The big disappointment

Governor Pataki finally said it: The International Freedom Center will not be part of the 9/11 memorial site.

Debra Burlingame, leader of the opposition to the IFC and author of the article "The Great Ground Zero Heist," published in The Wall Street Journal on June 9, was one of the many who expected him to say that. Her brother piloted the plane that crashed into the Pentagon on September 11, 2001.

Now, I quote the New York Times. “"I congratulate Governor Pataki," Ms. Burlingame said, "for recognizing that the International Freedom Center was an obstacle not simply for the families, the first responders and all those who were personally affected by the events of Sept. 11, but for all Americans who will be coming to the World Trade Center memorial to hear the story of 9/11 and that story only.

“"And I believe that story will be able to convey all the core values that Governor Pataki so eloquently enunciated again in his statement," she said, adding that "9/11 is not only a story of loss, it's an uplifting story of decency triumphing over depravity."”

Who else expected Pataki to bar the IFC? In this one I’m guessing, but I will go for a lot of democrats, not the Hillary kind but yes the ones in lowercase. People who believe in democracy all over the world. Thousands of them, who expected this to become another example of the bully American way of handling politics and morale: If we’re not looking good, we might as well not be in the picture. Or, even better, we’ll take the camera and strip search the photographer.

Without him even being aware of it, they have taken Daniel Libeskind’s project and torn it apart. The Master Site Plan has been strip searched because someone didn’t look good in that picture.

But there were another few who actually did not expect Pataki to go this way. The timing was perfect and we were all watching. I am part of that group, the great naïve I’ll call it, who thought that the United States would rise to the occasion this time.

The big disappointment, I will now call it.

Because no matter what kind of “obstacle” Ms. Burlingame thinks the IFC is, she is flat wrong when she says the families of the people who shouldn’t have died that day are “all those who were personally affected by the events of Sept. 11”.

For her own good, Ms. Burlingame is completely wrong; because 9/11 did not just happen in America. It affected millions of people watching the towers fall and the Pentagon on fire, people all over the world who heard about heroes fighting back inside other airplanes and refusing to be used as ammunition.

It was a lesson of bravery and humbleness that spread all over the planet and reminded the world that Americans are, well, people.

And American leaders reminded the world, when they were looking for members of their coalition against evil, that the attack on the World Trade Center was not an attack to America but to the free world.

Ms. Burlingame lost a brother under terrible circumstances while mine, who had a meeting in floor 102 of one of the Towers at 11 a.m. on September 11, 2001, has lived to tell the story. He obviously never made it to the building.

But that doesn’t make him, or me, less of a victim. The attack to the World Trade Center hit in the core of a lot of people’s values and beliefs. Values and beliefs which have been attacked many times in history and, yes, sometimes by the United States.

The New York Times has this description of the IFC: "The Freedom Center, picked for the memorial site by the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation, was envisioned as a living memorial in which the story of Sept. 11, 2001, would be told in the context of the worldwide struggle for freedom through the ages."

The IFC was a chance to give the events of 9/11 a context they deserve to have. A chance to see them as part of the everlasting fight of mankind against itself and a chance for people to remember, full of hope, that no matter how powerful the enemy, freedom and liberty tend to prevail.

That is the reason why somebody like me, coming from a country with a lot of things to criticize from the US government –which are not part of this discussion- cares about the death of Mr. Burlingame. Because his life and every single one of the nearly three thousand people –not only Americans- who died that day deserve to be remembered as part of the prevalent presence of freedom in this world. Not as “the story of 9/11 and that story only.”

Ejercicio 3

El Escritor escribe y habla con todo el mundo. La mesera fue a college en Nueva York y tiene ascendencia británica, pero es del Caribe. (De Jamaica?)

El Escritor arma conversación con una pareja que está tratando desesperada e inútilmente que su gran danés se siente bajo la mesa. No alcanzo a oír de qué hablan.

El Escritor es amigo de otro escritor que además es agente de artistas. El escritor/agente y el artista se acercan a la mesa del Escritor. Todos sonríen. La conversación no llega a ninguna parte y el escritor/agente le dice al Escritor que tiene que pasar por el taller del artista porque tiene cosas muy buenas. Todos se despiden.

El Escritor se da cuenta de que los miro y tomo notas y piensa –y acierta- que estoy escribiendo sobre él. No parece gustarle aunque él ha estado haciendo lo mismo con la mesera, la pareja y quién sabe quién más.

El Escritor se vuelve Fotógrafo y saca una cámara con un zoom innecesariamente grande. Está sentado a menos de 10 metros y me apunta con el zoom. Yo no sonrío.

Suena el teléfono y es ella. Por su voz, parece que tiene ganas de verme. No puedo ir ahora.

Vuelve la mesera jamaiquina y les dice a las españolas que se acaban de sentar a mi lado que las meseras no salen a atender a la gente. Parece que sólo salen a decir que no salen. O bueno, que sí salen pero más tarde.

Una de las españolas se para y vuelve al rato con dos cervezas. La jamaiquina vuelve seis minutos después, con un sándwich. Las meseras sí salen, pero a traer comida.

Las española que se quedó en la mesa tiene botas de cuero hasta la rodilla y la otra tiene flip-flops. El clima es más para flip-flops.

Yo muerdo mi sándwich y el pollo se escurre por todos lados. Los arándanos se quedan pegados al pan. Creo que me va mejor si le quito la tapa al sándwich.

Efectivamente.

Ya no quiero trabajar más. Llamo de vuelta y ella no contesta. No dejo mensaje.

El Escritor y yo tomamos sorbos de nuestros cafés exactamente al mismo tiempo. A mí me parece divertido pero creo que él se está sintiendo incómodo. Van a ser las cuatro y quiero irme. El Escritor y yo nos paramos al mismo tiempo y caminamos hacia la misma salida. Ahora yo me siento incómodo.

Hay mucho sol y paro a sacar las gafas y un cigarrillo. El Escritor desaparece.

Una foto

Con Lulú (izq.) y Caro frente al venerado edificio del J-School, en Columbia. El de la entrada no es Pulitzer, como alguna vez pensé, sino Jefferson. Por lo del First Ammendment, creo.