A year ago, I sat in a room in Sarajevo with families from all sides of the conflict that ravaged the Balkans in the 1990s. Just like those developing the National September 11 Memorial Museum, this group was grappling with how to tell their stories, remember their loved ones and, at the same time, write national histories through a memorial that has yet to be opened. But at the end of our meetings, I also witnessed the strength and solace that the group drew from the experiences that were shared by representatives of other memorial Sites of Conscience from Chile to Northern Ireland to South Africa. Placing acts of atrocity in a global context matters: it demonstrates to survivors and victims’ families that they are not alone, that their suffering is shared, understood, and has universal meaning. By drawing connections between our own histories and those of other nations, we can also spark the insight that what has happened on our own shores could–and does–happen elsewhere and that each of us, wherever we are, has a role to play in ensuring that it does not happen again.

Elizabeth Silkes
Executive Director

In the days and weeks that followed the attacks of September 11, 2001, I joined New Yorkers and the world in grappling with the horror of what had happened and bracing for the response that surely would come. During those dark days that lasted longer than many of us could have imagined, and for many will continue without end, it was the New York Times “Portraits of Grief” that allowed me to step for a moment into the lives of those who were lost—to join them at their son’s little league games or their recent summer weddings or their beloved home gardens. As readers, we had the privilege of learning what gave them joy, what comforted them, what made them proud. And in reading about these everyday moments in their lives, we were able to connect in a simple yet profound way not only with each of the victims but with their loved ones and, ultimately, with each other.

Because Sites of Conscience around the world share the past through personal stories—stories of deep tragedy and stories of extraordinary triumph—visitors to these Sites can relate to the past in personal and profound ways. In learning one person’s story, her journey from bystander to victim to survivor to agent for change, we gain a new understanding of the events that changed her life.

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Cape Town, South Africa: Even from these distant shores, many of us can remember where we were or what we were doing on 11 September 2001. It has become one of those moments which, for many, froze in time.

I recall chatting away with friends over coffee, as a scene was being played over and over on a television screen. As is often the case in coffee shops, the audio was turned off and the visuals had become an almost invisible background to our conversation. No one imagined that what was being shown was real, thinking it to be a scene replayed from a movie that we could not identify. As gradually the reality sunk in that it was not a movie, someone asked for the sound to be turned up, and shock and disbelief filled the room.

Undoubtedly, many of us in the room had varying opinions about the United States – some of them critical. It was not uncommon at the time for people to be expressing views about the US’s perceived disregard for national sovereignty, about the all-pervasiveness of North American culture, or the country’s unpopular foreign policy. But at that moment, the awareness of people, the indivisible nature of our humanity, and the sense of human tragedy was the strongest sentiment that unified all these different perspectives. Even from our distance, the horror was palpable.

Discussions about how good could emerge from this is only possible now, years later.

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The Museum, which shares the histories of working-class, immigrant families who called the tenement home from 1864 to 1935, strives to open up dialogue around themes like labor, religion, and identity. One tour focuses on two different families, Gumpertz and Baldizzi, struggling to survive during times of economic crises. The Gumpertz family, who lived through the Great Panic of 1873, faced a particularly tough blow: one morning in 1874, the father, Julius Gumpertz, left for work and did not return home. He was never seen or heard from again. His wife, Natalie, had to find a way to support her children, eventually thriving as a dressmaker. She survived both the financial crisis and the disappearance of her husband.

The story doesn’t end there, though, as Museum visitors might expect. Echoes sound down the years and into the 21^st century, where it is September 11, 2001, and a Gumpertz descendent, Frank Reisman, also leaves for work and does not return home. He was one of many whose lives were lost in the World Trade Center attacks.

His story is a continuation of the family’s story, and including it is a choice the museum made to open up broader avenues for understanding and meaningful exchange. Below, Nick Capodice and Clare Burson share what this choice means to them as museum educators.

9/11 in Kleindeutschland
By Nick Capodice
Educator
Lower East Side Tenement Museum

I used to dread discussions about September 11th. I disliked feeling the necessity to be utterly reverent, of constantly tiptoeing on NYC eggshells. Even more, I didn’t want to hear any more stories. New York is a town full of storytellers – how someone lost a friend, how someone was supposed to be in the building but chose that day to play hooky, how the streets smelled.

So when I started working at the Museum and heard that September 11th was incorporated into the content of Getting By, my favorite tour, I was terrified.

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September 11, 2001 and What Connects the Past, Present, and Future
By Clare Burson
Educator
Lower East Side Tenement Museum

Before I became an educator at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, I was a visitor there, filing into the 147-year-old tenement building with 14 other people.

The educator that day, Katie Barnard, painted a particularly stark and vivid picture of what life was like for the Gumpertzes, explaining how the economic and social upheaval brought on by the Great Panic of 1873 contributed to the partial undoing of the family. Katie deftly wove in strands of success and hope, telling us how Natalie managed to support her family after Julius’ disappearance. Katie also passed around photographs of Julius and Natalie’s descendants – introducing great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, and even their great-great-great-grandchildren.

If I hadn’t already been moved sufficiently by the story at this point, the educator then revealed that Julius’ great-great-grandson, Frank Reisman, also left for work one morning and did not come home at the end of the day.

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In 1999 I began working at the Arab Community Center for Economic and Social Services (ACCESS) in Dearborn, Michigan, teaching the public about Arab culture and Islam through educational and arts programming. I loved dedicating 40 hours of my week to promoting a better understanding of Arabs, Arab Americans, and Islam. I truly felt like we were making a difference to the students and professionals who participated in ACCESS’s programs. Then came the 9/11 attacks.

When it became known that the planes were hijacked and flown by Arab Muslims, I envisioned all of the efforts we’d worked so hard to accomplish completely vanish. Following the attacks, ACCESS employees received physical and verbal threats. In addition, Arabs, Muslims, and others who appeared to be Arab and/or Muslim faced discrimination, assault and even murder all across this country. Hearing about the uptick in such incidents made us to fear that our work in the Cultural Arts Program would be thwarted and that all of the progress we had made was in vain. What happened next came as a surprise.

Within a few weeks of the tragic events of 9/11, our department received an increase in requests for presentations on Arab culture and Islam by those who desired to understand our community even more. The increased demand for cultural competency programs, along with other services of the Cultural Arts Program, were the driving forces behind creating the Arab American National Museum (AANM).

AANM, the first and only institution dedicated to telling the Arab American experience, opened to the public on May 5, 2005. Annually, the museum hosts 50,000 visitors who come from across the world to learn more about Arab and Muslim Americans. Hearing about journeys like that of Anna Yousef – a Lebanese immigrant who, along with her two sons, were Titanic survivors – comes as a surprise to many visitors. Through our cultural competency workshops, award-winning youth programs, world music concerts, film festivals, and other events, visitors learn that there is significantly more to Arab culture and Islam than what is portrayed in Hollywood films and the media.

Since the opening of the museum, I have witnessed increased demand for our programs from law enforcement officials, government employees, educators, and others who recognize that biases may inhibit the work they do with members of the Arab and Muslim American communities. The AANM has made significant strides in enlightening these and other groups about Arab and Muslim Americans. This is made evident by the requests we get from all over the U.S. and even in countries like Egypt and Jordan.

We continue to face challenges and setbacks, however. In the past 10 years, other events in addition to 9/11 have combined to create an environment of even further hostility towards Arab and Muslim Americans. These include U.S. military actions in the Middle East, the controversy surrounding building a mosque near the World Trade Center site, and the recent Congressional hearings on the radicalization of Muslims.

How do we promote understanding within a climate of hostility? How do we share the pain of those who lost their loved ones when we are sometimes seen as the cause of their grief?

This year, in addition to its general programming, the AANM is developing a special traveling exhibit entitled Patriots and Peacemakers: Arab Americans in Service to Our Country. The AANM recognizes that many false ideas about Arab and Muslim Americans come from misinformation and a lack of knowledge regarding the sacrifices that these immigrant communities have made for our country. It is our hope that Patriots & Peacemakers will help bring forth their contributions by highlighting the stories of over two hundred individuals who have served in the United States in one of three areas: the U.S. Military, Peace Corps or Diplomatic Corps.

The horrific events of 9/11– and the events that have followed in the past 10 years – continue to shape people’s views about Arab culture and Islam. Although we are as grief stricken as any other Americans by these acts, we are taking the opportunity to refocus the attention given our community and present a positive and more balanced view of the Arab and Muslim people.

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As the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11th approaches, we are reminded of the importance of preserving sites that offer all of us the opportunity to grieve together, reflect together, and, most importantly, learn together.

September 11th, 2001 became a moment of truth for many Americans. This moment, like so many traumatic occurrences over time, has led to much introspection and a quest to understand how such a tragic event could happen. Many people were jolted by the realization that not everyone views America with kindness. And as shocking and tragic as September 11th continues to be, it is important to remember this difficult history; there is knowledge and transformation in remembrance.

As I think about the trauma of September 11th, I am reminded of how paralyzing the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was to many Americans. As a result of his death, many cities spiraled out of control, with citizens expressing rage through riots, looting and burnings. It took a great deal of reflection and years of introspective exploration to finally understand that tremendous lessons are often borne out of tragedy.

While many sought an answer to who killed Dr. King, Dr. Ralph Abernathy, one of his closest friends, made a profound statement following Dr. King’s death. He simply said, “The question is not who killed Dr. King, but what killed Dr. King.” Upon much reflection, I advance some possibilities. Hatred? Ignorance? Fear? Racism? Misunderstanding? Intolerance? Could the same question asked by Dr. Abernathy more than 40 years ago apply today, when thinking about 9-11? What would our answers be today?

As people perhaps pondered their own answers to Dr. Abernathy’s question and the government launched its investigation into Dr. King’s assassination, there was another effort underway, at least a decade after his death, to create a site that would memorialize the sacrifice of so many who struggled to make America live up to the promises in its founding documents. This memorial is now the National Civil Rights Museum, located at Memphis, Tennessee’s Lorraine Motel, the site of Dr. King’s assassination.

Like the work on the September 11th Memorial over the past decade, there were many battles, fits and starts, and much emotion while getting the museum off the ground. But today the September 11th Memorial is well on its way to being completed, and twenty years in, the National Civil Rights Museum has become an international space for learning, sharing and reflecting.

Proper reflection often requires some distancing in time to explore and process a diverse range of questions and a wide range of emotions. And as we commemorate the tenth anniversary of September 11th, one milestone among many more to come, we remember the ultimate sacrifice made by so many that day. At the same time, we keep in mind that there is much healing, power, and transformation in reflection.

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September 11th marks a tragic and painful event that the world remembers and observes in so many ways, and remembering is always about how we interpret the past. To memorialize the past at first seems like a simple exercise, one in which almost every society has engaged itself. Take a deeper look, however, and it becomes obvious that negotiating with the past is as difficult as confronting present-day realities. The past is never a simple story of good against evil, truth against falsehood, but a struggle against the distortion of truth and the dominance of a single narrative over others. Confronting the past requires continuously creating new spaces for understanding, tolerance and justice. This is true a year, ten years, and decades after the event.

Here in Bangladesh, a group of survivors of the country’s 1971 struggle for independence embarked on the path to memorialization 25 years after the war began. The Liberation War Museum set out to remember these events and, as a private museum with strong community support, could rediscover, revitalize, and re-present history to the Bangladeshi people.

Bangladesh’s liberation struggle was not only a political battle for independence but also an effort to establish a secular, democratic nation-state out of the theocratic, militarist state of what was then East Pakistan. Today, although official denial of history has come to an end, its place has been taken by a single, dominant narrative of what happened.

Liberation War Museum decided to unpack this narrative and uphold the core democratic values of Bangladesh by presenting a broad national perspective as well as the contribution of common people. Through its rich collection of personal artifacts, Liberation War Museum presents the human aspect of the struggle. In the museum’s exhibits, the story of the war is told through objects – documents, artifacts, and memorabilia – leaving it to visitors to formulate their own outlooks. The museum’s interpretive style provides the visitor with multiple perspectives, helping to broaden the historical narrative and invite visitors to make sense of past and present.

Based on these experiences, when we look at the events of9/11, we feel that the process of memorialization can be a powerful part of dealing with such a tragic and painful past.  When we had initiated the process of memorialization through a museum, we had no idea that gradually we would come to possess such a rich treasure of memories, reflected in the personal narratives, documents, and evidentiary artifacts we collected. This process opened up newer and greater possibilities for memorializing the war.

The events of September 11th are very much part of our complex present, leaving us a legacy that is difficult to confront. Complicating memorialization efforts is the fact that this tragedy is global in so many ways, from those who died in the attacks to those whose lives have been changed by the ensuing events of the past ten years. We in Bangladesh are also a part of it, as along with other nationals, Bangladeshi people lost their lives in the brutal attack. At the same time, Bangladesh has become an actor and a victim in the “war on terror,” with different forces dealing with the consequences in different ways.

Looking back on Bangladesh’s struggle, we better understand the global impact that seemingly regional or local issues can have. While peoples’ participation played a big role in the ultimate victory of democratic values, the major world powers also played their parts in supporting or undermining independence. Liberation War Museum presents both stories at the museum, which strengthens the understanding of all peoples’ role in history.

Within this global context, remembering can be a way to continue the struggle against forces of bigotry, dogmatism, hatred and violence. Memorialization is an ongoing process, one of learning, that can open up many narratives and should have room for many personal perspectives. This course of action is an integral part of the common human struggle for tolerance, peace and justice.

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Each year on 11th September, people around the world remember the terrible events of that day in 2001. We can take the opportunity to reflect and remember, to talk about what happened, why, and how we were affected.

Choosing to remember and discuss these events every year on 11th September is natural, since this was the date of the attacks. But what happens when there is no specific anniversary, when violence and trauma are spread across years, even decades?

Here in Northern Ireland, there is no day of the year that is not the anniversary of a death that occurred during three decades of conflict. No day, not even in a leap year. This came as a surprise – no one had ever paused to realize this before. The violence, which lasted from the late 1960s until the ceasefires of the early 1990s, claimed nearly 4,000 lives in an area with a population of 1.5 million. The killed, injured and bereaved included people in Britain, Ireland, wider Europe, and elsewhere.

While the years of extensive violence in Northern Ireland are over, there is still much pain, and many people are unable or unwilling to recognize the victimhood felt by others. In addition, there is no agreement on the causes of the conflict, and many feel that injustices remain unresolved. This means that any act of inclusive, collective reflection or remembering is very difficult. But something is needed.  Some people feel that, with the passage of time, their pain or loss is forgotten by others, while some find media coverage of significant anniversaries makes them relive painful incidents.

Healing Through Remembering (HTR), an organization based in Belfast, looks at how best to deal with the past relating to the conflict in and about Northern Ireland. In the years after the 1998 Belfast “Good Friday” Agreement, HTR began exploring the creation of an inclusive Day of Reflection for everyone affected by the conflict.

Following international research and broad consultation, HTR launched the first Day of Reflection in 2007. The Day provides an occasion both for people affected to remember in their own way and for everyone to take time to consider the future.

The aims and principles of the Day are to offer an opportunity:

• 
  to acknowledge the deep hurt and loss caused by the conflict in and about Northern Ireland;
• 
  to remember the men, women and children who live with the consequences of the conflict;
• 
  to reflect on our own attitudes and on what more each of us might have done, or might still
• do, to uphold all other people’s rights to life and quality of life; and
• 
  to make a personal commitment that, as we begin to move forward as a society, such loss
• should never be allowed to happen again.

Every year since 2007, a Day of Reflection has been marked by a wide diversity of groups and individuals across Northern Ireland and beyond. It has not been easy. The Day’s value relies on people marking it in a way that meets their needs and respects their loved ones without causingoffense to anyone else. Yet despite these challenges, with each year that passes, participation grows.

This is not a state-sponsored day. It is not marked in any big, public, collective manner. Rather, it belongs to each person who chooses to mark it. Groups gather together, organizations create a space for people to stop and think, and individuals pause in their day-to-day routine to privately reflect. Yet all of them know that other people, with very different views and perspectives, are also marking the Day.

Those bereaved and injured remember their pain and loss every day. Yet anniversaries offer the rest of us an opportunity to remember and reflect. Since there is no day of the year that is not the anniversary of a death for at least one family, HTR was challenged to determine which day would mark the Day of Reflection. We chose the 21st June, the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. As the day of most light, the solstice represents hope while still recognizing that darkness and pain are always there. It represents a natural pause in the seasons to allow us to reflect on all that has happened, what we hope for coming generations, and what we can still do to achieve a more peaceful future.

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Unbelievably, it is already the tenth anniversary of September 11th. The Tribute WTC Visitor Center, an Institutional Member of the International Coalition of Sites of Conscience, joins others in “deep thinking” about how we remember. The September 11th Families Association, the Tribute Center’s umbrella organization, is devoted to thinking about the question of remembrance, with its ever-evolving set of answers.

The families of firefighters originally created the September 11th Families Association as a information-sharing group after the tragedy. The organization then opened itself up to other September 11th family members, offering representation, peer support, and resources for long-term recovery. In 2006 the Association launched the Tribute WTC Visitor Center, a store-front museum on the south side of the World Trade Center Site, to talk about what happened on September 11th and the days, months, and years after.

The Tribute Center is based on the premise that dialogue and sharing of stories can provide insight and healing. Our motto is “Person-to-Person History.” The Center has served over two million people in five years with interpretation that is presented in an authentic, first-person voice.

The heart of the Center is our active corps of about 250 volunteers who were deeply affected by 9/11, consisting of first responders, survivors, family members of those who perished, residents of lower Manhattan, and people who worked on the recovery site. These volunteer docents provide tours around the site six times a day and speak with visitors in the galleries. As a result, visitors learn about and remember 9/11, while the guides often experience these teaching interactions as moments of healing. The act of talking is the primary instrument that we at the Tribute Center use to remember, our delicate yet powerful tool. So when planning for the 10th anniversary, we pondered, “What are the strengths, weaknesses and memorial power of talk? How does talk help us memorialize and sustain memory, memories of tragedy, and memories of a remarkable growth and renewal?”

We recently conducted a survey of our volunteers, asking them to join us in reflecting on the meaning of this 10th anniversary. Below are some of the thoughts that these history stake-holders shared:

• “I was naive about the trauma others endured. After ten years, I now have an appreciation for the experience that others had on that day and in the aftermath, as opposed to only having awareness of my own trauma.”
• “9/11 is a huge mosaic… Each story allows you to discover that it is hundreds and thousands of pieces that make the picture of what September 11th is.”
• “I am now a part of this living history, and it does give me some perspective on how to translate this event, not as just one tragedy but how it will linger and impact the future.”
• “I believe that most tourists now come out of curiosity to see collapsed buildings and devastation. My hope is that after hearing our personal story, they understand the humanity of how people come together to help and heal, the true meaning behind 911.”
• “By speaking to others about September 11, I get to review every sight, smell, and thought that took place 10 years ago. It is not only remembering a tragedy, it is remembering people. It is very important for me to remember families who lost loved ones, the friends that survived, and the witnesses that saw it all and had to work to heal themselves.”
• “Time is a healer; however, losing a son changes a parent forever.”
• “Each time you do a tour you get to see people from all over the world that have the same reaction to the events of 9/11. I never thought that people so far away would have this kind of reaction. It has made me realize how connected we all are.”

Our volunteers provide extremely diverse perspectives on what is important to remember, but all probably agree that ten years is not enough time to understand the larger messages and meaning of 9/11. After ten years, it is important to keep in mind both the specific details of the horror as well as the incredible humanitarian efforts that happened during the aftermath and recovery.

In careful remembering, we can also take pride in our resilience and the power of inspiring healing through serving others. Together we have learned not to be controlled by the terrorists’ ability to frighten us, and as a world community we have learned to voice our desire for peace and education, supporting tolerance as a much stronger force than fear.

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As we approach the tenth anniversary of 9/11, what are your reflections on this event and how the world is remembering it?

On this tenth anniversary of the tragic events of September 11, 2001, my fundamental and primary thought is that 9/11 has been a turning point in international relations. 9/11/2001 unleashed two dynamics: On the one hand, it was an ideological crystallization of Samuel Huntington’s theory that there is a “clash of civilizations,” that there is a tremendous gap between the perspectives in the United States and other parts of the world. But on the other hand, 9/11 was also a wake-up call, a signal that there is an urgent need to re-build international relations in a new and profound way – based on an ethical framework. For me, 9/11 was and is an invitation to base interactions between groups – across religions, cultures, traditions – along two principles:

• First, accepting, recognizing and respecting diversity. We live in a world of many voices, some in opposition to each other. The concept of accepting and respecting these voices, even when not in agreement with them, demonstrates a value for diversity and for pluralism and needs to be part of our interactions.
• Second, we must try to identify and understand our common ethical values – the ethics that shape us no matter our race or religion, culture or conviction.

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