Remembering 9/11, 24 Years Later

I was a freshman in high school when the first plane hit the Twin Towers. The way I found out something was wrong was not through a TV in the classroom. It was because my parents decided to pull me out of school early. They were worried about chaos, about parents rushing in to grab their kids, and they wanted to get ahead of the crowd. As it turned out, not many parents did that.

So while many of my classmates remember watching the towers fall together, I remember being at my dad's veterinary office, watching the news with him and his staff. (My parents were too shaken by world events to let me stay at home by myself.) When the images got too horrific, he asked me to step into another room. I remember the tears falling down his staff's silent, stricken faces before I retreated to the back room and the safety of escapism.

The next morning, school was different. The halls were quiet, the teachers somber. You could feel the tension in the grown-ups around us. That day marked the beginning of one of the most patriotic periods I have ever lived through. It seemed like everywhere I went, I heard the song “I’m Proud to Be an American” at least once. The Pledge of Allegiance, something we already recited every morning before class, suddenly felt heavier and more serious. Even standing with your hand over your heart before a football game carried a new kind of weight.

9/11 was a tragedy that marked us all. But it also revealed something profound: how deeply Americans can come together in grief, in pride, and in determination. In the years since, I have carried that lesson. Unity can be forged in the hardest moments, but it does not have to wait for disaster. We can choose it. We can practice it. We can build a country where solidarity is not temporary, and where love of neighbor does not fade once the flags come down.

At the same time, history shows us that even in moments of unity, fear and anger can take over. After 9/11, many Americans stood together, but there was also a spike in violence against Muslims and brown-skinned neighbors. Our country went into wars that scarred my generation, costing countless lives and leaving deep wounds. That is the hard truth: almost nothing is all good or all bad.

As I prepare for a town hall, I have been asked how I will stay nonpartisan and represent everyone. My answer is this: representing everyone does not mean pretending all ideas are harmless. We can honor every person’s dignity while being honest that some words and beliefs are toxic. When rhetoric tells us to fear our neighbors or to hate people who vote differently, it poisons our democracy. Toxic ideas can lead to neighbors harming neighbors. That is where I draw the line.

I am not anti-Republican. I am not anti-conservative. I do not agree with every liberal or leftist either. But I am firmly against rhetoric and ideologies that turn Americans against each other. That is not patriotism. It is a threat to the very freedom we claim to love.

This is personal for me. My own father, who I loved and admired, probably voted for Donald Trump at least once. He was not un-American; he was a deeply patriotic, empathetic, loving, and intelligent man who studied history and was constantly learning. He was a man of values, who believed in celebrating the good in everyone and caring for people who could not care for themselves. He is proof to me that good people can hold different views. He also showed me that we cannot confuse people’s worth with the politics they hold. I miss him terribly.

What I stand against is not my neighbors. What I stand against are the ideas and the rhetoric that divide us and give us permission to treat each other as enemies. What I stand for is a community where we can disagree fiercely and still see each other as human beings worthy of safety, dignity, and belonging.

And that is what I mean by “cranking up democracy.” It looks like opening up City Hall so residents see how decisions are made. It looks like town halls where every person has the mic, not just the insiders. It looks like pushing for housing our teachers, firefighters, and young families can afford. It looks like neighbors showing up for each other, even when we do not see eye-to-eye on every issue.

Twenty-four years after 9/11, that is what remembrance means to me. Honor the dead, remember the unity, face the mistakes, and choose every day to reject toxic ideas and build a community rooted in care. That is how we crank up democracy, together.