September 11, 2001 In Their Own Words

Charred letter head from Standard Charter Bank, pink Please Call notes, pieces of numbered papers, documents, agendas, etc. are all raining from the skys. Pieces of peoples lives, floating to the ground, some hanging in trees, others landing on roofs.

Picking them up, knowing they have been held by someone just a few hours ago. Work that was so important it had to be finished today. Filed, mailed, read. And in the flash of a madman's eye, its gone. It is no longer important. Now instead of looking for that important memo, they are looking through the rubble for the person who wrote it. Hoping they are still alive. Sifting through the ashes, wondering, "Was this important? Was this somebodies shirt? Was this somebody?"

People stopped running. There is no place else to go. Others stare in wonder trying to figure out when they will wake up, while even more trying to understand how they got where they are. Walking bleary eyed. Shock.

Disbelief. Crys of "Why?" Others take up with the screaming, still not knowing.

Grief, loss, injury, pain of all kinds. Voices are a bit softer then they were at 8:50 am. The screaming is over. Stunned. Waiting, twitching, flinching at the sound of a plane. The bang of a pot.

Two giant structures that graced a skyline, disintigrated in moments. No more. No more. Taking with them the father that needed to grab his childrens pictures, the mother who wanted her pocketbook so would have her car keys to grab her kids.. A young teen, working in the mailroom, dreaming of becoming a company executive one day. The grandfather who couldn't run as fast as the others. The janitor sweeping the hall, working harder to make a better life for his family.

No more. No more.

Years of hatred.

A moment of terror.

A lifetime of sorrow.

No more. No more.

The Price We Pay

My name is Adam Mayblum. I am alive today. I am committing this to "paper" so I never forget. SO WE NEVER FORGET. I am sure that this is one of thousands of stories that will emerge over the next several days and weeks. I arrived as usual a little before 8 a.m. My office was on the 87th floor of 1 World Trade Center, AKA: Tower 1, AKA: the North Tower. Most of my associates were in by 8:30 a.m. We were standing around, joking around, eating breakfast, checking emails, and getting set for the day when the first plane hit just a few stories above us. I must stress that we did not know that it was a plane. The building lurched violently and shook as if it were an earthquake. People screamed. I watched out my window as the building seemed to move 10 to 20 feet in each direction. It rumbled and shook long enough for me to get my wits about myself and grab a co-worker and seek shelter under a doorway. Light fixtures and parts of the ceiling collapsed. The kitchen was destroyed. We were certain that it was a bomb. We looked out the windows. Reams of paper were flying everywhere, like a ticker tape parade. I looked down at the street. I could see people in Battery Park City looking up. Smoke started billowing in through the holes in the ceiling. I believe that there were 13 of us.

We did not panic. I can only assume that we thought that the worst was over. The building was standing and we were shaken but alive. We checked the halls. The smoke was thick and white and did not smell like I imagined smoke should smell. Not like your BBQ or your fireplace or even a bonfire. The phones were working. My wife had taken our 9 month old for his check up. I called my nanny at home and told her to page my wife, tell her that a bomb went off, I was ok, and on my way out. I grabbed my laptop. Took off my tee shirt and ripped it into 3 pieces. Soaked it in water. Gave 2 pieces to my friends. Tied my piece around my face to act as an air filter. And we all started moving to the staircase. One of my dearest friends said that he was staying until the police or firemen came to get him. In the halls there were tiny fires and sparks. The ceiling had collapsed in the men’s bathroom. It was gone along with anyone who may have been in there. We did not go in to look. We missed the staircase on the first run and had to double back. Once in the staircase we picked up fire extinguishers just in case. On the 85th floor a brave associate of mine and I headed back up to our office to drag out my partner who stayed behind. There was no air, just white smoke. We made the rounds through the office calling his name. No response. He must have succumbed to the smoke. We left defeated in our efforts and made our way back to the stairwell. We proceeded to the 78th floor where we had to change over to a different stairwell. 78 is the main junction to switch to the upper floors. I expected to see more people. There were some 50 to 60 more. Not enough. Wires and fires all over the place. Smoke too. A brave man was fighting a fire with the emergency hose. I stopped with two friends to make sure that everyone from our office was accounted for. We ushered them and confused people into the stairwell. In retrospect, I recall seeing Harry, my head trader, doing the same several yards behind me. I am only 35. I have known him for over 14 years. I headed into the stairwell with 2 friends.

We were moving down very orderly in Stair Case A. Very slowly. No panic. At least not overt panic. My legs could not stop shaking. My heart was pounding. Some nervous jokes and laughter. I made a crack about ruining a brand new pair of Merrells. Even still, they were right, my feet felt great. We all laughed. We checked our cell phones. Surprisingly, there was a very good signal, but the Sprint network was jammed. I heard that the Blackberry 2-way email devices worked perfectly. On the phones, 1 out of 20 dial attempts got through. I knew I could not reach my wife so I called my parents. I told them what happened and that we were all okay and on the way down. Soon, my sister-in-law reached me. I told her we were fine and moving down. I believe that was about the 65th floor. We were bored and nervous. I called my friend Angel in San Francisco. I knew he would be watching. He was amazed I was on the phone. He told me to get out that there was another plane on its way. I did not know what he was talking about. By now the second plane had struck Tower 2. We were so deep into the middle of our building that we did not hear or feel anything. We had no idea what was really going on. We kept making way for wounded to go down ahead of us. Not many of them, just a few. No one seemed seriously wounded. Just some cuts and scrapes. Everyone cooperated. Everyone was a hero yesterday. No questions asked. I had co-workers in another office on the 77th floor. I tried dozens of times to get them on their cell phones or office lines. It was futile. Later I found that they were alive. One of the many miracles on a day of tragedy.

On the 53rd floor we came across a very heavyset man sitting on the stairs. I asked if he needed help or was he just resting. He needed help. I knew I would have trouble carrying him because I have a very bad back. But my friend and I offered anyway. We told him he could lean on us. He hesitated; I don’t know why. I said do you want to come or do you want us to send help for you. He chose for help. I told him he was on the 53rd floor in Stairwell A and that’s what I would tell the rescue workers. He said okay and we left.

On the 44th floor my phone rang again. It was my parents. They were hysterical. I said relax, I’m fine. My father said get out, there is third plane coming. I still did not understand. I was kind of angry. What did my parents think? Like I needed some other reason to get going? I couldn’t move the thousand people in front of me any faster. I know they love me, but no one inside understood what the situation really was. My parents did. Starting around this floor the firemen, policemen, WTC K-9 units without the dogs, anyone with a badge, started coming up as we were heading down. I stopped a lot of them and told them about the man on 53 and my friend on 87. I later felt terrible about this. They headed up to find those people and met death instead.

On the 33rd floor I spoke with a man who somehow knew most of the details. He said 2 small planes hit the building. Now we all started talking about which terrorist group it was. Was it an internal organization or an external one? The overwhelming but uninformed opinion was Islamic Fanatics. Regardless, we now knew that it was not a bomb and there were potentially more planes coming. We understood.

On the 3rd floor the lights went out and we heard & felt this rumbling coming towards us from above. I thought the staircase was collapsing upon itself. It was 10 a.m. now and that was Tower 2 collapsing next door. We did not know that. Someone had a flashlight. We passed it forward and left the stairwell and headed down a dark and cramped corridor to an exit. We could not see at all. I recommended that everyone place a hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them and call out if they hit an obstacle so others would know to avoid it. They did. It worked perfectly. We reached another stairwell and saw a female officer emerge soaking wet and covered in soot. She said we could not go that way it was blocked. Go up to 4 and use the other exit. Just as we started up she said it was ok to go down instead. There was water everywhere. I called out for hands on shoulders again and she said that was a great idea. She stayed behind instructing people to do that. I do not know what happened to her.

We emerged into an enormous room. It was light but filled with smoke. I commented to a friend that it must be under construction. Then we realized where we were. It was the second floor. The one that overlooks the lobby. We were ushered out into the courtyard, the one where the fountain used to be. My first thought was of a TV movie I saw once about nuclear winter and fallout. I could not understand where all of the debris came from. There was at least five inches of this gray pasty dusty drywall soot on the ground as well as a thickness of it in the air. Twisted steel and wires. I heard there were bodies and body parts as well, but I did not look. It was bad enough. We hid under the remaining overhangs and moved out to the street. We were told to keep walking towards Houston Street. The odd thing is that there were very few rescue workers around. Less than five. They all must have been trapped under the debris when Tower 2 fell. We did not know that and could not understand where all of that debris came from. It was just my friend Kern and I now. We were hugging but sad. We felt certain that most of our friends ahead of us died and we knew no one behind us.

We came upon a post office several blocks away. We stopped and looked up. Our building, exactly where our office is (was), was engulfed in flame and smoke. A postal worker said that Tower 2 had fallen down. I looked again and sure enough it was gone. My heart was racing. We kept trying to call our families. I could not get in touch with my wife. Finally I got through to my parents. Relived is not the word to explain their feelings. They got through to my wife, thank G-d and let her know I was alive. We sat down. A girl on a bike offered us some water. Just as she took the cap off her bottle we heard a rumble. We looked up and our building, Tower 1 collapsed. I did not note the time but I am told it was 10:30 a.m. We had been out less than 15 minutes.

We were mourning our lost friends, particularly the one who stayed in the office as we were now sure that he had perished. We started walking towards Union Square. I was going to Beth Israel Medical Center to be looked at. We stopped to hear the President speaking on the radio. My phone rang. It was my wife. I think I fell to my knees crying when I heard her voice. Then she told me the most incredible thing. My partner who had stayed behind called her. He was alive and well. I guess we just lost him in the commotion. We started jumping and hugging and shouting. I told my wife that my brother had arranged for a hotel in midtown. He can be very resourceful in that way. I told her I would call her from there. My brother and I managed to get a gypsy cab to take us home to Westchester instead. I cried on my son and held my wife until I fell asleep.

As it turns out my partner, the one who I thought had stayed behind was behind us with Harry Ramos, our head trader. This is now second hand information. They came upon Victor, the heavyset man on the 53rd floor. They helped him. He could barely move. My partner bravely/stupidly tested the elevator on the 52nd floor. He rode it down to the sky lobby on 44. The doors opened, it was fine. He rode it back up and got Harry and Victor. I don’t yet know if anyone else joined them. Once on 44 they made their way back into the stairwell. Someplace around the 39th to 36th floors they felt the same rumble I felt on the 3rd floor. It was 10 a.m. and Tower 2 was coming down. They had about 30 minutes to get out. Victor said he could no longer move. They offered to have him lean on them. He said he couldn’t do it. My partner hollered at him to sit on his butt and scooch down the steps. He said he was not capable of doing it. Harry told my partner to go ahead of them. Harry had once had a heart attack and was worried about this man's heart. It was his nature to be this way. He was/is one of the kindest people I know. He would not leave a man behind. My partner went ahead and made it out. He said he was out maybe 10 minutes before the building came down. This means that Harry had maybe 25 minutes to move Victor 36 floors.I guess they moved 1 floor every 1.5 minutes. Just a guess. This means Harry was around the 20th floor when the building collapsed. As of now 12 of 13 people are accounted for. As of 6 p.m. yesterday his wife had not heard from him. I fear that Harry is lost. However, a short while ago I heard that he may be alive. Apparently there is a web site with survivor names on it and his name appears there. Unfortunately, Ramos is not an uncommon name in New York. Pray for him and all those like him. With regards to the firemen heading upstairs, I realize that they were going up anyway. But, it hurts to know that I may have made them move quicker to find my friend. Rationally, I know this is not true and that I am not the responsible one. The responsible ones are in hiding somewhere on this planet and damn them for making me feel like this. But they should know that they failed in terrorizing us. We were calm. Those men and women that went up were heroes in the face of it all. They must have known what was going on and they did their jobs. Ordinary people were heroes too. Today the images that people around the world equate with power and democracy are gone but "America" is not an image, it is a concept. That concept is only strengthened by our pulling together as a team. If you want to kill us, leave us alone because we will do it by ourselves. If you want to make us stronger, attack and we unite. This is the ultimate failure of terrorism against The United States and the ultimate price we pay to be free, to decide where we want to work, what we want to eat, and when & where we want to go on vacation. The very moment the first plane was hijacked, democracy won.

My name is Usman Farman and I graduated from Bentley with a Finance degree last May. I am 21 years old, turning 22 in October; I am Pakistani, and I am Muslim. Until September 10th 2001, I used to work at the World Trade Center in building #7. I had friends and acquaintances who worked in tower #1 right across from me. Some made it out, and some are still unaccounted for. I survived this horrible event.

I’d like to share with you what I went through that awful day, with the hopes that we can all stay strong together; through this tragedy of yet untold proportions. As I found out, regardless of who we are, and where we come from, we only have each other.

I commute into the city every morning on the train from New Jersey. Rather, I used to. I still can’t believe what is happening. That morning I woke up and crawled out of bed. I was thinking about flaking out on the train and catching the late one, I remember telling myself that I just had to get to work on time. I ended up catching the 7:48 train, which put me in Hoboken at 8:20 am. When I got there I thought about getting something to eat, I decided against it and took the PATH train to the World Trade Center. I arrived at the World Trade at 8:40 in the morning. I walked into the lobby of building 7 at 8:45, that’s when the first plane hit.

Had I taken the late train, or gotten a bite to eat, I would have been 5 minutes late and walking over the crosswalk. Had that happened, I would have been caught under a rain of fire and debris, I wouldn’t be here talking to you. I’d be dead.

I was in the lobby, and I heard the first explosion; it didn’t register. They were doing construction outside and I thought some scaffolding had fallen. I took the elevators up to my office on the 27th floor. When I walked in, the whole place was empty. There were no alarms, no sprinklers, nothing. Our offices are, or rather, were on the south side of building seven. We were close enough to the North and South Towers, that I could literally throw a stone from my window and hit the North tower with it.

My phone rang and I spoke with my mother and told her that I was leaving, at that moment I saw an explosion rip out of the second building. I called my friend in Boston, waking her up and told her to tell everyone I’m okay, and that I was leaving. I looked down one last time and saw the square and fountain that I eat lunch in, was covered in smoldering debris. Apparently, I was one of the last to leave my building, when I was on the way up in the elevators; my co-workers from the office were in the stairwells coming down. When I evacuated, there was no panic. People were calm and helping each other; a pregnant woman was being carried down the stairwell.

I’ll spare the more gruesome details of what I saw, those are things that no one should ever have to see, and beyond human decency to describe. Those are things which will haunt me for the rest of my life, my heart goes out to everyone who lost their lives that day, and those who survived with the painful reminders of what once was. Acquaintences of mine who made it out of the towers, only got out because 1000 people formed a human chain to find their way out of the smoke. Everyone was a hero that day.

We were evacuated to the north side of building 7. Still only 1 block from the towers. The security people told us to go north and not to look back. 5 city blocks later I stopped and turned around to watch. With a thousand people staring, we saw in shock as the first tower collapsed. No one could believe it was happening, it is still all too-surreal to imagine. The next thing I remember is that a dark cloud of glass and debris about 50 stories high came tumbling towards us. I turned around and ran as fast as possible. I didn’t realize until yesterday that the reason I’m still feeling so sore was that I fell down trying to get away. What happened next is why I came here to give this speech.

I was on my back, facing this massive cloud that was approaching, it must have been 600 feet off, everything was already dark. I normally wear a pendant around my neck, inscribed with an Arabic prayer for safety; similar to the cross. A hesidic Jewish man came up to me and held the pendant in his hand, and looked at it. He read the Arabic out loud for a second. What he said next, I will never forget. With a deep Brooklyn accent he said “Brother, if you don’t mind, there is a cloud of glass coming at us, grab my hand, lets get the hell out of here”. He helped me stand up, and we ran for what seemed like forever without looking back. He was the last person I would ever have thought, who would help me. If it weren’t for him, I probably would have been engulfed in shattered glass and debris.

I finally stopped about 20 blocks away, and looked in horror as tower #2 came crashing down. Fear came over me as I realized that some people were evacuated to the streets below the towers. Like I said before, no one could have thought those buildings could collapse. We turned around and in shock and disbelief and began the trek to midtown. It took me 3 hours to get to my sisters office at 3 avenue and 47th street. Some streets were completely deserted, completely quiet, no cars, no nothing… just the distant wail of sirens. I managed to call home and say I was okay, and get in touch with co-workers and friends whom I feared were lost.

We managed to get a ride to New Jersey. Looking back as I crossed the George Washington Bridge, I could not see the towers. It had really happened.

As the world continues to reel from this tragedy, people in the streets are lashing out. Not far from my home, a Pakistani woman was run over on purpose as she was crossing the parking lot to put groceries in her car. Her only fault? That she had her head covered and was wearing the traditional clothing of my homeland. I am afraid for my family’s well being within our community. My older sister is too scared to take the subway into work now. My 8-year-old sister’s school is under lockdown and armed watch by police.

Violence only begets violence, and by lashing out at each other in fear and hatred, we will become no better than the faceless cowards who committed this atrocity. If it weren’t for that man who helped me get up, I would most likely be in the hospital right now, if not dead. Help came from the least expected place, and goes only to show, that we are all in this together … regardless of race, religion, or ethnicity. Those are principles that this country was founded on.

Please take a moment to look at the people sitting around you. Friends or strangers, in a time of crisis, you would want the nearest person to help you if you needed it. My help came from a man who I would never have thought would normally even speak to me. Ask yourselves now how you can help those people in New York and Washington. You can donate blood, you can send clothing, food, and money. Funds have been setup in the New York area to help the families of fallen firefighters, policemen, and emergency personnel. The one thing that won’t help, is if we fight amongst ourselves, because it is then that we are doing exactly what they want us to do, and I know that nobody here wants to do that.

My name is Usman Farman and I graduated from Bentley with a Finance degree last May. I am 21 years old, turning 22 in October; I am Pakistani, and I am Muslim, and I too have been victimized by this awful tragedy. The next time you feel angry about this, and perhaps want to retaliate in your own way, please remember these words: “Brother, if you don’t mind, there is a cloud of glass coming at us, grab my hand, lets get the hell out of here.”

What America is made of... I Was There

I am a Registered Nurse, and an EMT. On Tuesday afternoon, I headed for the city from Orange County, NY. At each Police blockade, I displayed my credentials hoping not to be turned away. Each and every time, I was sent down roads closed to other traffic and urged to hurry. It was eerie being one of the only vehicles on what should have been totally congested highways. When I rounded a curve on the West Side Highway that should have given me a great view of the skyline, I and the only other car I could see, slowed dramatically. It was then that the magnitude of what had happened hit us. The huge column of brown and gray smoke was a sight I will never get rid of. I was sent to gathering stations for medical personnel and at one point, was standing at the foot of what was once the World Trade Center. Being a native New Yorker, born and raised in Brooklyn, the hollow feeling I got was totally consuming.

I spent most of Tuesday night being driven around by two Police Officers going to wherever we were needed. I was working with 5 other rescuers on a trauma team. What was so unbelievable to me was that I was the only American. The Cardiologist, Paul, is from England. Hans, the Cardio-Thoracic Surgeon is from the Netherlands, Herrman, the Anesthesiologist, is from Germany. Carlos the Doctor is from Columbia, Mavi, the other nurse is from Chile, Nuna, the other doctor is from Hong-Kong. Each was in New York on other business. They were here for Job interviews, at conferences, and visiting friends and families. They came for the same reason I did: We all just came there to help.

I will not describe the devastation we saw, or the kinds of horrendous injuries we were trying to remedy. I will however, tell you that we and everyone else we saw reacted like typical New Yorkers: with a kind compassionate and giving attitude. Doors were open, people were grilling food on sidewalks to give to us, men and women walked up to us to try to give us water, prayers, food and encouragement. Medical supply trucks backed into our areas and dropped off millions of dollars worth of equipment, CVS emptied it's shelves of eye wash, tylenol, Motrin, gauze and tape. Water trucks, Poland Springs, Dasani, dropped off loads of bottled water. And the FOOD!!! At midnight, I had a Prime Rib Dinner; around 4AM I had some fresh baked ham on a newly baked roll. There was an endless supply of water and drinks, fruit, cold cuts and breads. Restaurants were dropping off fabulous trays of their specialties. Ordinary people were bringing Dunkin Donuts, rolls, butter, clothes, towels, sheets, shovels, water, drinks, cups, plates and anything else you can think of. It was the only way they could find to help. People were handing us their home phone numbers and addresses so that we could call or stop by for a place to wash up or sleep. At one point, someone had written "God Bless You" in the dust on the windows of our vehicle.

Though we chatted professionally when we were traveling, for the most part we were silent. Not because we were newly acquainted, but because, well, what could we find to say? We were overcome with what we were involved in. By the time I looked at my watch seriously, it was 3AM Wednesday morning. Like many others there, I had been up for more than 24 hours. We were tired, exhausted and stressed to the max both physically, and emotionally as well as professionally.

By 6AM when we didn't have our hands on a patient we were giddy with fatigue. So were the hundreds and hundreds of other rescue workers. Some had friends and families in those buildings. In all that time and all that tension not a single cross word was spoken. Even the press behaved in an unusual fashion. Though the cameramen were standing next to us, not a one of them were shooting scenes of injured being wheeled into our treatment area. No microphones were pushed on our faces and no reporters stood in our way. The air of total respect was overwhelming.

At 8AM I was ordered to either sleep or leave. Not being able to close my eyes, I drove home. The magnitude of what was happening hit me when I stopped to get a cup of coffee and some gas. I was still wearing the disposable surgical gown with my title, and team assignment written in tape across my back. I know I must have looked like something out of a war movie. As I sat alone, a Police Officer tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Thank you." I lost my composure and sat there crying for a minute. When I finished pumping my gas, the foreign born cashier told me there was no charge for me, asked God to protect me and that I get home safely.

That rest stop on the NY Thruway was filled with military equipment and men and women dressed in fatigues. One Soldier came up and hugged me and walked away without saying a word. I got home and hugged my husband. He too, is an RN and EMT who worked locally that night. I took a shower and we went back. We stayed treating people and setting up makeshift Operating Rooms for the next 8 hours. Thankfully, the area we were manning was no longer needed. Again we were sent to get sleep or go home.

Not finding anywhere else we could help, we headed out of the City. On our way we saw cars, trucks, fire apparatus, police vehicles and ambulances from all over. Charleston SC, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Canada. We cried at the site of all these strangers who gave up their own daily lives to drive all this way to help people they didn't know, never met and had no ties to.

As I write this, I realize that the men and women at whose side I worked all night, I will never see again. The odd part of it is that I never even said good-bye. So to them, I say, you have changed my life and I will never forget you or your spirit or what you did for my city. To the rest of the world, I say, "Pray." Pray that we find justice for the hundreds of firefighters, police and rescue workers who will not be home tonight. Pray that our children will never wake up to this again. Pray that this is the last time our grandchildren will ask, "Do you remember where you were when you heard about.... " "and pray that Paul, Hans, Herrman, Mavi, Nuna Carlos, and I never meet again on a day of such hatred, love, devastation and hope.

It was, as my husband Jon said, New York's worst moment and finest hour.

Thanks for listening.

Thoughts of Others

One

As the soot and dirt and ash rained down,
We became one color.
As we carried each other down the stairs of the burning building
We became one class.
As we lit candles of waiting and hope
We became one generation.
As the firefighters and police officers fought their way
into the inferno
We became one gender.
As we fell to our knees in prayer for strength,
We became one faith.
As we whispered or shouted words of encouragement,
We spoke one language.
As we gave our blood in lines a mile long,
We became one body.
As we mourned together the great loss,
We became one family.
As we cried tears of grief and loss,
We became one soul.
As we retell with pride of the sacrifice of heroes,
We become one people.
We are.....
One color
One class
One generation
One gender
One faith
One language
One body
One family
One soul
One people
We are.......The Power of One.
We are.......United.
We are.......America.

I was driving down my long, gravel driveway in northern Minnesota, listening to our local radio station, when the news began to break. Hijacked airliners crashing into the World Trade Center, a similar incident in Washington DC, fires blazing, people jumping, towers toppling, horrors multiplying. Like so many others, my feelings began with disbelief and moved quickly to shock, sadness, fear, compassion, and a nearly unquenchable desire to help. But underlying this turmoil was something unnamed - a steady, solid feeling that I couldn't identify, but that was reassuring as the rest of my emotions somersaulted through my stomach. Two days later, with escalating talk of war, the feeling began to fade, replaced by bitterness, disappointment, and cynicism. It was then that I realized the feeling had been hope.

I was surprised at first. Hope for what? With all those tortured deaths and anguished survivors, endangered rescue workers and mountains of rubble, how was hope part of the picture? It was when I began to lose it that I knew. I had hoped for change, hoped for peace, hoped that such an enormous horror would open the way to a kinder world. It was a naive hope, of course, perhaps born out of the denial that is the initial stage of grief. Now, a week after the terrorist attacks, it has transformed to a patient, persistent commitment to peace. In that process I have had some thoughts I would like to share.

We cannot expect peaceful solutions from people for whom winning is all-important. This, I believe, describes most of our top elected officials and the people who advise them. Consider how these people have been raised and educated, and the career path they have followed. Their history lessons, like most of ours, have centered around wars. They have had a life of competitive endeavors and image management. To get where they are they have needed to stand out in a crowd, to focus attention on themselves. Their personal life has had to appear flawless. They have learned to polarize the issues and take a firm stand on one side. In elections, showing consideration for another side of an issue would be considered waffling and votes would be lost. Our leaders have had precious little encouragement or opportunity to reframe problems, to seek creative solutions, to strive for consensus. When we give these people virtually unlimited military resources and the power to use them, how can we then expect them to look at the complexity of a situation, take the time to develop multi-faceted solutions, and choose peace?

We cannot expect peaceful solutions from people who are insensitive or ignorant regarding other cultures and nations. One of the horrors of last week occurred when George Bush declared "This is the first war of the 21st century." With that statement he brushed aside the suffering of the parents of Palestinian schoolgirls gunned down in the streets near their homes. He ignored the civilians dragged from their homes in Sierra Leone and forced to watch their loved ones being raped, tortured, and murdered. He discounted the experience of people who, every day of this century, have endured tanks in their streets, armed soldiers outside their homes, bombs exploding in their businesses, and blockades at their places of worship.

We cannot expect peaceful solutions from people who allow others to decide when we are at war. By law, our president can not declare war, yet he has done so many times following the disasters of September 11, and we have let him. Our media has flaunted his declarations like they were something to be proud of instead of insults to our Constitution. Others have taken up his war cry, nearly drowning out the voices for reason, for debate and slow deliberation. Many have jumped onto the war wagon with less thought to its consequences than they would give to ordering a meal in a restaurant. Loyalty to our president and our government in times of crisis feels like the right thing to many of us. But our leaders must follow the procedures we established in more rational times and not use the drama of the moment to change the distribution of power that has been the strength of our democracy for centuries. Congress is the only entity that can declare that America is at war. As American citizens, it is our responsibility to learn all we can about the situation, to discuss solutions with others who have different perspectives, to arrive at thoughtful, moral opinions, and to share them intelligently with our representatives in Congress. A strong leader can lead Americans to peace, but it takes more finesse, more charisma, and more work than satisfying our anger by shooting up the world.

We cannot expect peaceful solutions from people who value money and material things above human rights. We Americans profess a strong belief in freedom and we donate generously to organizations that work for good causes. If asked, we might claim that liberty is worth dying for. But our daily habits have a stronger impact than our charitable acts and noble statements. We drink coffee every morning that has caused the destruction of habitat essential to a whole people's way of life. We wear clothing that was made from cotton picked by migrant children who are hungry and uneducated, slipping through the loopholes of our health and school systems to be caught by a big business that depends on cheap labor to show a strong profit. We pump gas from the Middle East into our cars. Can we even guess the cost in human suffering, not to mention environmental degradation, caused by our petroleum demands? We grab a hamburger at lunch that required enough grain production to feed 10 people for a month. We check the performance of the stock market, more concerned about the comfort of our retirement than with business practices that create poverty. We shop for a new toaster and choose based on price and performance, giving no thought to its production in a foreign manufacturing plant where workers are paid less for a week's work than we just spent for the toaster. On the way to the counter we pick up a few other things made cheaply by child labor in squalid conditions, but looking shiny and attractive and strategically placed to get our attention. They will be lost or in the garbage by next week. We watch the news, trusting that somehow our favorite reporters are telling us everything we really need to know about what happened in the world today; ignoring the fact that our news programs depend on advertising from businesses that may prefer we didn't know the whole truth. Our lives are convenient and comfortable, and when hatred for America surfaces and war threatens, we consider ourselves innocent bystanders.

Peaceful solutions will come when we put fairness and compromise ahead of winning; when we insist on having a choice for peace; when those who would choose peace communicate their concerns to the leaders of our country. We will move closer to world peace when we strive to understand foreign cultures, show them respect, and build coalitions on common interests. We will have peace when we educate our children in the ways of peace, when we demonstrate peace in our daily lives, when we make peace more important than convenience and comfort.

Peace is not the absence of war. In our private lives, we do not feel peaceful just because we are not in the midst of a fight. We feel peaceful when we understand someone else, and they understand us. We feel peaceful when we have been kind or helpful, and when we have received a helping hand. We feel peaceful when we tuck our children into bed, loving them fully in spite of any hassles during the day. We feel peaceful when we go to bed without even a thought that violence in our neighborhood could disrupt our slumber. The world is very much like our private lives. Peace in the world involves the work of understanding, of helping, of loving, of creating safe places for living. Peace is not passive.

Peace is always a choice. But it is a choice that must be consciously made at many moments of the day, whether in the world at large or in our personal lives. It takes practice and skill. It takes education, seeking out and becoming role models, finding wisdom.

Peace is not a quick solution. It will require a sustained campaign in America; not a campaign of punishment and revenge, but a campaign of truth-seeking and returning to integrity. Perhaps the horrors that made us hurry home to our families, that made us pick up the phone to say "I love you" to distant friends, that made us give blood and donate money and volunteer, perhaps these horrors will continue to move us toward peace, toward understanding. To bring peace to our lives we each must choose to explain our feelings rather than make a sarcastic remark; we must turn aside a small wrong with a sense of humor rather than hold onto a resentment. For peace, we must assert our right to be heard rather than give in to apathy; we must search for solutions that fulfill everyone's true needs rather than accepting conditions that bring luxury to a few and poverty to many. For the sake of a sane world, we must lead our youth toward knowing how peace works; we must seek out our elders for the wisdom they can share.

In the aftermath of terror, prevention of more violence is essential. Punishment may have its role in that effort, but generating peace is the only route to creating a world forever free of the horrors of hate.

On September 15, my friends had a baby girl. After the pain of the week, the feelings of fear and helplessness, the guilt for my part in the world's problems, the dread of an all-out war, and always those recurrent images of violent deaths; after all this the idea of having a baby seemed out of context. It jangled my sense of timing, just like the week's beautiful fall weather. But there she was, six pounds four ounces of perfection, the embodiment of innocence. I held her close to my heart for half an hour as she slept, peace incarnate. The healing sensations were almost unbelievable. My heart literally felt like it was knitting itself back together. My churning emotions calmed, my face relaxed and smiled. Here was the potential for the change I envisioned. In one generation we could make such a difference. We could make better consumer choices, we could change how leaders are trained and elected, we could practice appreciating the diversity of humanity, we could make a better world. For this baby and all others.

These parents had selected names for this little girl, but in the end they chose one impulsively. I heard today that the same name has been given to 29 other babies born in New York City this week. Her name is Hope.

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