We recognize that lives are lost every day, every hour, every minute. But what we cannot comprehend is that in the times of today, there are people dropping dead at a shockingly high rate worldwide.
What makes us better is our willingness to be honest about the challenges in front of us, recognize our mistakes and limitations, and still struggle to get it right.
Even as the border children slow and their cases surge in states like Texas and New York, advocates point out what they said would obviously happen: we sent at least some of those children to their deaths after deporting them back to warzone-like conditions.
The past few days reminded me that I live in a scary world. War is real. Refugees are real people with real day-to-day struggles that I can barely imagine. As a result, I put them aside, effectually dismissing the crisis as normal.
Isn't what matters most that we all remember? That we remember not just the drama and the tallies of lives lost, but the individual moments and people. And the efforts by those who love them to create lasting temples to their memory.
September 11th Memorial, New York City A month ago, I caught up over cocktails with a college friend I hadn't seen in over 10 years. When he walked...
The important thing, what truly motivated me in producing this work, after endless research and a good deal of sleepless nights, is the fact that all my subjects were to keep their eyes closed for those very long six seconds that picture-taking required
My true Sept. 12 moment didn't happen for another thirteen. It took me five years to come out of my stupor; to quit the job in a place with no windows that I took after Sept 11.
I see the recent atrocities recited as if they were highlights from a horror film reel, and I am aghast -- at both the way in which our media culture has been processing these assorted tragedies, and the fact that our R. is going to land dead center into this brutal mess.
Thirteen years ago, our country -- and the world -- was forever changed when terrorists attacked our freedom and took the lives of innocent people, our friends, our loved ones. It was a horrific day, But out of tragedy and pain, some beautiful things can be born. Strangers band together, people are kinder to one another... we're more tolerant.
It was around 7 a.m., and being seriously upset, I did what most girls would do and called my Mom for comfort. After listening to me cry for a few minutes, she interrupted me and told me to turn the TV on, that a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center.
It was about an hour into our first date when I first learned that my now husband had lost his father in the Twin Towers on 9/11. Now, with a 4-month-old son, my husband and I wonder how we will respond when he someday asks about his grandfather.
We will always remember, we will never forget. Those words mean something different to me now than they ever did before.
Flag waving is not patriotism. Questioning and demanding that we live up to our values -- that is patriotism. And that is what we must do.
Yesterday, on the eve of the thirteenth anniversary of 9/11, I received an email from my father saying that the photos affixed to the walls of his prison cell were ripped down and called "contraband" by the officer who took them.
What 9/11 did to us as a nation is solidify tensions of Brown/Black bodies carrying terror. From the security line to workplace to college campuses, brown bodies are policed and monitored. But this is how we are. This is the America we foster and develop.
Today, Americans all over the country pay tribute and remember those whose lives were lost on September 11th, 2001. Earlier this morning Marines, sailors and other coalition forces still deployed to Afghanistan did the same.
In the aftermath of 9/11, we saw the volunteerism rate in the U.S. jump to 28.8 percent, support of governmental institutions was high, and many Americans felt connected to one another. But, moments of national unity can be transient.
Prior to this heinous series of events, the historical question most often asked of Baby Boomers was, "do you remember where you were when President Kennedy was shot?" I don't know a single one of my contemporaries who doesn't.
How does one process the vicarious tension and trauma picked up in those moments, even if just seeing it in the news?