Shadows of Fear, Shouts of Freedom

Eleven years.

Every new year that passes since September 11, 2001 has brought the same amazement with it of the time that has passed. I still remember the horror of that day just as if I were experiencing it again. I've recounted the story previously about my recollections of that day, so I won't repeat it now. Instead, I want to take this time to throw off the shroud of fear that I still feel when I think of that day; I want to take this moment to honor one of the heroes of that day.

Every year in the days leading up to the anniversary, it's been my habit to read stories of the victims. I'm always overcome with emotion when I read the amazing things the people caught in that nightmare managed to accomplish. And every year I discover someone's story I hadn't been familiar with before. This year, I found myself enthralled by the heroic story of Welles Crowther.

I think what first captured my interest in this story was that the person involved was so close in age to me. He was 24 years old at the time of the attacks, only a year and a half older than me. Dubbed the "Man in the Red Bandana", Welles is the super hero I hope my children and grandchildren, nieces and nephew hold up as their role model. On that horrible day, when no one would have thought any less of him - and, in fact would have joyfully embraced him and praised God for the miracle - had he simply made it out alive, Welles instead worked with the New York Fire Department to help evacuate and save no less than 12 people. After the chaos died down, those who were saved reported being directed to the only staircase still available for escape by a man wearing a red bandana over his mouth and nose to block out the dust and debris. Eyewitnesses described the man and Welles' mother felt the description - including his calm demeanor and seemingly professional training (Welles was a volunteer firefighter in his hometown) - fit her son and she knew he always carried a red bandana in his pocket that had been given to him by his father. She forwarded his photo to the eyewitnesses and they confirmed the "Man in the Red Bandana" was indeed her son.

Welles Crowther did not make it out of the World Trade Center alive that day. His body was recovered on March 19, 2002. He was posthumously named an honorary New York City Firefighter. His legacy is 12 people who owe their lives to him and a story of courage beyond the likes of which have rarely been seen in this generation by a civilian outside of that day.

On a day when fear often overshadows hope, I choose instead to hear Welles Crowther's shout of freedom! Those who sought to bring America to her knees that day will never have accomplished what they hoped. Welles Crowther and the other heroes like him on September 11, 2001 made sure that in that black, black day pure light still shone through.

Source: Crowther Trust Website - Seriously, go read his story here. They tell it so much better than I ever could.

X is for Xenophobia

Xenophobia is the fear of strangers or foreigners. I can honestly say that we have encountered our fair share of Xenophobia. Being in a relationship with someone from a different country and both of us having lived in one another's country opens you up to all sorts of prejudice. These two countries are not that different from one another, England and the USA, but, for some people, they might as well be on different planets and the people be different species.

Now, don't get me wrong, not everyone I met while in England nor everyone The Hubs has met in the US have been this way. In fact, most of the people we've each met in the other's country have been very nice. However, there have been the odd folks who would fall in the Supremely Xenophobic category. This post is about those people, not the ones who have been very nice. I say that now because I know some of my readers are from other countries and some of them are even friends of mine from England. I do not want to cause any offense to them. You guys know I love you! But I would like to share some of our experiences with you.

I'll start with my experiences in England. There are three main examples of how I experienced the prejudice behind xenophobia while in England. The first one happened very soon after I moved over. The Hubs was at work and I was taking the bus in to meet him that evening so that we could go out to eat and go to the movies. I got on the bus and was seated two seats behind the driver. There was an older man - probably in his late 70's or early 80's - seated across the aisle from me. I noticed that he (the older man) kept looking at me funny, but I couldn't figure out why. Well, apparently he had heard my accent when I got on the bus and paid the driver, because he muttered "D*mn asylum seekers! They need to stay in their own country rather than coming here and taking our jobs and living off our charity!" I looked around because I was trying to figure out whom he was talking about. There was no one else on the bus but me and him! When we got to his destination, he gave me one last disgusted look and then got off the bus.

I have to say I couldn't believe anyone could believe I was an asylum seeker! I'm American for crying out loud! Why would I go to England seeking asylum?! There is no need for me to seek asylum! I'm not from a country where my life would be in danger for my beliefs (not yet, anyway), so why would he think that? The ignorance just really agitated and frustrated me.

The next experience was also on a bus, but this time it was actually with the bus driver. At this point, I had been in the country a year or so and was familiar with the places I traveled to by bus. I was also familiar with how much it cost to get to where I was going. So, I would often get on the bus and order my ticket from the driver by saying the price rather than where I was going (this was actually common practice, at least in our town). This particular day, I got on the bus and said "60p (pence), please". The bus driver looked at me, rolled his eyes and said "Where you going, love?" in a very sarcastic tone. It irritated me that he acted as if I didn't know what I was talking about (the price of the ticket) but I told him where I was going and, sure enough, it was 60p to get there. I took my ticket and turned to walk down the aisle to find a seat and he muttered "F**king Yank!" Oh, my Lord! I couldn't believe anyone would actually say that where I could hear it! It made me so mad! I did report him to the bus authority, but all I got was a form letter from them (with my name spelled incorrectly, no less) stating they would investigate it and let me know their findings. That was about 8 1/2 years ago and, to date, I still don't know what the findings were because they never got back in touch.

The final episode for me happened when I had been in England for about 2 1/2 years. I was standing in line at the supermarket waiting to purchase a block of cheese (not sure why what I was purchasing is relevant, but it is a detail that sticks in my mind), when, out of the blue, the lady ahead of me in line turned around and started talking to me. That should have been my first clue there, because it wasn't common practice for people you didn't know to randomly start talking to you in a supermarket, but I didn't pay that any attention. So we chatte for a minute or so and she suddenly asked "You're not from here, are you?" I confirmed that I wasn't. She asked where I was from and I told her "Georgia, in the US." (This had to be differentiated from the Georgia in Russia in some instances, so I took to stating it that way for everyone). She said "Oh. Is that in the South?" I told her it was. Her response was "Oh." Long pause. Turning back to me with a puzzled look on her face, "Can you read?"

I was dumbfounded. I looked back and her and said "I'm sorry?" She repeated "Can you read?" I answered her "Yes, why?" Her response? "Oh, well, I just thought all Southerners were stupid." My jaw dropped open, but I recovered quickly and said "No. I'm quite intelligent, thank you!" Needless to say, that ended the conversation. She spent the next few minutes she was waiting in line glancing back over her shoulder and giving me frightened looks as though she thought I was going to attack her.

Those were my run-ins with xenophobia. Now onto The Hubs' experience.

Shortly after we moved to the US, The Hubs started a job selling life and health insurance. We had some fliers to put up with his information on them so that people could contact him if they wanted to set up a consultation, which we were going around town trying to find places to disburse the signs. We entered a local business, a place I have known my entire life and the people who own it know me. They, however, would not let The Hubs put one of his fliers in their store. They told him "We only advertise for local businesses and people." The Hubs explained to them that he lived in this town, that he was married to me, who his mother-in-law was (my mom knows EVERYONE), all to no avail. They told him they didn't advertise for "out-of-towners", which could only mean they wouldn't advertise for him because he wasn't American. It made me so angry and I wanted to say something to them, but The Hubs asked me to just let it go, so I did.

I loathe xenophobia. Not one of us (apart from those of us who are Native Americans) were originally from this country. We all came from foreign stock. The ignorance and fear that permeates the country really aggravates me. Does this mean I think immigrants should be allowed to come to this country illegally? Nope. But I do think anyone who chooses to come here and follows the legal pathways to get here (or, in fact, to any country) should be given the same advantages those who were born here have.

Remembering

Eight years ago

I was sitting at my desk at the radio station where I worked with my feet propped up on the desk and reading a magazine when my co-worker rushed in and said "A plane has just hit the World Trade Center!" Our first reaction was shock and commenting on how awful it was, but we had no inkling how terrible it would actually turn out to be. His next announcement, just a little while later, was "Another plane has hit the other tower of the World Trade Center! They're saying we're under a terrorist attack!" Those words turned my blood to ice. Even now, remembering his words I feel myself shiver slightly.

It was the first time in my life I had ever felt insecure about my safety. Previously, I had always felt that we, as a country, were one of the Untouchables. Never in my lifetime had the United States experienced anything like this. The last time anything even remotely similar had happened had been Pearl Harbor, some 60 years earlier, when my dad was only a few months old! It was a feeling I will never forget.

Shortly after those first announcements, real panic set in for my family. Although we were in Georgia and well out of the path of danger, my eldest brother was not. You see, at the time he lived in Pennsylvania, but he worked in New York City. As a foreman for NYC transit, he had spoken to my mother only days previously and had told her how he would be working on the subway system near - you guessed it - the World Trade Center. We watched our televisions with bated breath as hell unfolded on the unsuspecting people who had gone into the world that cool September morning expecting nothing more than an average day, all the while my Mom was constantly phoning, phoning but unable to get through. The phone lines were jammed.

I continued working and did my on-air shift, our radio station tuned entirely to news, worry for my brother's safety eating through me the whole time. As we heard news reports come across of the casualties in New York, Washington D.C. and Pennsylvania, my mind kept playing different scenarios of what may have been happening to my brother and I admit now that none of them were positive or pleasant. I worked enormously hard to keep my composure until I could finish my shift. As soon as I could legitimately leave, I quickly made my way home to be with my mom and pray.

Unlike many people that day, our story has a happy ending. After sixteen grueling hours of panic, worry, prayer and almost continuous dialing, my mom was finally able to reach my brother. By some wonderous miracle, the Lord saw fit to give my brother and most of the members of his crew the flu. Due to having only two members who were not ill, the whole team had been relieved of their duties for that day and told to be prepared to work the next day. They had all been upset to have caught the flu, but it is proof that while we may not know what the future holds, there is a higher power who knows and prepares. I thank Him so much that He saw fit to spare my brother's life and, in the same breath, I say a prayer for those who were lost that day and for those who lost their loved ones. Please know that there are those who will never forget the suffering that continues with you this day and your loss is still with us.