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Searching
for a dove in the dark
By
David Sorcher
As I sit in the Cincinnati airport on Sept. 21, I must admit
to a more selfish purpose for my journey than humanitarian aid.
Though I've been a "buckeye" for a good four years now, I'm
still and always will be a born-and-bred, dyed-in-the-wool,
go-Yankees-go New Yorker.
I've suffered some more personal losses lately than the
grand-scale tragedy that weighs upon us now. In August, I
lost a dear friend to cancer. Just three weeks later, my own
mother succumbed to the same horrible disease.
But in many ways, New York City has always been like a second
mother to me. She's nurtured my photography and art, influenced
my thoughts and philosophies, inspired my imagination and
helped form my political ideals. Now a cancer has struck her,
too, and I pray it's not fatal.
So this journey is a pilgrimage home, to sit face to face with
friends and family, away from the politicians and media pundits
who keep trying to tell me what, when and how I should feel,
how America should feel. My mother is hurting, and I need to
be with her, to stand wrapped in her steel and concrete arms
and cry.
The Cincinnati airport is a virtual ghost town compared
to the bustling center of activity it would normally be on
any given business day. But this isn't business as usual.
Friends looked at me askew, with concern in their eyes, when
I told them I was flying to NYC. I figured flying must certainly
be safer now than it's ever been, though it took me only a scant
few minutes to pass through security, even with carry-on bags.
That left me with quite a bit of time on my hands, having arrived,
as suggested, two hours early for my flight.
I could not help but scan the faces of fellow travelers
in search of suspicious behavior. What does a terrorist look
like anyway? Apparently they think they know in Minneapolis.
The woman sitting next to me informed me that a plane full
of passengers there refused to fly with three men of Iraqi
origin. The airline eventually removed the men from the flight.
My advice to everyone is to get in an airplane and fly somewhere.
Empower yourself. The industry is laying off hundreds of thousands
because terrorism is working and people are afraid to fly.
The trickle-down effect on our economy is only beginning to
be felt. Everything is interconnected, and everyone will suffer
from the effects of this fear.
As we prepared for take-off, passengers looked nervously
around. Then, as the flight attendant began to run through
safety procedures, an interesting thing happened. For the
first time in all my flying experience, people actually paid
attention.
I'd been in close contact with friends in New York ever
since this horrid disaster occurred. Surely the country, the
entire world in fact, has looked to NYC, the great epicenter
of this tragedy, as a model for response and reaction. But
besides rescue workers and politicians and dump trucks scrawled
with the word "Revenge", the media has reported very little
of how the people of this brave city feel. Is this a city
crying for blood or a city that's just crying?
Things were slow at Kennedy airport, too. My cab driver,
Cherry Erwich, was well aware of the trickle-down effect on
the economy. "Usually I wait here 10 or 15 minutes for a fare
at most," he said. "Now there are times you can wait for hours.
Everyone's pocketbook will eventually be affected by this."
As we approached the city, I caught sight of the skyline for
the first time. Nearly two weeks later and a faint smoldering
smoke still rose from the void where the imposing towers once
stood.
I met my friend Steve in the East Village. He'd been at
his girlfriend Monica's apartment on Sullivan Street, just
walking distance from the towers, the morning of the attack.
"We awoke to the sound of the first crash," he told me. "At
first I thought it was some huge car accident."
They soon learned otherwise, watching in horror as events unfolded.
"Monica owns the Sullivan Street Bakery just around the corner.
We ended up there, not knowing whether or not to stay open.
We finally sent the staff home and just began giving the bread
away."
Monica was struck by the way the community came together.
On day two she met the Iranian restaurant owner from around
the corner. "He wanted to know if I was opening or not," she
said. "He planned to give out free dinners that night and
wanted to know if I could provide the bread. This was a guy
I never thought really cared very much."
"Soon enough," Steve said, "there was just too much help. Everyone
wanted to do something."
Steve and Monica continued to feed people, making sandwiches
for the rescue workers and people left in the neighborhood.
"We just thought, if this is the end of the world, how can
we best live this moment? You focus on your life and say,
'Well, what's needed here?' "
Once the police and military had sealed off the area, the
line was drawn as far north as 14th Street. People needed
to make choices. If they left, they weren't allowed back in.
"One of the stories being lost here is the homeless," Steve
said. "Thousands of people suddenly have nowhere to live.
Even if your building is structurally sound, the air near
ground zero is unbreathable."
Besides
those without homes, tens of thousands were suddenly without
work, their careers lying under a pile of twisted iron and pulverized
concrete. The night I arrived we walked up to Union Square Park
on 14th Street. Probably because this was where the original
security line was drawn, the park has become a living, evolving
shrine to the victims and a center for prayers and vigilance.
I saw people with many different agendas, from born-agains
to communists, Buddhist monks to Scientologists, hippies to
hard-core punk rockers. But mostly I just saw people who came
to shed a tear, light a candle and say a prayer for peace.
The
call for peace was rather pervasive here. Peace signs and words
of love were all about, woven between the photographs and shrines
to the missing. As America postured and readied for war, President
Bush seemed convinced Americans can "stomach" the actions he
feels we must take. The view from here told otherwise.
Said one man at the park, "They want you to believe that
if you're against war, you are somehow un-American, a coward.
But that's just not true."
The media was working hard to create an America united in
its resolve to take military action against a vaguely identified
aggressor. But as the president struggled to secure a coalition
of world powers in his bid for war, another kind of coalition
was forming.
On Sept. 22, the NYC Direct Action Network sponsored the
symposium, "Vision and Resistance: Where Do We Go from Here"
at Charas, a school-turned-community center on the Lower East
Side. I attended a workshop on organizing across race lines,
but workshops were offered all day on the history of U.S.
imperialism, the Middle East and Afghanistan, and U.S. anti-war
movements. It was standing-room-only, with people spilling
out into the hallways. I could only assume the other workshops
were equally well attended.
From
Charas, I made my way across the East Village, drawn back toward
Union Square like iron to a magnet. On my way I passed the Islamic
Council of America, a lone police car keeping a quiet vigil
just across the street. A few angry placard-toting patriots
gathered here soon after the attack, but saner neighbors sent
them home without much struggle.
On 14th Street I stopped at Engine Co. 5, just two doors
down from where I used to live. These guys would have come
if my apartment were burning, so it felt good to give my donation
directly to them. The firemen here told me they lost two from
their company and didn't know a firehouse that hadn't lost
someone.
When
I reached the park, I found everything was new in the daylight.
Flowers and pictures and candles were literally being added
by the second. The time lapse photography would look amazing.
There were perhaps 2,000 people here, but it was a migrating
crowd and this shrine could have easily attracted as many
as 30,000 per day. Buddhist monks chanted and prayed, Hari
Krishnas sang and swayed, and Christians, Muslims, Jews, pagans
and communist atheists all seemed bent on a heartfelt desire
for peace.
A man in hat and tie nervously began talking on the steps.
Obviously upset with what he was witnessing, his words came
out in short staccato bursts that soon increased in volume
until he was shouting in anger. He held flyers in his hands
that asked, "Who is Jesus?" and accused the crowd of lying
down when we must stand up and fight.
People widened their path around him, and no crowd gathered
to hear him speak. It seemed the other Christians among us
had already asked themselves the question, "What would Jesus
do?"
Members of the anti-war coalition A.N.S.W.E.R. (Act Now to
Stop War and End Racism) arrived at the park and started handing
out leaflets about the National March Against War and Racism
in Washington, D.C. on Sept. 29. The group was being organized
through the International Action Center, founded by former
Attorney General Ramsey Clark (for more information visit
www.iacenter.org).
Away from the park, friends seemed optimistic in spite of
the impending war. Author Sarah Schulman saw this time to
be full of creative possibilities. "A great void has been
created, and we have the opportunity to fill it with good
and wonderful things," she said. Steve and Monica echoed the
sentiment. They're encouraged by the way New Yorkers have
shown themselves to be the best kind of neighbors, though
no one pretends the road from here won't be a difficult one.
Saturday night pulled me back to Union Square one more time.
Again the shrine had evolved and grown. Heated discussions
sprang up as people debated the pros and cons of war on the
steps to the park. Lines were being drawn in America.
President Bush has made it clear to the world that "if you
ain't with us, you're agin us," but it's clear the American
people themselves are divided around this issue. A crowd gathered
as people shouted out their point of view, believing perhaps
that the loudest opinion must be the correct one. Yet the
whisper of peace still remained at the end of the day.
As I traveled back to Cincinnati, I began to wonder what
my journey accomplished. I saw old friends and touched home
ground and was in turn touched by what I witnessed.
War is as certain as the sunrise, but I never thought my
journey could change that. Yet perhaps it's what we do in
the face of war and in spite of war that's most important.
Loving and caring for one another is a start. Extending that
love to our enemies might be an end.
In the Sunday morning world of a half-filled airport, I
watch the still beauty of a group of Orthodox Jews saying
their prayers toward the rising sun. I can only trust their
prayers are the same as mine. ©
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Statue of Washington in Union Square Park
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One of an endless line of performers sings to the crowd
in Union Square Park.
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A man arrives at the Charas Community Center for an
anti-war symposium.
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Serenity Suker adds a fingerprint to a memorial for
the victims.
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Unknown evangelist makes his case for war.
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A woman sheds a tear at a shrine for the victims.
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Police stand vigil over Islamic Council of America
on E. 11th Street.
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Demonstrators announce a Sept. 29 Peace March on Washington.
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Woman for peace in Union Square Park.
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The growing shrine in Union Square Park.
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A man studies the shrine before adding to it.
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A man lights a candle at the shrine.
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Young man at the shrine.
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Effigy of the twin towers bearing peace doves at the
shrine.
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Orthodox Jews praying Sunday morning at Detroit's airport.
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