Have you ever taken the PATH train from the World Trade Center stop?
It's something I'm contemplating these days.
I lived in New York for the first time in the summer of 2002, and I've had a permanent-enough address here since 2003. (Even while finishing up school in Connecticut, I came down at least once a month, do to my co-op shifts; that's gotta count.) I first experienced the World Trade Center site as a giant hole in the ground, with a fence around it. They had finished most of the real clearing work by the time I saw it, so, to me, the area was mostly the ghostly Cortlandt St stop on the R train, the giant, brightly-lit construction zone between me and the concerts at the World Financial Center, and a knowledge that terrible things happen, sometimes.
For various reasons, I've taken the PATH train at least twice from the World Trade Center stop, heading into New Jersey. It's a little strange to me, sometimes, that they kept the name, but then again, I can't tell what else you'd call it; that's its name, in a deep and meaningful way, and you can't just erase what something's been. The station is beautiful and clean--more like the SEPTA regional rail stations of my youth than the MTA subways I take every day. I remember the first time I took it, being impressed with the clarity of the station, and settling in to a seat on the train, ready to venture into the wilds of Jersey City.
The train pulls out of the station and into the light, and its reminiscent of taking the train from Penn Station, how some of the tracks before the tunnel are open-air and below grade. And this feels normal, until you realize where you are. You're going in a giant circle around the base of the square pit where the towers used to be. This makes sense, on some level: the trains used to run under the towers, and this station will, at some point, be underneath whatever they eventually manage to get built on the site. But it's as disconcerting as the name: shouldn't there be something special about this ground? Shouldn't we not be driving trains over it? Shouldn't we be leaving it alone?
***
I am thinking of this as I think of the level of bullshit being directed towards a group of Muslims who have the audacity to build, on private property, a community center, several blocks away. Who think that they have a place in this city, as its residents; who think they have a place in this neighborhood in particular, because it bears wounds from those who share a faith with them. Who think that there is work they should be doing, and want to do it.
I am wondering why it's okay to drive trains through something, but not to pray the wrong way in the vicinity.
***
I am thinking of this as I am thinking of Pakistan. A fifth of the country underwater; 20 million displaced; the world torn apart. And yet, torn-apart becomes the new normal, eventually. There will be months of waiting. There will be losses and losses and losses. And then from destruction will come construction, and places that were lost will become rewritten. Someone will remember, this was my farm. Someone else will know, this is my bridge. The world will change, and change, and change.
And someone will build trains there.
And mosques, too.
***
Park51, otherwise known as Cordoba House
A list of aid organizations working in Pakistan
help_pakistan, a fannish auction to support aid work in Pakistan
It's something I'm contemplating these days.
I lived in New York for the first time in the summer of 2002, and I've had a permanent-enough address here since 2003. (Even while finishing up school in Connecticut, I came down at least once a month, do to my co-op shifts; that's gotta count.) I first experienced the World Trade Center site as a giant hole in the ground, with a fence around it. They had finished most of the real clearing work by the time I saw it, so, to me, the area was mostly the ghostly Cortlandt St stop on the R train, the giant, brightly-lit construction zone between me and the concerts at the World Financial Center, and a knowledge that terrible things happen, sometimes.
For various reasons, I've taken the PATH train at least twice from the World Trade Center stop, heading into New Jersey. It's a little strange to me, sometimes, that they kept the name, but then again, I can't tell what else you'd call it; that's its name, in a deep and meaningful way, and you can't just erase what something's been. The station is beautiful and clean--more like the SEPTA regional rail stations of my youth than the MTA subways I take every day. I remember the first time I took it, being impressed with the clarity of the station, and settling in to a seat on the train, ready to venture into the wilds of Jersey City.
The train pulls out of the station and into the light, and its reminiscent of taking the train from Penn Station, how some of the tracks before the tunnel are open-air and below grade. And this feels normal, until you realize where you are. You're going in a giant circle around the base of the square pit where the towers used to be. This makes sense, on some level: the trains used to run under the towers, and this station will, at some point, be underneath whatever they eventually manage to get built on the site. But it's as disconcerting as the name: shouldn't there be something special about this ground? Shouldn't we not be driving trains over it? Shouldn't we be leaving it alone?
***
I am thinking of this as I think of the level of bullshit being directed towards a group of Muslims who have the audacity to build, on private property, a community center, several blocks away. Who think that they have a place in this city, as its residents; who think they have a place in this neighborhood in particular, because it bears wounds from those who share a faith with them. Who think that there is work they should be doing, and want to do it.
I am wondering why it's okay to drive trains through something, but not to pray the wrong way in the vicinity.
***
I am thinking of this as I am thinking of Pakistan. A fifth of the country underwater; 20 million displaced; the world torn apart. And yet, torn-apart becomes the new normal, eventually. There will be months of waiting. There will be losses and losses and losses. And then from destruction will come construction, and places that were lost will become rewritten. Someone will remember, this was my farm. Someone else will know, this is my bridge. The world will change, and change, and change.
And someone will build trains there.
And mosques, too.
***
Park51, otherwise known as Cordoba House
A list of aid organizations working in Pakistan
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