I was in NYC on the day. I lost people I knew personally. I lived through the panic, the chaos, the dead phone lines, the disinformation, the choking smoke, the wandering crowds of the displaced, and the near-total confusion. I was two buildings away when anthrax was showing up by mail. I watched my friends and neighbors go through every stage of grief, anger, confusion, paranoia, heroism, hope, and triumph.
And two years later I drove past the gaping pits on the way to deliver my first child on 9/11/03.
I watched every politician of every persuasion try to grab onto what was—among other things—our local tragedy as their personal mantle to do whatever the hell they wanted to do in the first place.
I watched tourists flock into NYC for years after, to view the pits where our buildings used to be. (Strangely, no New Yorker wanted to go look, but people from out of town made it their first stop. I think maybe it felt unreal to people who weren't there on the day, or something like that.)
You want to know how New Yorkers got along in the immediate aftermath? Grit, anger, and humor. You want to know how outsiders exploited the tragedy to their personal benefit? Calls for reverence and obedience.
So the hell with your demand for decorum and silence. The hell with people who weren't there telling those who were how to deal with trauma.
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