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An Unfathomable Attack





Remember the ordinary, if you can. Remember how normal New York
City seemed at sunrise yesterday, as beautiful a morning as ever
dawns in early September. The polls had opened for a primary
election, and if the day seemed unusual in any way, that was the
reason � the collective awareness that the night would be full of
numbers. All the innumerable habits and routines that define a city
were unbroken. Everyone was preoccupied, in just the way we usually
call innocence.

 And by 10:30 a.m. all that had gone. Lower Manhattan had become an
ashen shell of itself, all but a Pompeii under the impact of a
terrorist attack involving two airliners that crashed into the
World Trade Center and then brought its twin towers down. In
Washington, a third plane had plunged into the Pentagon. The
president was for a long while out of sight, his plane seeming to
hop around the middle of the country in search of security. For all
Americans, the unimaginable became real.

 In his evening speech, George W. Bush said yesterday was a day we
would never forget. It was, in fact, one of those moments in which
history splits, and we define the world as "before" and "after." As
the scenes of the explosions replayed themselves on television
throughout the day, the shock only deepened as we began to perceive
the suffering those pictures from New York and Washington concealed
� office workers at the World Trade Center, caught in the
collapsing lattices of glass and steel, and the unbelieving
passengers aboard the second airliner as it swooped below the smoke
in the north tower, already burning, and plunged into the southern
one.

 Last night was full of numbers, but they were the numbers of the
dead and wounded, a list still stunningly incomplete and likely to
remain so for days to come. Every routine, every habit this city
knew was fractured yesterday. If a flight full of commuters can be
turned into a missile of war, everything is dangerous. If four
planes can be taken over simultaneously by suicidal hijackers, then
we can never be quite sure again that any bad intention can be
thwarted, no matter how irrational or loathsome. We have nearly all
had occasion to wonder how civilians who suddenly found their
country at war and themselves under attack managed to frame some
memory of life as it once was. Now we know. We look back at sunrise
yesterday through pillars of smoke and dust, down streets snowed
under with the atomized debris of the skyline, and we understand
that everything has changed.

 As distinctive as the World Trade Center was in its dominance over
the city, it was also a profoundly ordinary place. This we learned
for the first time when it was bombed in 1993 and out of its
stairwells and exits came our friends and neighbors, smudged and
grimacing. It was also, as now appears too plainly, shockingly
naked against the sky, its only real defense the happy confidence
that there were some things that no human being would want to do,
and others that none could possibly carry off.

 Commentators throughout the day yesterday dwelled on the scale of
the planning this terrorist mission must have required. But it is
just as important to consider the intensity of the hatred it took
to bring it off. It is a hatred that exceeds the conventions of
warfare, that knows no limits, abides by no agreements. We had
presumed that the very excess of such emotions made them erratic,
that instability and inefficiency were securely coupled. But that
was when we lived on the other side of history's rift.

 What we live with now, beyond shock and beyond the courage
witnessed on the streets in New York and Washington yesterday, is
an urge for reprisal. But this is an age when even revenge is
complicated, when it is hard to match the desire for retribution
with the need for certainty. We suffer from an act of war without
any enemy nation with which to do battle. The same media that
brought us the pictures of a collapsing World Trade Center shows us
the civilians who live in the same places that terrorists may
dwell, whose lives are just as ordinary and just as precious as the
ones that we have lost. That leaves us all, for now, with fully
burdened emotions, undiminished by anything but the passage of the
few hours that have elapsed since midmorning yesterday. There is a
world of consoling to be done. 

http://www.nytimes.com/2001/09/12/opinion/12WED1.html?ex=1001307204&ei=1&en=efae9cfe68740ab0

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