It only took one second to shatter the normalcy and calm of Sept. 11, 2001.
I walked into the Georgetown Criminal Justice Clinic in Washington, D.C. at 9 a.m. and heard the stunned scream from my attorney: A plane crashed into the World Trade Center in New York.
In a matter of seconds, everyone in the office crowded around its two televisions and watched with growing horror as another plane hit the south tower.
Confusion and dismay gave way to pain, anger and the cold certainty that it was a deliberate terrorist attack. Then, cold fury as one mantra-like phrase stuck in my head: Those bastards!
Thousands must be dead. I didn’t know who was responsible, but I hated them as I continued to witness the horrific damage they inflicted.
It only took a second to throw our lives into chaos. But fear and panic did not fully strike us until we heard that the Pentagon was also attacked.
All I could think was: Not here, please God, not here! But the nightmare in New York became terrifying reality in Washington: We were under attack.
Suffocating fear and panic gripped the interns, the attorneys and me. Where would they strike next? Where was safety? Should we stay inside the office? Or should we try going to the underground parking garage, using it as a makeshift bomb shelter?
Outside, the city was in chaos. Capitol Hill, the White House, all federal buildings and most businesses were evacuated. People ran frantically as the police ran in formation down streets. Sirens wailed. From our windows, we could see the smoke billowing from the Pentagon.
We felt that we were under siege. New York was hit twice; now the Pentagon. Where next? The Capitol or the White House? During the first hours of the attack, rumors ran rampant, spread through news stations and word of mouth. They said that car bombs exploded outside the State Department and Capitol Hill. More fear, more panic.
At one point, our building shook hard, further fueling our fear that we — and other parts of the city — were targets and under attack.
In fact, we hadn’t been hit. But the uncertainty was frightening in itself. The news that the final missing and hijacked plane had crashed in Pennsylvania eased our panic a little. We hoped the attack was over. Then, nearly everyone went home.
Walking to my apartment two blocks southeast of the Capitol, I noticed an eerie calm in the city. The normal bustle of a busy workday at lunchtime was gone. It was silent.
Only police were out, guarding the numerous roadblocks, holding huge guns.
Now and then, a car or a person would appear. Other than that, the city had been transformed into a ghost town. Fear had driven everyone into hiding.
Military aircraft patrolled throughout that horrific day — we were in a war zone.
With the dawn of the next day, as I wrote this, everything seemed a little more normal but still extremely surreal.
The two blocks around the Capitol were still closed to cars, but open to pedestrians and tourists. There were fewer policemen guarding the roadblocks and they lacked the weapons that were so noticeable the day before.
Nothing is quite the same. It won’t be for some time. Our country will forever be scarred by this act of terrorism. But we cannot let terrorism win; we must bounce back.
Last Tuesday brought horror, fear and suffering to our nation, but the sky did not fall.
Yes, they struck terror into the hearts of all Americans, killed and injured thousands of people and shattered some of America’s most famous symbols, but neither our nation nor our spirit has been broken.
This national tragedy showed what we are made of. It showed that what we believe in cannot be found in mortar or cement, but in our hearts and in our actions.
As I sign off from Washington, I leave you with this thought: Just as the phoenix rose from the ashes, so too will our country rise from the ashes of hate and terror, stronger and more united than ever before.
Editor’s Note: Baharian, a participant in UCSD’s Academic Internship Program, is a defense investigator intern at the Criminal Justice Clinic of the Georgetown University Law Center.
