I remember with perfect clarity where I was exactly five years ago today. It was a gray day in Welwyn, Hertfordshire; I was working as a project manager for a small consultancy there. This was my first job after returning from a stint in Belgium and the Netherlands, and it had been a comfort to come home.
As I was typing away, a colleague poked his head through the doorway and said to me:
“Hey, a plane has crashed into the World Trade Centre!”
My initial thought was that it was a terrible accident; it would not have been the first time that a plane went awry and crashed into a New York skyscraper. In 1945, a bomber got lost in some mist and crashed into the Empire State Building. The Empire State Building, unlike the World Trade Centre, was built to last; the incident was rather like a toddler running flat into the Great Wall of China. The bomber crew was killed, there was a small fire, but the tower withstood the impact without much difficulty.
My boss brought me back to the present when he suggested that we all convene in the meeting room to watch the news, since the radio was not particularly forthcoming with information. We went downstairs and switched on the BBC. They were replaying the footage of the first plane striking; the angle of the footage was deceptive, it looked as if a Cessna or other light aircraft had hit the tower.
“Awful.” I said. I thought of my mother, who was in the New York area that day, and I wondered if she was watching this.
Just as I said that, the second plane hit. This made it obvious that it was no accident, rather, it was a co-ordinated attack.
The rest of the day is something of a blur; I was very worried because my mother sometimes went into the City for language lessons. I first spoke to my father, and both he and I tried to reach her; the phones were overloaded and we had no success. Fortunately, she sent us both an e-mail letting us know that she was alive and well.
While that was a relief, work after that point was impossible; I went home and watched the news all through the night as the pieces of the puzzle came together. It was a moment, I believe, when the entire world was dumbfounded, sad, and angry all at once. Estimates of the dead ranged up to 10,000; fortunately, the real total was less than a third of that.
It was immediately obvious that we were at war. Britain was not going to let America go it alone in this struggle, and it was pleasing that the Prime Minister went to the United States as quickly as he could. It became clear, rapidly, who had done this, namely, Al Qaeda, and where they were hiding, Afghanistan. The sounds of war shifting into gear, the rumble of the tank on television, the sonic boom of a fighter jet in the distance, became part of the grim symphony of the days that followed.
I don’t think anyone would argue that going into Afghanistan wasn’t the right thing to do; no one who has any sense of decency whatsoever would say the events of September 11th were justified. My boss at the time said, “Well, America got this for backing Israel. I hope they’ve learned a lesson.” He backed down after I forcefully told him to shove it up his rectal cavity and explained that my mother was in the firing line. I stopped working for him not too long afterwards.
Let me reiterate: there can be no justification for acts of this nature. It does not matter what cause it is. Airliners full of innocent people were taken over by extremist hijackers to turn them into flying bombs; they were intended to kill as many civilians as possible. In the West, whenever we hit civilians in a military strike, we consider it a mistake, express regret, and work ever harder to be more precise in what we hit. Al Qaeda’s targeting of civilians was not incidental, it was on purpose. Nothing could be more diabolical.
The strange thing is, five years after the event, many people have forgotten the initial outrage and indeed, how united the world was by this event. Just as a reminder, the only government which did not express sympathy in some form was Iraq. Because September 11th has gone down the byways of memory, people have lost sight of the brutality of Al Qaeda, and the need to keep pursuing them.
To be fair, much of the singularity of purpose may have been lost by the war in Iraq. This is not to suggest that this is what President Bush or Prime Minister Blair intended; far from it. They saw Saddam Hussein as yet another avatar of brutality and terror in the Middle East; Saddam was also incredibly stupid in not revealing his lack of weapons of mass destruction in a forthright manner. The aftermath has consumed the Western world’s attention span. It has led to a delusion (rather like what my former boss had) that somehow terrorists can be appeased or dissuaded; this mistaken view is comforting because it’s easier than fighting.
However, it’s not true. We have no basis upon which to speak with Al Qaeda, no common ground upon which to meet, no halfway point which we can arrive at. Al Qaeda wishes those of us dead who refuse to live under Islamic hegemony. That is the beginning, the middle and the end of the matter. We are either going to have to destroy them or they will destroy us.
This statement of fact should not be interpreted as a wholesale endorsement of the United States. One of the nastier trends to have emerged in the past five years is the rise of Anglophobia in America. This is in spite of the help and support Britain has given from the beginning; Prime Minister Blair told the Americans, “With you at the first, with you to the last”. He meant it, in spite of the heavy cost in both money and blood. However, my experience has indicated that this sacrifice is not appreciated by the Americans; rather, there is a tendency, particularly among conservative Americans, to berate Britain for tolerating Muslims in our midst (though they represent only 1.6 million out of a population of 60 million; also it’s worth noting America has a substantial Muslim population as well) and criticising us for being “weak” and “socialist” whenever the opportunity presents itself. At best, Britain can expect a pat on the head from this segment of American opinion for being a loyal “poodle” of the United States, rather than to be seen as a brother nation, a fighting ally, and a comrade in arms. Obviously, not all Americans feel that way; however those who don’t make no effort to silence those who do. One hopes that Britain’s policy makers are realistic to enough to realise that in essence, we have to join in this struggle with the Americans, but in the end, we matter very little to them. Indeed, we are on our own.
So here we are after five years. Terror still rages, the fires of memory do not burn as brightly as they should, there are even tensions between nations that should be the best of friends, given that their bonds have been reforged by war. In ten years, fifteen, twenty, I wonder what we will have to say. Certainly, the world has not become a happier place in the past five years; it has become more fractious and violent, we are living in a period of war and tension, a time of testing perhaps, which will challenge our resilience as a civilisation. Will the test have been passed in the next five years? Will we move on to the “broad, sunlit uplands” that Churchill spoke of during the Second World War? One can only hope so; for the moment, however, it remains to carry on with life as best as possible, carrying the flame of rememberance, and the grim determination to see the present struggle to a successful end.