Reflections on a fateful Tuesday

The last year that September 11 fell on a Tuesday was 2001.

We all know what happened on that fateful morning. I was living in Houston, Texas at the time, and it was almost mid-morning when the news hit.

"Terrorists. It was a terrorist plot gone awry," a co-worker announced. "Or extremely successful. Depends on whose side you're on."

Don't be so quick to judge, and don't jump to conclusions, I murmured to myself. Remember Oklahoma City? Killing 168 people, it was the deadliest terrorist attack on U.S. soil at the time.

Everybody thought the perpetrators were Islamist radicals. Police started scouring the streets for Arab men.

Turns out it was a decorated veteran of the U.S. Army.

On September 11, the city braced for possible similar attacks. Nobody had any idea what was happening. People who worked in federal buildings were the first to be sent home.

Chaotic days followed. Although Houston is a world a way from New York City, it was painful to watch the news and listen to NPR. Like many Americans, I wept for the dead whom I came to know through news reports, through the missing person posters that New Yorkers held close to their chests.

It was terrifying. Sitting in my car during rush hour, I wondered how easy it would be for someone determined to kill Americans to sit in his or her car with a bomb, and blow up cars and trucks along the freeway.

It was sickening, listening to the news of Indians, Pakistanis, and Arab Americans being harassed and called terrorists. Days following the attacks, the shooting of a Sikh owner of a convenience store in Dallas underscored the "us against them" hysteria that was heating up across the country.

Americans against hyphenated Americans.

Somehow, the "shock and awe" bombing that was designed to drive the Taliban out of Afghanistan did little to make me feel secure. Somehow, the administration's promise to bomb Pakistan back to the stone age did not offer any consolation. Somehow, the president's condemnation of the Axis of Evil ? Iraq, Iran, and North Korea ? wasn't exactly comforting.

Especially now that we know that none of the hijackers were Pakistanis, Iraqis, or Iranians. Fifteen of the attackers were from Saudi Arabia, two from the United Arab Emirates, one from Egypt, and one from Lebanon.

News about the anthrax threat ? death notes sent randomly to Americans ? didn't help either. I couldn't turn off the television.

Walking along the park with my three-year-old days after the attack, an airplane flew overhead. She tugged at my shirt, pointed to the sky, and asked: "Mommy, will that plane crash into the tall building?"

I knew I needed to stop obsessing about my fear of dying. Every day, millions of people in less affluent countries live with the certainty of hunger, suffering, even death.

I realized that I had gotten spoiled. Bad things happened to people in other countries, but not to Americans. Living in America, we count security, happiness, and peace of mind among the privileges we are entitled to. For years, the strength of America's military power shielded us from the reality that we, too, can be vulnerable.

Fast forward to 2007. Six years after the attacks and five years into the war in Iraq. Has anything really changed? Has U.S. foreign policy adjusted to reflect the sentiments of the American people? Do Americans feel safer because the administration has brought jihad back into the Middle East? Are we better off as a result of the War on Terror?

Funny thing about epiphanies. They're quite a personal thing.

From The Asian Reporter, V17, #37 (September 11, 2007), page 6.