[Nettime-bold] David Bennahum: Wednesday & Thursday in New York

["geert lovink" <geert@xs4all.nl>]

From: "David S. Bennahum" <davidsol@panix.com>
Sent: Friday, September 14, 2001 12:53 PM
Subject: Wednesday & Thursday in New York

Dear friends,

This the third day since the attack on the World Trade Center has been a
time of reflection and thinking, at least for me.  Last night I went to a
memorial service at my synagogue, Central Synagogue, on 55th street.  It was
humbling and devastating to hear members of my congregation stand up and
describe, in their own words, how they fled with their lives from the WTC.
One man described how he found himself trapped, debris coming towards him,
until quick wits and luck led him to a service door leading to the kitchen
of a take-out restaurant, where he hid while the first tower collapsed.  He
then ran to safety just before the second came down.  Another told of
finding his missing daughter, who was now safe, and sitting next to him.  A
third told of going downtown to a meeting, only to emerge from the city hall
subway station to find thousands of people running towards him.  He stayed
and directed traffic, so emergency vehicles could get through the crowds and
further south.  Then the second tower collapsed and he ran for his life.  So
it came to the man who described fleeing from the Trade Center, down the
stairs, "And we passed these firemen coming up, coming to save us" he said.
"Brave strong boys, and some middle aged, and we clapped, as we could, while
we ran," the man's voice broke.  "And where are they now?" he asked.  "Where
are they now?"

We hear these terrible numbers--some 300 or more firemen dead.  Perhaps 100
police as well.  While we weep for all that perished on Tuesday, these
emergency workers hold a special place in all of our hearts.  I, for one,
will never look at our firemen and police the same way knowing how
selflessly they gave of themselves for strangers.  Theirs is the true
heroism, greater than that of any warrior, because they came in peace, and
gave their lives for no other reason than to save the lives of others.
They, in this conflagration, are the antithesis of the men who gave their
lives for death.  They are our true heroes; if there are to be any martyrs
here, it is them, for theirs was the justest cause of all.

Our city is forever changed.  And not just all for the worse.  I was struck
yesterday, as the magnitude of our collective loss settled in, by how New
York has grown in some subtle, yet beautiful ways.

As a native New Yorker, born and raised, I've always held myself as a New
Yorker first, and an American second.  And in some ways, that's how America
sees New York--as a place apart, different.  While foreigners might look at
pictures of New York, and think this is the quintessential American city,
the embodiment of America and its values, native-born Americans often have a
different perspective.  To many of them, New York is a strange and foreign
place.  A suspicious place.  New York is where the "other" Americans
live--the Jewish ones, the Hindu ones, the Catholic ones, the Muslim ones,
the Asians, blacks, Latinos.  Now, for the first time, you have people in
places like Texas, Oklahoma, Alabama, people who normally might look askance
at New York and its ways, embracing our city.  As a New Yorker, it's so
utterly weird to sense, in some distant fashion, that for the first time the
whole rest of America actually loves us.  They do.  I can sense the love
from the emails I am getting, from the calls, from the way people in other
states are responding to what has happened here.  One gift from this horror
might, in fact, be a feeling of connectedness between us like never before.

And that connectedness is strong here in New York, between each of us.
Things got real here, and the usual narcissistic conversations about
ourselves have dissipated, replaced by conversations about each other.
We're more interested in other people, than we are in our own personal
problems.  By taking our attention away from ourselves, and placing it on
other people, we've become greater in the process.  Where once the image of
a New Yorker was the inward looking, narcissistic neurotic, it's now evolved
beyond that-tough, compassionate, communal.

There are, however, some darker forces now at work.  I've been thinking a
lot about how America will ultimately react to Tuesday's devastation, and I
am worried.  I've been looking to history for guidance.  What follows is
just a sketch of an idea, but one I feel compelled to share nonetheless.

On the 28th of June, 1914, the Austrian Archduke Ferdinand visited Sarajevo,
which was then under Austrian rule, and was assassinated by Serbian
nationalists.  His death is seen as the trigger that led to the First World
War, a horrendous conflagration that killed tens of millions.  That
assassination reminds me of September 11, 2001, in the sense that no one
back then could have predicted what it would lead to, and how badly things
would ultimately go for everyone.  Back in 1914, Europe had enjoyed 100
years of relative stability, under a form of diplomacy established after the
defeat of Napoleon in 1815.  That way of dealing with conflict, through
"spheres of influence" fell apart in 1914, in part because the technology of
war had evolved far beyond that of the 19th century: the machine gun,
airplane, infantry, along with telegraph and telephone, had industrialized
war into a killing machine.  So the Europeans applied a 19th century
political solution, and wound up in a 20th century war.  The result was the
horrendous trench warfare in the fields of France, leading to an entire
generation of French, English, and German boys to literally disappear.  They
were known as the "hollow men" because so many of them were gone.  T.S.
Eliot wrote a poem titled "The Hollow Men," describing the futility and loss
of that time.  Here's an excerpt:

                                   . IV

                          The eyes are not here
                          There are no eyes here
                          In this valley of dying stars
                          In this hollow valley
                          This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

                          In this last of meeting places
                          We grope together
                          and avoid speech
                          Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

                          Sightless, unless
                          The eyes reappear
                          As the perpetual star
                          Multifoliate rose
                          Of death's twilight kingdom
                          The hope only
                          Of empty men.

So now we face a new enemy, one willing to take jetliners full of people,
and crash them into buildings in suicide missions that kill thousands.  Our
political system is ill-equipped for this sort of war, much as the Europeans
were ill equipped in the First World War.  I hear talk of attacking
Afghanistan, of staging US troops in Pakistan, Uzbekistan, and Persian Gulf
states to wage a war on terrorism.  And I fear that this war--I heard the
word "crusade" used by an American government official on TV tonight--could
easily slip out of control, into a new sphere of combat and suffering.  In a
world of chemical weapons, hijacked jets, and dense cities, where getting
anywhere takes just 24 hours or less, I worry that our political coalitions
will be ill equipped to combat these new weapons of war.  I worry that we
may, inadvertently, suffer far more than we may understand over the coming
years.

Meanwhile, back at my home, I'm coping with a new world.  The mayor says
he'll reopen Manhattan south of 14th street, down to Canal street.  There
are bomb scares now--last night my building was evacuated, along with my
immediate neighborhood, because the police thought there might be a bomb in
the Empire State building.  And the filthy soot from the World Trade Center
has been blowing uptown for a while.  I couldn't sleep at home last night,
and when I came back, everything was covered in a light dust.  As I rubbed
the powder between my fingers, I thought of those that had died innocently,
both Tuesday and in wars of the past, their bodies immolated, carried away
by the wind.

I just hope that somehow the sense of love that has emerged between us in
this city, this country, and with so many other kindhearted people around
the world, can outlast and overcome the hate that was unleashed on Tuesday.
I don't want to see any more death or destruction again.

David




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