With the news of Osama Bin Laden’s death plastered all over Facebook and Twitter, not to mention the news outlets, it’s no surprise I have been giving the announcement some thought. This “event” seems to have been pretty polarizing for a lot of people. Some are obviously overjoyed at the news that the mastermind of the 9-11 tragedy has been “dealt with”. Others think it is wrong to rejoice in anyone’s death, regardless of how evil he may have been. Many are breathing a sigh of relief. I know for many it has been an emotional time and brought back a lot of feelings associated with where they were on 9-11.
I personally have avoided talking about my 9-11 experience these past 10 years. I have obviously told my “tale” but not as frequently as I could have, and many times I just avoided the topic all together. With the death of Osama, I figure it’s as good a time as any to get my story out there.
I was a senior in high school in 2001. I was living in northern Virginia, in what was basically a commuter suburb of DC. We had barely started our school year; I think we were maybe a week into it. I was sitting in AP government that morning, and we had a substitute teacher, so we were naturally watching a movie. When it was over and the tape ejected (VHS nonetheless) and the screen switched to regular TV. That’s when we saw the towers. They were showing footage of the planes crashing, and everyone was shocked, but that was about it… until a few minutes later when the newscaster broke in with the announcement that the Pentagon had been hit. Then it became chaotic.
As a suburb of DC, there are plenty of military families, as well as other government employees and their families living in the area. My dad was currently stationed there, in the Army… working in the Pentagon. I know of at least 5 other kids in that class that had parents working in the Pentagon as well. Our poor sub was overwhelmed as we all basically grabbed our stuff and left the classroom. Most of us headed to the front office first for some reason. At that time (wow I sound old) cell phones were not allowed inside school buildings, so I guess we were hoping to use the office phones. The office ladies told us they were having trouble with the phones, so we all went out to our cars. The cell networks, and most phone networks I suppose were all flooded and consequently, none of us was able to get through to anyone. We went back in, but all classes were pretty much just tuned into the news, and no one was really doing anything. Thankfully I had my best friend with me, because I was a wreck.
For people who don’t know me well, I am NOT an emotional person. I rarely, if ever, cry in public. I did a pretty good job of holding it together, but even so, I was far more emotional than my friends were used to seeing. We wandered around the building for a bit, and were informed people were gathering in the auditorium for what was basically counseling. I took one look at all the people crying and immediately decided it was time to just go home, since I had no interest in hanging around there.
My best friend and I went to my house, where I again tried to contact anyone in my family who might have news. My mom worked just outside of DC for a nonprofit, but with all the phones down I wasn’t able to get a hold of her either. At some point it occurred to me that if she was able to get word to anyone, she would call my sisters school first, since she was younger. We drove to my sisters’ school, only to be informed that the students there weren’t being told anything. Any students who hadn’t been there before everything happened were not being allowed to come in, and anyone who left was pulled quietly from their classes. I asked if there had been any messages and was told no, and I obviously wasn’t allowed to talk to my sister.
The day proceeded pretty much like that, driving around, trying to get answers, not really wanting to sit still in any one place too long. I recall meeting up with some more friends, including my boyfriend at the time, but his nonchalant attitude made me so mad I just left him with his friends. It was a crazy feeling really, not knowing if either of my parents was ok, and not sure what to do. Finally I stopped by to see a friend of the families, and she said she had been in touch with my mom, who was on her way to pick up my dad, and they would meet us at home. I was obviously relieved, and we went right home.
Not being an outwardly emotional person, it was a bit weird when my parents finally got home. For one thing, all my friends had ended up at my house, and for another, my mom was acting pretty normal. She said we were going to order pizza for dinner. We all spent the rest of the evening watching the news. School was canceled the next day, so it was a little while before things returned to “normal”.
As far as my dad was concerned, he was in the building, in his office, in the wing that was hit. The plane basically came in right underneath his feet. He and his officemate managed to get out unharmed. As it turned out, the wing they hit was the newly remodeled one that was reinforced with steel, which is why it didn’t collapse as quickly. It was also the only section of the building that had been remodeled, so if the plane had hit any other “wedge” the destruction would have been much more extensive. So I guess I should be glad that Al-Qaeda’s intel wasn’t a bit better.
My dad has had to tell his story countless times, and each time people marvel at how lucky he was etc. The Smithsonian even asked him for his jet-fuel drenched mousepad that survived, but he decided to keep it. Every time the topic comes up, I try and leave the room. It makes me queasy to think about how close my life came to completely changing that day.
My family was extremely blessed. I don’t know a single person (personally) who died in the attack that day. There was a boy at our school whose mother died in the Pentagon, and lots of family friends had multiple funerals for coworkers to attend in the following weeks. I have had plenty of military friends who have been to Iraq and Afghanistan, most for 2 or more tours, and I am thankful to say that they have all come back safe, and for the most part, sound. (I knock on wood as I say this as I have friends there now!)
So when people ask me what I think about Osama, yes, I am without a doubt thrilled that he is dead. He deserves so much worse than the hell that is undoubtedly waiting for him. Part of me wishes they would have buried him in NYC so people could walk by and spit on him thousands of times a day. Obviously in our society that is not an option, but still. Is it wrong to rejoice over someone’s death, I don’t know. Part of me wishes I was a better person, that I could rise above, but the other part of me is damn happy that that particular nut job is gone. This is very similar to my feelings on Saddam and his psychotic offspring.
That being said, I unfortunately don’t think it will make that much of a difference. Some may call it pessimism, but if I learned anything from my incredibly expensive degree focusing on terrorism/counterterrorism, it’s that one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter, and there will always be people lining up to kill other people, and feel justified in doing so. I sincerely hope a day comes when we can relax a bit and not be so guarded, but I doubt very much that it will be in my lifetime.
So to the brave men and women serving in our Armed Forces, and those that have served, thank you. I do sleep better at night knowing you are out there. And to those who carried out this particular victory, good job. The world owes you a huge debt.
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