What does September 11th mean to you?

Ten years ago, I was asleep on Prasti's couch when my dad called and told us to turn on CNN. Two planes had just hit the World Trade Center towers. It was 6 in the morning on the day that I was to move into my first apartment.

As horrific as it was watching the towers burning on the news, it seemed so disconnected from me, so far away, that I didn't even consider how this moment would change our country. We just went on with our day. We had breakfast at Portage Bay Cafe, we moved my stuff into my new place, I said my good-byes to my parents, and then spent the rest of the day getting my apartment together. At that point in time, September 11th was just another sad news story.

But as the days, weeks, and months passed by, I realized that our country and our culture had just experienced a great fundamental change. Everywhere was talk of retribution. Airport security became incredibly strict. The foreign policy classes I took all focused on the Bush Doctrine. Anti-terrorism became the new buzzword. For the first time in my life, I felt afraid to tell anyone that I was a Muslim.

For me, at the time, September 11th meant fear. I read stories about Muslim Americans getting harrassed on the street. Arab-American and Persian-American friends told me how they would be called derogatory names by total strangers. My Indonesian friends who were international students were being called in to the Immigration Office for questioning of their student visas. It was a crazy time. I think the period directly following September 11th was a confusing time for everyone. We as a nation were hurt, and like all people who are hurt, we sought to lash out on the nearest possible object, as a means to alleviate some of our pain. I can't say that this was right, but perhaps it's a natural reaction to the collective trauma we all experienced.


It wasn't until I moved to DC and lived on the East Coast that I really understood what September 11th meant to a lot of people in that area. For them, September 11th meant loss. Loss of loved ones, loss of livelihoods, loss of their own sense of safety and security. When I went to Ground Zero in New York City, I began to understand that this was more than just a piece of news. Two whole buildings (and the people that filled those buildings) were obliterated. The lives connected to each one of those souls in those buildings would never be the same. Ever. It still saddens me to think of how our country reacted to that hurt. I still think we could have reacted a little differently, with more compassion. But now I understand the hurt. The immensity of it. And the power that it has to cloud our thinking.

Now, ten years later, September 11th means something completely different. It means hope. It means birth. A year ago, on September 11th, Mira was born. This year, she will be one. I think it's almost serendipitous that her name means something in three different languages. In Russian, mir means peace, in Albanian, mirë means good, and in Spanish, mira means to look. Even the timing of her birth has some significance as it was following the last day of the Muslim month of Ramadan, and the Jewish holiday of Rosh Hashana. Already, Mira is our little bearer of peace, bridging cultures and religions, and bringing smiles and laughter to everyone she interacts with.

We have high hopes for Mira. In a way, she represents what we would want for this world: a place that accepts and celebrates all cultures. I believe we're on that path, but we still have a long way to go. September 11th showed us that we still operate on a system of prejudice and fear. After a decade of inwardness, we hope that Mira, and all the children of her generation, will help guide us towards a brighter future of openness and acceptance. And of course, world peace.