I awoke on the morning of September 12, 2001 a little later than usual. I quickly cleaned up and dressed, leaving my apartment without time to check my email. Just outside the school gate, I caught the bus taking me to the outskirts of town to a sister campus where my classes were held.
A few weeks earlier, I had arrived in Jingshan, a small, rural town in south-central China, to teach English for a year. I worked at a local high school and taught oral English to freshman students. I had begun to grow accustom to my novelty in the small town. Not many foreigners had come to Jingshan. Currently, I knew of only one other American in town, he lived right above me and we had chatted occasionally.
I arrived at the school and gathered my things for my first class. I didn’t have time to chat with any of the other teachers before class began and headed off to the classroom. The morning flew by swiftly as I taught three classes back-to-back. After my last class I headed out to catch the bus back into town.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to me as I exited the bus early in order to buy some items at a nearby market. As I selected my items and chatted with the shopkeeper, I noticed more people gathering to watch me and could sense something was different.
“What do you think America will do?” the shopkeeper asked me.
“What do you mean?” I responded.
The surprise seemed evident and the people around me inundated me in Chinese with all sorts of information that I couldn’t comprehend. Amongst the barrage of information, I could grasp something significant had happened. Words like “plane”, “city”, “war”, “death” were repeated in each sentence. The shopkeeper finally thrust a newspaper in front of me and I comprehended. On the front page was a picture of buildings engulfed in flames, my heart sank and I knew I needed to figure out what was going on.
I paid for my items and quickly walked back to my apartment. I got online and went straight to a news outlet. It didn’t take long to get the story. I read of the planes crashing into the World Trade Center towers. I read of one crashing into the Pentagon and of another crashing into a field. I read about the towers collapsing. I moved to my email and found a lot of messages from family and friends inquiring about my well being and assuring me they were fine.
I checked the time when it all happened and realized that about the same time that the events of September 11th were unfolding, I was getting ready to retire for the evening a half a world away.
September 11th affected me no less, despite being far away. My Chinese friends were sensitive and polite. My American colleague and I became fast friends as we found a common bond amidst this tragedy.
But I longed to be back in the States with family and friends. I longed to be united to my fellow countrymen and work through this ordeal with them. Nevertheless, I remained in China.
When troops invaded Afghanistan, I suddenly found myself on the defense as Chinese people often would ask about the U.S.’s motivations. They accused us of wanting to take over the world and imposing our system of government on everyone. Never before had I defended my country in such a way. In some ways, I figured they did not understand.
They had never been to New York. They had never stood on top of the World Trade Centers and looked around the skyline of New York. They had never lived under a government that allowed its citizens true freedom.
It was a defining part of my life living abroad during and after September 11th. When I finally returned to the States the following summer, I patiently waited in the lines at the airport security. I didn’t mind the longer wait, and still don’t.
I share this brief experience of mine, in the hopes that others will always remember where they were when September 11th happened and how it affected them. May we never forget those brave people who perished that day and their families. And may we never stop striving for a safer, more peaceful world.
