September 11, 2001 – A day I would never had remembered otherwise if not for the devastating turn of events 3000 miles from where I woke up that morning. As a military student at the Defense Language Institute, in Monterey, California, I woke up sometime before 6:00 along with my roommate. For the life of me, I cannot think of her name right now, but I’m sure it’ll come to me later. Anyway, she had gone to the bathroom to shower, while I had already returned to our room to get dressed in uniform. We had all the amenities of the barracks: mini-fridge, TV (sans cable/reception, but with a VCR), and a phone. The phone was hers, but when it rang that morning I answered. It was a friend, calling way to early and sounding a bit off. I told her my roomie was busy, friend said she’d call back. Not 30 seconds later she called back, all panicky. By this time my roomie was back, and I tossed the phone over. I was thinking there had been a death or an accident… I watched my friend turn pale as she moved the phone from her mouth and told me about the voice on the phone, 3000 miles away, who worked in the White House and was being evacuated. About that time, voices started yelling in the hallway, telling the girls to turn on any TVs with cable, something horrible had happened. I ran to a friend’s room, half-dressed and without knocking, only to catch a glimpse of a plane slamming into the World Trade Center Building. By this time, it was maybe 6:45, and I had muster at 7:30. But the carnage on the screen literally took my breath away. I remember watching the footage of the planes hitting, and I cried. In retrospect, I was glad I hadn’t put my makeup on that day, because I did a lot of weeping. The small crowd that had gathered soon dispersed, because national tragedy or not, nobody really wanted to be late to school.
Of course, there are parts of the day I don’t remember so well, like how quarters went. I do recall the feeling of antipathy for class that day, because we desperately wanted to know what the hell was going on. There was a bit of a mass feeling of raw fear, because some of us realized that DLI, chock full of future and current military linguists would make a damn good terror target. Hell, we had two schools devoted to Arabic, and our school housed the Persian Farsi school. Our Russian-native teachers expressed an angry desire to continue with class like normal, and the students, with righteous anger of their own wanted to watch the news. The compromise was struck: we got to watch the news, in Russian. We saw the footage of the towers falling, the damage at the Pentagon and Flight 93 in Pennsylvania. In a tiny bit of levity, a good deal of the footage was in English with the Russian being translated over top of it, so we had the benefit of hearing about the tragedy in our native language. I remember the speech that President Putin gave more than most of the TV coverage that day… he actually looked sincerely upset and disturbed at the news of America’s tragedy. It made me proud to know that the Russians were on our side so publicly and quickly, although one only has to mention Chechnya to figure out why. During class breaks, I spent the time trying to get a hold of my mom for a little bit of reassurance and to find out about her partner’s mom, who worked near the Pentagon. It was well after 2 by the time I got through, and we kept the call short, but my mother’s voice helped soothe my nerves. Something else I remember about that day… the Farsi teachers were bending over backwards to be courteous and almost subservient to the students. We knew at the time that Al Qaeda was the best suspect, and the teachers just wanted us to know that they were neither Arabic nor supporters of terrorism. It saddens me to remember their paranoia, as those teachers were always personable, and a lot nicer to talk to than many of our own Russian-born staff.
The walk back to the barracks will haunt my mind for a very long time. Marine students had been pulled out of class to pull gate duty (DLI was an open base at the time), and there were student guards at every building entry point. Whereas before, we had freedom to come and go as we pleased (so long as we were level 3 liberty students), now there was a rigorous bag check just to get into our living quarters. The Presidio of Monterey offered a beautiful view of the bay, ocean, town, and airport, but these sights radiated such tension and fear that afternoon. For the first time since I had been there, there were no planes circling to land in Monterey, the air was clear and I swear even the boat traffic was at a standstill. It was such an eerie silence. Back inside the barracks, we began hearing tales from the Arabic language students, the teachers’ reactions to the terror attack, the students’ response to their teachers. Now, even though the vast number of the staff were foreign-born, they were naturalized citizens and fiercely loyal to their new country. And yet, the anger of some students was so intense that some of the Arabic teachers bore the brunt of the emotions. Some of them had been spit at, threatened. I was ashamed at the stories, but at the same time I completely understood. I now believe that the people thinking clearly and rationally that day were truly unique in their mental processes.
I was 18 on that day, 11 months into my 6-year enlistment. I was afraid to go to war, afraid that I would be pushed out of Russian and into Arabic to fight in the battle against terrorism. To be honest, every day for months afterward I half expected an attack on our school. If I were a terrorist, that’s where I would have struck. I had many friends that were there to study Arabic, or Pashtu and Urdu, and to this day I worry about their safety, as some still go to Afghanistan, Iraq, and parts untold. I am fortunate that I lost no one on September 11th, but I lost a little part of myself. I think back to the time I had travelled to the top of the Twin Towers, and I cry when I look at the pictures I took from that vanished vista. Tears are welling up, even as I type, because I am thinking of the heroes that brought down Flight 93. There were a lot of brave men and women that day, and in the days and months that have followed. Sometimes, I wish that I had been brave that day too.
Life has gone on, however reluctantly. I myself have married, we have 3 kids, and I’m not even in the Navy anymore. I can look at my Tank, currently trying to breach the banister behind the couch to visit me, as proof that as terrible as 9/11 was, we’re living our lives normally. Do I still fear terror attacks? Yes, I’ll admit that I do. I’m always a little afraid that something will happen to Norfolk, because I love my husband and I’d be devastated if something happened to him. Do I let the fear control my life? No. I’ll consider that a victory over Al Qaeda any day.
You know, recently I was thinking about my teachers’ reactions this day, five years ago, and wondering why they were so adamant that we go on with our daily lesson, terrorist attacks aside. For years it angered me that they seemed to blatantly ignore our feelings that day. Now, I know what they were trying to do. Russians are a tad used to terrorist attacks, what with Chechnya, Afghanistan, etc. Many countries around the world have experienced the cold grip that terrorism brings. Looking with older eyes, I see how they deal with the ordeal: they live their lives as normally as humanly possible. Israelis, Russians, Britons, the like, they don’t let the terrorists into their minds. Attacks happen, life is disrupted, but then it resumes and goes on. This is what our teachers were trying to tell us. Yes, 9/11 was tragic, but we must go on with our schooling, with our day-to-day lives. Five years later, I have gone on. I just haven’t forgotten. The day America forgets, that’s the day the terrorists will win.
