September 11: Night

I’ve been able to reach most friends in NYC and so far everybody I know is fine. I’m home now, it’s night outside, and if I glance South out my window over the screen of my computer there is only darkness where this morning stood the two towers of the World Trade Center, 2.5 km away. It’s eerie, knowing that so close to here a familiar place has become a landscape of horror.

I’ve watched enough television for now and so I thought I’d write to let you know what I saw today.

I work across the street from the World Trade Center towers (in the World Financial Center) but since this was going to be my last week at Bridge I was only working alternate days (the company is bankrupt) so I was not meant to go to work this morning.

I had just gotten up and was in the bathroom when around 845 ET my radio (which is always tuned to WNYC) said they had just seen an explosion in the North tower. From my window, which has a clear view of the NYC skyline, I saw flames and smoke pour out of a large gash near the 80th floor of the tower. I went to my roof and watched.

About 20 minutes after the first explosion, a huge fireball erupted out of the South tower, about 2 thirds of the way up. People screamed on the roofs around me, where everybody was beginning to gather. Most memorable is the bright bright orange of that explosion, and also the crispness of it; it’s a quality difficult to describe–it’s the quality of NOT seeing it on television, at a much higher resolution and in the outdoors, under a clear sky. The boom came later.

It was difficult to know what had just happened. I already knew from the radio that the first explosion had been caused by a plane. Was the second caused by a news helicopter accident? The plane that caused this second explosion had in fact come from behind the tower, so from my vantage point I had not seen it.

I went back downstairs, thinking that the course of these tragic events had come to some kind of end. I went online to check the news and was glancing out the window (as I’m doing now) when the South tower just started going straight down. This was probably the singlemost shocking moment of the day for me. In retrospect, it is probably also the single moment when most people died. It was shocking because the buildings are huge, because they are not meant to fall down, because I am used to walking underneath them every day. More importantly, the area around the World Trade Center is like canyons made up of buildings–I was suddenly afraid that skyscrapers were going to topple over one after the other. And this was the South tower, the one most recently hit, the one with the least time to evacuate.

Some friends (Clarice and Zed) came by to see if I was OK, as did Sveta. We went to my roof and watched more, helplessly, not wishing to be any closer, while I tried to call people whom I knew had offices in the Wall Street area. Cell phones (and land lines) were only working sporadically, probably because of overload. In the meantime, it had become obvious with the dual plane crashes that this was an act of terrorism. As we stood watching, The north tower collapsed as well. Again, we saw huge dust clouds billowing through the canyons of lower Manhattan. Again, there was that strange dread I had never felt before this day, of being very aware at a particular instance that large numbers of people were dying nearby.

I don’t have TV reception at home so we decided to watch TV at Sveta’s. Walking along St. Marks and First Avenue was strange. There were very few cars on the road by now (over 2 1/2 hours after the first explosion) but many people walking in small groups, or gathered around televisions set out on the sidewalk by merchants. Strangers were talking to each other, ambulances and buses were driving past at high speed on mostly empty streets, and people kept on looking South, at the huge, volcano-like dust and smoke cloud the blanketed the southern sky. Noticeable were small groups of people in business dress walking or huddled around payphones, their cell phones useless, trying to call home.

Then followed hours of television watching, a ritual you all no doubt participated in. Eventually I went home, took a shower, and got a bite to eat at St. Dymphnas–bars that were open were full this afternoon, and still are tonight. New Yorkers were meeting up en masse this afternoon, sharing stories, needing each others’ company, and probably taking their friends a whole lot less for granted. I know I do.

I am still amazed that the 2 World Trade Center towers collapsed onto themselves, rather than topple in a certain direction. Many more buildings could have come down and many more lives lost. In fact, when I came home I went back to my roof, and not one minute later, around 1730 ET, I saw 7 World Trade Center, a big 50-odd story skyscraper directly underneath the North tower, silently slip to the ground. This was the third and final major building to collapse today.

It is very early after this catastrophe, but one thing already seems certain: The future will be decentralized–no longer will banks and stock exchanges concentrate trading floor and clearing houses so densely. People will work more from home, businesses will value less aggregating together. I don’t think they will ever build anything like the World Trade Center again in New York.

Thanks again for your calls or emails, but don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Right now I’m thinking about the survivors that are beginning to call on their cell phones from under the rubble.

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September 11

I’m fine, so are Matthew, Kim, Itay, Rosa, Felix, Michelle, Liz Wollman, Zach and Julia–I’ve talked to or seen them all. [Sept 12–also heard about or got in touch with Liz jacobs, Fergus McCormick, Osten Johanssen and Kathy Blake, they’re all fine]. To get in touch, try to call me at 646 295 7733.

I was listening to the radio when the first crash happened, went to my roof and saw the horror unfold there. My mental map still has those building there, I walked through them yesterday evening, with the very same people who went back today. As Jame said who called me a little while ago, there is nothing intelligent to add to this, so I won’t. All I can hope is that the two towers stood long enough for most people to be able to evacuate.

If you want to post comments or say you’re OK or ask about others, do use the comment button below.

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Stefan Greens

Steve Greens, Steven Genes, Stephen Jeans–I’ve seen all possible permutations of my name written or pronounced by those unfamiliar with the soft lilt of the Flemish dialect. I’ve come to expect such mauling and quite happily lower my expectations for the sake of my sanity. Hence, in Oslo Airport, when the public address system announced, “Will Stefan Greens please go to the information counter,” I gladly complied.

Once there, I identified myself, but was met with a puzzled look. “You’re Stefan Geens,” the woman behind the counter said, glancing up from my passport, “not Greens.” I said I know, often people make a mistake when reading my name, but I don’t mind really, so what is it you need me for? She remained adamant: She had called for Stefan Greens, not Geens.

In the rest of the world, the ending of this story would have involved me getting upset about the petty bureaucratic fanaticism of a bored airport employee with no imagination. But in Norway, this story ends with another paean to Nordic efficiency, with apologies to Uppington, who will nevertheless be gratified to know that it makes me look a little silly. For, as the airport employee explained, Stefan Greens had already come by the information desk to pick up his SAS ticket to Edinburgh. She then kindly apologized for my confusion.

Oslo

Two days in Oslo is an experience of the near future, if you’re an optimist. Everybody has a cell phone, debit/credit card use is ubiquitous, children are polite, the streets are clean, bikes rule, people are fat-free but not the food in the supermarkets… It’s a blond utopian society, where the positive-sum game of social interaction is played with a remarkable expertise that is handed down from one generation to the next. My Norwegian friend Mette mentioned a murder rate of 40 per year for 5 million odd people–compare that to New York’s 900+ murders a year spread over 10 million or so.

The honor guard at the Royal Palace certainly embodies this New Norwegian Way. At the changing of the guard, the officer on duty does not sheathe his sword or gesture with his rifle; instead, with deft, robot-like movements he hands his cell phone ceremoniously to his replacement, and marches off.

What is the secret that has turned Norwegians into the model world citizen after a well-publicized bad-boy phase around the turn of the first millenium? A homogeneous society? Centuries of plenty? A focus on rugged self-reliance and a consideration for nature? Perhaps it was the yolk of a rather stern brand of Christianity, the lasting legacy of which is mainly felt in the price of a drink around here. Add the genetic luck of the Norwegians to these prices and any Oslo bar could be a New York watering hole for the beautiful people.

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Film review: Timecode, Memento

The possibilities for non-linear storytelling that DVD technology provides are obvious, but until now these have been squandered on the decidedly plot-free travails of porn actors. No longer. Two of the best recent movies are in fact better suited for DVD than for the mass sequential viewing provided by a cinema screening.

Timecode, directed by Mike Figgis (Leaving Las Vegas), has just been released on DVD. The film consists of four cameras rolling without a single cut for 97 minutes, filming a troupe of actors as they interact within a loosely defined plot. All four views are synchronized and shown simultaneously on the screen. The sound, meanwhile, is gleaned from whichever camera happens to be documenting the most interesting action. In the cinema, this “director’s cut” sound edit is what everybody hears. On the DVD, all four sound streams are available, and they are accessible at the push of a button.

The result is a much fuller understanding of the plot—there are entire conversations now exposed that were previously silent. Switching sound from camera to camera is addictive, and it entices the viewer to replay scenes from different perspectives. But the lasting impression is one of appreciation for the virtuosity of the actors, who all stay in character for the duration of film, which really only took 97 minutes to shoot.

Of course, Timecode is a lot more than a bunch of actors and a few cameramen getting together for an afternoon. The version we see is in fact the 15th one shot. The DVD also includes, in its entirety, the first shoot, where the plot and characters develop completely differently.

Another film where seeing it on DVD will make all the difference is Memento. If you haven’t seen it already, do not read this Salon exposé of this murder mystery’s labyrinthine narrative structure. It suffices to know that Leonard, the main protagonist (Guy Pierce) suffers from the inability to make new memories, allowing the director (Christopher Nolan) to run the plot backwards in 5-minute increments as a means of simulating that effect for the audience. (Of course, it’s much more complicated than that).

When the DVD version is out (on September 4, 2001 in the US), we’ll finally be able to unscramble the scenes, piece them together in chronological order, and see the film the “traditional” way. This would be thankless and boring on video, but will only take the push of a button on my DVD. With a film as good as Memento, each version will validate the other.

When is a home not a home?

When is a home not a home? When it’s a structure.

While Palestinian reporting has long given up trying to present an unbiased view of events, the Israeli print media is usually held to higher (and yes, Western) levels of impartiality. That’s why examples of clearly biased writing on its pages are upsetting, but also revealing; compare this treatment of the same news event in the two main dailies–Ha’aretz and The Jerusalem Post:

The Post reports the army bulldozed “2 dozen structures” near the Palestinian town of Rafah, and repeats the use of the awkward word “structures” throughout the piece. Ha’aretz, on the other hand, reports the army destroyed “18 houses and 6 stores”, and shows a picture of a boy picking up toys from the rubble. Reporting of other facts–such as mention of Palestinian injuries–also receives unequal prominence.

What’s beyond doubt is the subtle power of the narrative to shape world views over time. The tragedy with the Palestinian question is that both the Israelis and the Palestinians are teaching in their schools versions of the region’s history that are incompatible and diverging. Palestinians labor under the illusion that the right of return is a literally achievable goal. Israelis often overlook that justification for a segregated Israeli state is based upon a highly tendentious reading of the Balfour Declaration.

Such divergent narratives deter being able to imagine, even for a moment, how the other side judges the fairness of a situation. And such a lack of empathy is a necessary (though not sufficient) precondition for open ethnic conflict, because it makes possible such practices as the targeting of civilians in terror campaigns, and retaliatory measures involving the collective punishment of innocent people. Neither practice justifies the other, yet both are invoked as impetuses for further cycles of violence.

It’s always been a prerequisite for war–dehumanize the enemy, it makes conflict more palatable.