5 posts tagged “history”

As Peter Schrag recounts in California: America's High Stakes Experiment, the California dream has always had its dark side — from the discrimination against the Chinese in the late nineteenth century to the "battering" the Okies took during the Depression to the "push-pull-love-hate relationship with Mexicans." What is distinctive about the present situation, however, is that the dark side of the California dream encompasses population groups that will soon make up the majority of its citizens.

Sharp ethnic and racial divides of this kind don't necessarily undermine an economy. On the contrary, California's success in agriculture was based on cheap immigrant labor. But it's a recipe for social and political unrest — and even riot and rebellion. And it's a betrayal of the American, as well as the California, dream. That's something California's government will need to address, but there's the question of whether it is capable of doing so.

If you haven't read this op-ed in The New Republic, I highly suggest you drop everything to do so right now.

Last month, at my little brother's birthday party, I had the gut-wrenching realization that I'll always know how long ago I witnessed September 11th — it was just a month after Declan was born.  Every year I try to distance myself from the terror, the echoes of screams in my mind.  Until recently I had to hide from class, work, and friends, always roaming aimlessly in quiet reflection of what happened to New York and what happened to me.  At least I can function now, even if the tightness in my chest makes it feel like I'm about to cry at any moment.

This morning I searched through my old web site's archives.  I hadn't reread what I wrote for that public journal in at least six years, choosing instead to try not to remember.  What I found was surprising, in that my 17-year-old self had created a narrative to the day:

: 9.11.2001 :

    from my window, i witnessed the collapse of both towers of the world trade center.

    *ring* *ring* the sheets were a tangle between my legs, the phone reverberating in my sleep-laden ears. who would call at this hour?

    the city was bustling outside my window and the stirring of students in my hall was oddly comforting, reassuring. i focused, my eyes finally settling on the springs above my head. i released my fevered thighs from the sheets, lifting my feet to the bars under the bunk above me. my knees appear so slim this way. have i lost weight?

    then the sirens. louder than usual. a megaphone harassing the streets. i rolled my eyes. another reason why i don't need an alarm clock in new york. my head buzzed with the echoes of sirens. new yorkers don't seem to pull over for ambulances or firetrucks. they prefer to obstruct the path of rescue. megan pointed it out to me last week. her face all scrunched with angst against new york drivers, she proclaimed (a little too loudly) that new york needs to learn how to drive. i blushed. a few too many of my new neighbors heard that. *crash* another car accident in two weeks? *booom* what the hell? *screams* oh my god.

    the sheets were twisted again around my ankles. i fell face first out of my empty bed, one hand catching the fall on molly's giant trunk. i yanked my ankle free and jumped at the window. damn, the windows were shut. it'd been raining the night before. i turned the handle round and round, round and round. does everything take this long in a state of panic? at last the window was open. i shoved my torso out above the street and looked to the right. nothing. the people below looking left, south. in fact there were hundreds of people standing in the middle of fifth avenue. what is going on? i whipped my head to the left and my breath stopped. was there a bomb? several stories of one of the world trade center towers were on fire. in fact, whole sections of the structure were missing. i thought of jenga, the game santa gave me when i was in elementary school. mom slipped up, mentioning how the toy store employee recommended it to her. hahha. i remember knowing that santa doesn't exist, but still questioning whether what mom said was true.

    my feet flew off the windowsill into the middle of the room where i picked up the receiver. no dial tone. none of my family must know what's happened yet. it was almost seven in the morning on the west coast. if anyone, my air force-trained stepfather could be awake. i turned on my computer. no one was online. i leapt back to the window and stared at the changes underway. new york was at a standstill. wait. why is that plane flying so low? oh my god, that's how the first tower was hit. it wasn't a bomb. *crash* the plane flew straight into the upper portion of the second tower. *booom* there were screams all around me. i felt as though it was the passengers i was hearing. i imagined the fear on their faces as they watched their destiny scraping the sky ahead. the first of several tears streamed down my face. what did we do to deserve this? who hates us this much? how many are lost already?

    slipping off my roommate's bed to my computer, i noticed that mom had come online. agile fingers retold the chaos, baring my emotions. up on the twelfth floor, my windows shielded the pandemonium below with a quiet skyline out to the west. i jumped back to dangling out the window, watching south. the fire on the first tower created so much smoke. how naive i was, shocked at the billowing black clouds above the twins. the first tower was going to collapse. i yelled to the girl next door. erin! her back was facing me. ERIN! i banged on the windows, kicked at the windowsill. she turned around, waved. the tower is going to collapse! what? THE TOWER IS GOING TO COLLAPSE! you think so? i nodded.

    at first, it appeared that the building was just shedding its skin. a little crumbling here, a little crumbling there. revealing the shiny, new layer underneath. no, it's just the glass. wait, why is that smoke coming from below? the whole building was sinking. jesus. suddenly, a third of my previously publicized view is gone. the smoke mushroomed and unfolded into the sky. the rumbling of the collapse was almost deafening over the screams. breathe.

    i've never felt so lonely. how completely frightening it was to be stuck there with only my own thoughts. i bolted to the door and shoved our can opener under it. shelley was stepping off the elevator; she ran over to me. we interrogated each other on the latest news. i showed her how horrifying our view was. people were jumping out the windows. the people in the street below were so loud with their concerns. every couple seconds, the obnoxious cries of sirens blew past us.

    shelley jumped back into the room, grabbing for the phone. it still wasn't working. she flipped open her cellphone. nothing. the anxiety on her face was paralyzing. she was so worried that her family was home, thinking the worst. i sat back in front of my laptop. dad was online. i updated him on my safety but soon the tugging for the windows drew me away. shelley grabbed her camera, snapping so many pictures before the opportunity was lost. i asked her if we could listen to the news on her radio. while tuning it to a news station, shelley missed the first half-second of the second tower falling.

    i screamed, and shelley ran for the window next to me. i began to cry, again. the second tower's depleted, steel beams fell like tree trunks, blanketing manhattan with soot and debris. the charred clouds rose above with a current of black floating up to the sky. two-thirds of my highly publicized view: gone. the people below turned to go home. the show was over, i guess, for them. i asked shelley if she'd come with me to give blood. she agreed and we ran up and down our hallway, knocking on every door to find anyone else to join us.

- - -

    six and a half hours, four hospitals, a trip to queens on a bus, an overheated subway, and legs that have walked a hundred and fifty blocks later, i still haven't given blood. i trudged back to my hall alone, lacking armband, and exhausted. i'm so frustrated. the deaths today were so horrendous.  i crave the expunging of my blood to pump life back into the world. to at least try to save a life. i know one life doesn't make up for thousands, but what else can i do? 

    poor patrick. 'world war three' on his birthday. happy birthday, patrick! i'm sorry this sorrowful day couldn't be of pure celebration in honor of you.

For several months, I've been receiving a Facebook friend request from a girl that, as far as I could tell, graduated from my high school the year after me.  Now, if you know me at all, you know I didn't have many friends back then ...let alone acquaintances from other grades.  I'd taken to ignoring her.  Then, after another abandoned request this week, I received this:

hi there

i know we never knew each other in h.s. (and you've probably been thinking who on earth is this person trying to add me as a friend) but because i feel that people don't tell each other about these little things, I'd thought I'd let you know: i remember when you sang at the talent show my junior year. and you sang ani difranco's "joyful girl".

it was so, so beautiful. so i have to tell you thank you, for that beautiful song, and thank you, for introducing me to an artist i'd would've otherwise been ignorant to.

(and i remember your bicycle at 301 howard, i used to work there on the 9th floor, and had a blue bike).

all the best,
kim

Just when you think you know people, you realize you know nothing at all.

For seven years I wrote about my life on my personal web site and blog.  I built it myself early on, without the help of WordPress or anyone who could make the coding for privacy, sociability, and everything really... easier.  And when the Internet finally spoke back in the guise of a man living in upstate New York, I was forced to recognize that this was no ordinary diary.  I stopped writing.

In the last year though, I've found myself uploading photos almost daily to my Flickr.  At first I thought it was just because of my friendships with the team, wanting to be a part of their world, the fun factor.  But now I've realized it's my replacement for writing.  I signed up for VOX because I wanted to see if it's possible for me to write without feelings, without exposing myself to the world.  But I'm me.  I expose myself to the world just in a conversation.

I want to write.  So much.  But so far I've been talking through photos, without letting the world know who I am.

Rachel

Moving four times in a year really helps you figure out what's worth keeping and what's not.  Each time I moved around San Francisco, I'd come across this undeveloped roll of slide film that I'd taken during school.  I couldn't remember when I'd used it or where I was, but I knew that I'd chosen slide film to cross process in the darkroom.  I wanted to learn what sort of shots, colors, and light works best under these conditions.

I'd put off developing the film for so many years that I didn't care what was on it.  But finding a set of photos from a period of my life before I even felt at home in New York was completely strange.  I've already been through the transition of denial, grief, and rebirth in this new city.  Looking at brand new photos from a life that was so long ago feels a bit like trying to see through sheets of wax paper.  There's a quote that often rings true in my life, which is:

"If you want to test your memory, try remembering what you were worrying about one year ago today."
- Joseph Cossman