Eight years ago, I watched horrified as two planes drove into the World Trade Center in New York. Like most people this side of the planet, the horror of the attack, was compounded over the days that passed, with visuals on loop of the towers collapsed, of the horror of those stuck on the flights which crashed, of those going about their business. Almost 3000 people died in those attacks. Four planes in all. All part of a well planned conspiracy by Al Qaeda. And a lot has been written about it.
All that remains with me today, when I think back is the faces of those standing outside the collapsed remnants of the towers with posters bearing photographs of their loved ones, waiting, waiting, hoping, praying that somehow, they were lucky, they managed to escape, they werent mangled in by the crush of iron and steel girders and would be found, safe, maybe a little hurt, but safe and alive. And the pain of having no closure, no resolution, no last words. Well, some folks had last words from their loved ones. They were called. They were spoken with. They were helpless to do anything to save them. That must have been living hell.
At least 200 people jumped to their death, a jump that was hopeless, but precipitated by a situation so hopeless that at least their death was instantaneous. 411 emergency medical personnel died on the call of duty as they tried to rescue people trapped in the towers.
Conspiracy theories abounded, and still do. But the fact remains that 9/11 is one of the defining moments in the modern history of terrorism. A moment that has since then, made every person in the world look on anyone from a particular community with suspicion and mistrust.
All I would like to do today is pray that the families of the victims, their loved ones snatched from them in such horrific circumstances, find peace and resolution.