The Day An Anarchist Died.

"God Bless America"

I was in study hall at 8:47, at New Lebanon Jr./SR High school. New Lebanon lies just before the Massachusetts border, about 20 miles from Albany, the state?s capital. It is a jerkwater little town, and the only things in it are cows, pigs, cornfields, and two gas stations. One little supermarket where you could buy expired meat for a cheaper price. I was an anarchist, I believed, and still believe in a small echoing way, that Anarchy, the utopian form of government where rules are no longer needed, was the way for the world. I also realized I was dreaming of an impossibility. I was seventeen, a junior, and I had thought I seen all the world could throw at me. I knew what was in store for me, a hard life of scraping together money from writing so I might someday get published. I had no idea that today, all my thoughts were about to change. The day was Tuesday, September the 11, 2001. School had just started, and I felt like I wanted to go home already.

When the first plane hit, I didn?t know, I had no idea. None of us did. I was having an intelligent conversation with Alex, my friend, when the period ended. Matt, a senior and friend, came in and announced that a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center. They had been watching CNN in their government class, to see a special on foreign relations or something, when it cut out to live in New York City, where the tower was an inferno.

Sadly, at this point, I was still an anarchist, and I had no idea then it was an attack. I had the same thought I?m sure many terrorists did. I had a thought that if I were to have it now, I would kick my own ass.

I thought?Oh my god! That?s great! This could be the right time to proceed to Anarchy in its purest form!?

I hadn?t seen the devastation yet, I hadn?t seen the people, the firemen, I hadn?t seen any of it yet. The human inside me was hidden away, and my philosophies and thoughts took over, thinking of the opportunity in this chaos. I have not thought like that again.

I got into a debate with Matt, who was also an anarchist, about what this could mean. He told me it was horrible. I agreed, but I told him to look past the destruction and into the economy, and how the Anarchists of the country could do it, to bring the country into an Anarchist state, to bring it into the new millennia. We both walked away, not settling the argument, both having the same thoughts. I proceeded to Math, my least favorite class. It was then that the principal and former Math teacher Mrs. Ackley came on the announcements, and she announced that classes were suspended for now. It was shortly before nine. She did this only because she had no idea how many of us had relatives dying in the tower. I didn?t and it didn?t have all that large an effect on me. In fact, none of my relatives died on that day.

The time was 9:00 when I entered Mr. Kirsch?s room. His TV, hooked up to cable, was on. This was the CNN room, and each room on the second floor, which is only three in the main hall, had cable TV. These were tuned into different stations. I was in the CNN room, my friend Alex chose the not so crowded CBS room, and my friend Buddy took the FOX News Room. We didn?t do it on purpose I arrived just in time to see the horror mounting. Another plane was approaching the south tower, a big jet, while the north tower was in flames. As I watched, minutes, no seconds, after I entered the room, the second plane hit. I was in horror, and it was at that moment, all thoughts in my mind were gone, save one. That thought was?Oh my god.? I gave voice to that thought, without even realizing it. I was in complete shock. For no reason at all, I glanced at the clock; it was 9:02. For a time I was in shock, much like the rest of the room, all I could do was sit there, and watch. I knew that this now was no accident. I was scared, confused, and angry. I was, to put it most plainly, shell-shocked. I couldn?t even move. When I awoke from my trance, the towers were still on fire, the people were still there, and they were just starting to jump. I realized with horror, just how bad things were right now. I realized that unless a miracle happened, every floor above the trade couldn?t be reached, the people couldn?t be saved. And rather than wait for death, they jumped, falling to the ground below.

About 9:40, the screen changed. It was now showing a place I thought was indestructible, the pentagon, with a whole side missing, and in it?s place, a burning inferno.

For an hour I sat there, watching the horror. I couldn?t believe it, and then, just before 10:00, I watched as the first tower buckled. I saw it, and I knew. I even said it.

?It?s going to fall.?

And we watched in a trance again, as the tower collapsed. We watched from the cameraman?s view on the street, as he ran for cover, hiding beneath an old van, and saw the wall of dust that came. In an instant, everything was black, and when the dust finally cleared, it was still one color, and it was a gray, a horrible dull gray. Men, both black and white, were now gray, everything, from the people to the streets, had turned gray. People were everywhere, some dead, some injured, some standing in horror and shock. It was horrible.

It was also at that time; we learned that flight 93 had been hijacked. It was put on the scroll at the bottom of the screen. By now, one of the men was standing in front of the weather screen which was now a plane screen, showing the path that these planes took after the hijacking. With horror, I realized that one of the planes that hit it the towers, passed right over us. It was bound from Logan Airport, and it had turned right over us, following the Hudson River to New York City.

I was terrified. I was scared. I thought of what might have happened if the pilot had been killed and the plane crashed right in town, or even the school. I was mystified and hypnotized by my own fear.

This fear only increased as flight 93 did crash in the middle of nowhere. It hit in some place called Shanksville, Pennsylvania, which, even though it?s at least 4 hours away, I felt that it was still far too close to home.

At ten thirty, I watched as the second tower, the north tower, the first one hit, fell. I once again watched the cameraman hide, as he evaded the danger.

It was now, almost stupidly announced that we were in a state of emergency. All airports and all forms of public travel were closed, all borders were closed. All business stopped. It was as if the nation had died. Every American eye was glued to their televisions, watching the atrocity. The president is somewhere, hidden, and the vice president is going nuts trying to keep people calm. I couldn?t believe it. Even Colin Powell was coming back home. I just couldn?t believe it.

By one, there was still no complete clue on who this was, and the president is still in a sealed location, he had made somewhere a presidential defense base. His tapes earlier had exactly what I expected they would. Nothing but promises of revenge. At one thirty we knew the military had deployed warships and aircraft carriers to New York City, and it was still on high alert. We went home at the usual time, having only been in two classes the entire day. We watched the smoke billow as the buildings still burned in NYC, and it seemed as though Pennsylvania and Washington were forgotten. We were sick, sick of the horror, sick of the pain, sick of being sick, sickened by all that we saw. We had seen the planes crashing into the towers hundreds of times, and even in black in white. That was the most sickening.

For all my life I had been able to view the old war footage as a movie. It always seemed as though it never happened, it had been made by Hollywood geniuses, always surrealistic, it never seemed real in black and white. But I watched the towers fall in black and white, the devastation, the aftermath in black and white; it looked straight out of the forties. I wouldn?t have believed it if I hadn?t seen it in color a moment ago. I couldn?t believe it. I watched as the towers fell, again and again, in color, and in gothic black and white. It was amazing, it was incredible. It was awful. I realized and felt the horror of the twentieth century, the old war movies was suddenly true. Hitler?s wrath, the holocaust, the hydrogen bomb, everything. I felt it all. It all clicked in my head, and I saw how horrible those things had been, I saw the atrocity of everything. I suddenly saw just how awesome and incredible and good this nation was, and that my ideas and philosophies of anarchy were impossible, and stupid. I realized how free I was already, and how wonderful life in America was, especially when I compared it to other countries. Suddenly I realized I was as fickle as the rest of my people, I was now a full-blooded American, and wanted revenge, not an anarchist wishing and hoping for what may never come. I was stupid and ignorant then. I still am now. My ideas changed then, and they still have not faltered. I still want Osama Bin Laden, the man allegedly responsible, to be found and impaled on the spike from the towers.

We went home at the regular hour, 2:30. The bus, like death, was silent. Only the voices of some seventh graders, who didn?t know better, and the conversation of the impending war from the juniors and seniors filled the air. It was the most unsettling bus ride I ever been on.

When I arrived home, I turned on CNN again, and watched the towers fall again and again. It seemed like the media was in bloodlust. It was horrible. I watched as the rescue crew fished through the first rubble searching for survivors. I watched as the pentagon?s fires were extinguished. I watched the empty sky outside, seeing only the occasional warplane or fighter fly over head, on it?s way to the military bases, or searching for unknown aircraft. I was horrified. I realized just what had happened. And that it was not just a terrible, terrible dream.

That night we ate in silence, and we watched as the president spoke. I laughed then, as one of my thoughts shone through from my inner anarchist. I watched the president speak, and the first one he mentioned was Saddam Hussein. I knew it. I felt, and still feel, that Hussein is also a bastard, and I felt that he had done it. I first suspected him. It was only weeks before that he shot down an American plane in international territory. It was a direct insult to President Bush. And whoever did this had to have money and massive military training. Iraq could do that. My humorous thought had been,?Daddy couldn?t do it, so he sent his little boy.?

I was surprised when it turned out to be Bin Laden.

I was more surprised that even now, almost a year afterwards, he still hasn?t been found.

That was the day that an anarchist died, along with thousands of people. My heart goes out to the families and victims of these horrible acts. I hope you all the best, and I hope that we find that bastard, and bring him justice. And not a little court?I plead not guilty? I mean a public humiliation and capital punishment, no questions, no courts, no juries. Who would say he?s not guilty anyway? Give the people what they want. His head mounted in the oval office.

We put out our flag, put flags on our cars, and went to the various places to show our support, and our unity. We lit candles at the Catholic Church, and I did it, despite my strong feelings about religion, I am an atheist. I still am. We held candles at the church, at the firehouse, and outside our own house. I even lit a candle and held it all night one night, alone, outside. That had been the following Tuesday. I still have the remains of that candle. It?s in a bag marked?Unity Candle? in my top drawer of my dresser. I was now an American. I still do not have allegiance with either republican or democrat, and I do still see the value of anarchy, but I no longer work to that end. I realize where I live, and what is so great. I see my country as the best of the world, and I see just how free I am. I no longer wish for more, I hope to keep what I have. I appreciate it now. And so, I am no longer an Anarchist. I am an American citizen, and proud of it.