposes. These ceremonies having been turned in to (at least in my opinion) nothing more than a way for politicians to make speeches in order to be elected or re-elected while celebrities in the music and film industry use them as a way to get more media exposure.

I, for my part would like to add to all this that I live in Poland where the 1st of September 1939 is just as important (if not more so) to the people of this country; given its smaller size and population along with the magnitude of the tragedy that was on that day than September 11 is to the US. This being a day on which candles are light and prayers are said given that on this particular day Poland was attacked by Germany to start W.W. II (or at least in Europe) with much heavier loss of life resulting in Poland from the war which followed than September 11. It being on this day that many (specially those who are of an age to remember) hold minutes of silence to commemorate what occurred so many years ago yet this day much to the credit of Poland; has not been commercialized in the way that September 11 has in the US. It being in the US that September II to a large extent has been made in to practically another 4th of July.

Of course, in all this I am not saying that I disapprove of such ceremonies (or what ever one wishes to call them) as in being aware of my place, I know it is not for me to either approve or disapprove of them. I also do not wish any to get the idea that I am pretending to tell those who read this what they should or should not do yet I do wish to make it clear that I find such ceremonies as being nothing more than a tasteless way to exploit the tragedy which was. In all this, I am aware that taste (as most people can agree to) is open to interpretation and not guided by facts but personal emotions yet I do which to make it clear that from my point of view; I find such ceremonies to lack not only in taste but consideration for the victims of September 11 along with their loved ones. This being exactly how I would feel if I had lost somebody near or dear to me on September 11 and perhaps more so since I would feel that that person's death was being used by others who simply do not care beyond how much they can gain from it.

My name is Gianni Truvianni, author of many an article to be found on the internet along with the book "New York's Opera Society". My works also include the books "What Should Not Matter", "Love Your Sister" and several others which still remain unpublished though I am presently looking to change this.

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Reflections From New York, September 18th, 2001

"Daddy, please come," my daughter said on September 11th from New York City. Together, we watched the towers fall. Me, from the safety of my San Francisco home. She, from an office building in Rockefeller Plaza wondering if her friend survived.

In August, I had scheduled a trip to visit her on September 18th. Nationwide, the planes were grounded and I didn't know when the airports would reopen. But I knew I had get to New York. Mostly to give support to my daughter, but having grown up only one-hundred miles from New York City, I felt an affinity not only with the city, but also it's people and culture. Only a few days before my scheduled departure, the Federal Aviation Administration announced that on September 18th, the planes would start flying again.

As I waited to board my plane at the Oakland International Airport, I heard, "He's moving towards the gate!" It was a security guard frantically calling into her walkie-talkie as she tailed a well-dressed man of middle-eastern decent. Within a few minutes, three policemen appeared and trotted through the terminal trying to catch up with her. It was the beginning of ten days where the events I witnessed and was involved in generated emotions that are still as vivid today as when they originally occurred.

In New York, it began when I went into the subway at Lexington Avenue to get on The 6 Train to lower Manhattan. Walking down the stairs, I heard the refrains of Ava Maria played on an accordion as pristine pictures of the missing appeared on graffetied walls. The missing were always smiling, sometimes with friends, but mostly with children. "Have you seen him?" "Have you seen her?" the posters read. Throughout New York City they kept reappearing as did the tears of people who stopped to read or even glanced at them.

When I exited two blocks from were the Twin Towers once stood, I saw empty gray buildings beneath a blue sky, as earth generated clouds drifted up and vanished. The smells of devastation and death combined, easily passing through the clean white mask given to me by a tired policeman.

I saw people push to photograph images that were too horrible to forget of twisted steel skeletons guarding lifeless spaces. Spaces that once held the dreams of people whose families waited for news, but already knew.

From atop one building a Sousa march tune blared from speakers for the benefit of people who were too numb to listen or too grieved to care. And pamphleteers unashamedly thrust words of salvation and doom into hands willing to accept anything.

I watched reporters trying to tape the perfect interview, while thousands of cell phones described images that had no words, to people who listened, but I'm sure couldn't understand. And later that day, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the entrance to the Islamic art exhibit was closed.

In the city's parks, I saw babies play in a world that was newer than they, while pigeons took crumbs from trembling fingers, and emotionally bruised and battered New Yorkers pulled out damp cloths from Gucci suits and stained overalls.

At the half-priced tickets kiosk in Times Square, a steel drum played patriotic songs as an indescribable smell stopped conversations in mid-word, until it moved on, spreading throughout the boroughs.

That evening, my daughter and I walked past candles glowing in front of a fire station in which flags were readied to wrap comrades. Later, in a mostly empty restaurant we listened to glasses clink to missing friends, as we and other strangers who heard the toasts sobbed along with those offering them.

For six days I aimlessly wandered throughout a city that I had known in different times and realized it would never be the same. The memories I took back with me to San Francisco were more surreal than a Dali painting. It's been ten years, but they still slip through the walls of my consciousness, riding on innocent sounds and visions.

Stan Goldberg, Ph.D. is author of the international-award winning book, Lessons for the Living: Stories of Foregiveness, Gratitude, and Courage at the End of Life. His next book on caregiving, Leaning Into Sharp Points: Practical Guidance and Nurturing Support for Caregivers, will be published by New World Library in March, 2012.

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