On September 11, 2001, I was 15, a sophomore in high school, in Houston, Texas.
I don’t remember the weather, though my guess is hot and humid. I don’t remember the bus ride to school or first-period geometry, though as a non-math person, I’m sure I thought then that that class would be the worst part of my day. But I will never forget racing across campus to get to second-period geography on time and learning when I walked in that the entire world had changed in the last hour.
While I was in first period, both towers and the Pentagon were hit. I did not see the attacks live — my geometry teacher never had a TV in his classroom, and I’m not sure he would have turned it on if he had — and by the time I got to second period, life as I knew it would be different.
We were all glued to the TV. Some of us were crying, some of us were making nervous jokes and many of us were expressing concerns about whether Houston — a city still reeling from the damage of Tropical Storm Allison and just learning about the extent of the Enron scandal — could be another target. My teacher could only utter what I’m sure were very careful words: “The world will never be the same after today.” When I got home, I told my parents what my geography teacher had said and they downplayed it, saying that could be true about any day. In hindsight, I’m sure they were also scared and trying to protect me and my younger brothers.
While my memories of the day itself are nothing unique or extraordinary, I distinctly remember life before September 11 and life after it. Before September 11, I was a child. I had pool parties and school dances and sleepovers and family vacations and secret late-night phone calls and a locker full of pictures of NSYNC and the Astros ripped out of every magazine I could get my fruit-scented-lotion-drenched hands on. After September 11, even though I was still 15, I was now, somehow, also an adult. I still had all of those childhood things, but now I also had to worry about my friends and family members being shipped off to war. I now also had to pay attention to rising gas prices. I now also had to watch my darker-skinned friends suddenly be treated with anger and suspicion when they were just as American as I am.
While my memories of the day itself are nothing unique or extraordinary, I distinctly remember life before September 11 and life after it. Before September 11, I was a child. After September 11, even though I was still 15, I was now, somehow, also an adult.
But as it did for many Americans, my life quickly found a new normal. In January 2004, my senior year, I took my first trip to Washington, DC — a visit that would shape my future studies in journalism and political science and ultimately pave the way for me to return to DC for work a decade later. A few months later, I started college as many of my peers joined the military and headed off to the Middle East. Every political science class was shaped by the wars that started because of how the United States responded to September 11. Every journalism class examined the challenges to press freedom that stemmed from how the United States responded to September 11.
Every conversation was an opportunity to showcase “which side” you were on, and the dichotomy was stark and without nuance: you’re either for the wars (a “patriot” who “supports the troops”), or you’re “anti-American” and support the terrorists. Every advertisement was a competition to see which brand could out-America the others. Every song was a social commentary, from Toby Keith’s “Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue” to Green Day’s “American Idiot” and you were forced to choose between the two. You simply could not escape the wars. They were omnipresent. They were just part of life now.
You simply could not escape the wars. They were omnipresent. They were just part of life now.
Like many Americans, I supported the wars at first. I waved the flag high. I sang the new round of anthems loudly. I wanted to avenge the deaths of the nearly 3,000 innocent Americans who were killed in the attacks. I wanted America to be a strong and powerful global leader and I trusted our elected officials when they talked about rogue nations having weapons of mass destruction. And as I got more educated and paid more attention and started to question what seemed like way too much death and loss for no tangible gain, I struggled with what those feelings meant about my identity as an American.
Looking back, it’s hard to say whether that day ultimately led me to work in national security or if my life would have followed the same trajectory regardless. But I do know that coming of age in the immediate aftermath of those attacks and the wars that followed continues to shape how I look at national security now. I used to look at war and see a quest to right clear wrongs. I saw a stark difference between good and evil. I saw unwavering justification for every dollar spent in the name of “protecting the troops.”
I know better now.
I know that even in situations with a clear right and wrong — and September 11 is certainly one of them — going to war without all relevant information and without a clear goal is unnecessarily dangerous and can cause harm for decades to come. I know that evil actors do not represent entire countries or regions. I know that the best way to support and protect American troops is to seek diplomatic solutions to problems and do everything possible to keep them out of harm’s way.
I know that even in situations with a clear right and wrong — and September 11 is certainly one of them — going to war without all relevant information and without a clear goal is unnecessarily dangerous and can cause harm for decades to come.
As we stare down the barrel of a new endless war in the Middle East, I hope we can all realize that the choice that was presented to us in the days and years immediately following September 11 was a false one: deciding not to support an ill-advised American war does not make you anti-American. Understanding the gravity of the people killed overseas in the name of patriotism does not make you unpatriotic. Wanting to invest in preventing wars rather than constantly gearing up to fight them is not being unsupportive of the troops. War does not have to be a constant part of American life.
When I look back now on September 11, I feel overwhelming sadness and despair. I think first of the attacks, of the thousands of people who went to work or took a flight on an otherwise normal Tuesday morning and never made it home. I think of the pain their loved ones felt, many of whom never got the answers or closure they so desperately deserved. I think of the survivors traumatized by pain and guilt. And I think of where we are now, 25 years later: all the money wasted, all the lives sacrificed, all the freedoms stolen. We can’t go back in time and un-attack our homeland, un-fight those wars, un-lie to the American people about weapons of mass destruction and un-shame people for daring to push back, but we can choose to do better now. Our choice was never about whether to support wars built on faulty information at the cost of more American lives and freedom. Our choice was always about whether to fight those wars in the first place.
