9/11 : America Must Unify

By: Joel F. Shults, Ed.D

As the news stunned the reporters as they relayed the unfathomable tragedies of the weaponized passenger jetliners, I stepped outside the student center between classes and looked to the sky. Was this the beginning of targets all across America? Would I be donning the uniform I still had in my closet from my Army days? Would my family, even here in my small Missouri town a thousand miles from New York City and Washington, D.C., be safe here in the heartland?

With a recently issued chaplain credential and a hunger to serve, I sought out a place where I could volunteer. I just had to go. I also knew that just showing up to a disaster is a double-edged sword for crisis managers. Self-deployed volunteers can become an additional burden to manage, so I searched internet message boards to see where I might be useful.

I saw that the United Way in New York City had swiftly established a donation website and had been absolutely overwhelmed with donations. I offered myself and my 18-year-old civic-minded daughter and we were on our way. It was already early October when we arrived in New York. The flights and hotel rooms were cheap, as travelers were still hesitant to risk not only hijacking, but the anthrax and white powder scare continued since its first appearance a week after the towers fell.

In just those few weeks since the attack, I saw America at work. Rescuers were still pulling bodies out of the depths, honoring each one solemnly. Ashes still accumulated on all the buildings, some of which had been opened to first responder respite. Tables displaying souvenirs being hawked by the entrepreneurial capitalists the terrorists despised were full of Americana. I bought a dozen American flag and ribbon pins – doubtfully made in the USA, but precious because they were covered in the microscopic remains of the buildings and bodies destroyed.

A motorcade with Mayor Giuliani swooped onto the grounds of City Hall to the cheers and admiration of everyone watching. He bounded up the steps, turned to give an authoritative wave, and disappeared flanked by his security detail.

It was all there that day. Rescue. Volunteers. The American vendor circus. Posters pleading for missing loved ones. Impromptu memorial decorations. The ordinariness of life moving on. Churches serving and seeing strangers come to pray or mourn. American flags. Anger at the enemy. Military recruits lining the offices. Hero stories. Respect for leaders who stood up, got their hands dirty and resolved to rebound. I rode with officers from the Bronx who welcomed me like a brother and continued to answer the calls for service that had not abated in the shock of the aftermath.

When my daughter and I arrived at the United Way office, we were assigned follow-up duty to donors. The website had some glitches so we had to call and verify donations that ranged from $20 to $20,000. We talked to widows who wanted to give, and to Hollywood studios that had collected from their shows’ cast members. There was already a storeroom of boxes of unopened letters bearing checks and cash.

I returned to continue serving my local law enforcement as a reserve officer and chaplain. With renewed concerns, we patrolled the lock and dam system on the river, the power plants, government buildings, all with the fears of attacks on our vulnerability. It is a fear and awareness that remains to this day.

No other event in American history created a sentiment that so many of its citizens shared at least for a few short months. We were united. Must this be how we become united once again?