The air has been filled with an acrid smoke, here, since last evening, but this morning it is clearing. I walked through the empty streets and noxious fumes last night, again to find a place to help the effort. South, to Canal and the west toward the river. Nearer the west side of the island, brigades of heavy equipment line the avenues. The crews of dump trucks, earth moving equipment, welding rigs chat, sleep in the cabs, feet thrown up on the dash. I recognize the names of contractors from New Jersey. Their trucks all bear small American flags. My attitude is completely changed toward these displays of patriotism. At Houston St. and 6th Ave., a group of civilians have erected a makeshift monument of flowers, candles, writings to the fallen. The stand cordoned off behind plastic tape and applaud each time a rescue worker passes, walking north from ground zero a mile or more south of where they stand. A young woman offers me a cotton rag to tie around my face to breath better. Someone has cut up sheets, and she carries strips of cotton cloth around her neck and hands them out to people she meets. But the air is clean on this side of town, the wind blowing from the west. A report comes over a police radio at one of the barricades on Houston. There has been a shooting somewhere. I can only wonder who from the over-taxed police force will respond. I awoke this morning with the sense something had happened. The lights from the entrance of the closed Holland Tunnel burned across town in the West, outside my window. I remembered that some of the tunnels and bridges had been closed or restricted. But I couldn't remember why. Eventually, the image of the pile of the World Trade Center in wreckage forces its way back into my consciousness and I am shocked all over again. Weep. This unspeakable, enormous tragedy, dissolves the differences between us. There is almost nothing but shared grief, mutual support, a desire to help and tremendous sacrifice. It may also be you learn the word "enemy" in a new way. I fervently hope, though, that what we, here, in this city have learned for each other-the fact, or sacred invention, of common humanity-will fly ahead, and in the face of, winds of hatred and prejudice; that tragedy not follow on tragedy, the concrete slabs of falling buildings. That we learn to recognize in the eyes of others, thousands of miles from here and different from us, our own needs, loves and terrors. They were office workers who died. Men and women with families. Not titans, but people. Let us not visit more tragedy on our own. For that is who 'they' are. Us. Let the new theater of war finally begin with empathy.
