I’ll never forget the first time I stepped off the subway and into the streets of lower Manhattan after 9/11. It was a beautiful day, eerily similar to the morning of the attacks—the sun was shining, but its rays revealed a lingering smog of dust that still blanketed the air. The overwhelming scent of concrete and smoke filled my lungs, and it hit me at that moment: this nightmare we had all been living was not just a dream—it was our harsh reality.
As we made our way toward Ground Zero, an unmistakable feeling of solemn unity settled over the city. Kindness and empathy radiated from every person we passed. The closer we got to where the towers once stood, the air grew thicker, and the soot that had filled our television screens weeks ago now covered every surface—windows, awnings, handrails. But instead of chaos, it now lay peacefully, disturbed only by the touch of those who traced words of hope or final goodbyes in the dust. The ground was a patchwork of debris, Bible tracts, and, most heartbreakingly, flyers with the faces of the missing. A man played hymns and patriotic songs on a flute in the distance, while police officers stood quietly along the streets, receiving heartfelt thanks from those passing by. The sidewalks were lined with vendors selling American flags, shirts, and memorabilia, as people from every walk of life greeted one another and shared their stories from that fateful day.
Lower Manhattan was cloaked in a heavy grey since the towers fell, but the red, white, and blue of the American flag seemed to burst through, bringing life back into the city. Nearly everyone we passed wore or carried a flag—it was everywhere, a symbol of resilience amid the ash. I remember seeing a woman on the corner posing for photos with tourists. She was dressed as the Statue of Liberty, holding a bucket with the word “Ladder” and a three-digit number on it. I walked over to speak with her, and she shared her story: she was a firefighter who had lost her entire company when the towers collapsed during their rescue efforts. Now, she was here on the streets, raising money for the families of her fallen comrades.
After our conversation, I noticed a man standing in front of a makeshift bulletin board covered in flyers for missing persons. He wore a dark grey suit coat and a black beret, standing solemnly with one hand on his hip, staring at the wall. I wondered what his story was—had he been there that morning? Was he searching for a loved one? Or, like me, was he struggling to grasp the overwhelming reality of this tragedy?
We continued walking, passing buildings with shattered windows and twisted metal hanging from their frames. First, we came upon Building 7, and then, the mangled heap of concrete and steel that had once been the Twin Towers. It was surreal standing there, witnessing the devastation with my own eyes. Smoke still rose from the rubble. I assumed it was from the work crews, as we could hear jackhammers and heavy machinery, but a nearby officer told us it was still burning. It reminded me of my time in Hawaii, when I patrolled near the USS Arizona—decades later, fuel still leaks from that sunken ship.
Standing at Ground Zero, I remembered the time I had visited the World Trade Center just a few years before, standing inside those immense buildings. But like a crashing wave, the horrific images of that day swept over me—planes slamming into the towers, people leaping from windows to escape the flames, the billowing cloud of smoke as the towers fell, and crowds of terrified people running for their lives. I had watched it all unfold on television, but being there made it even harder to comprehend as if my mind couldn’t fully grasp the enormity of what had happened.
I wish 9/11 had never happened. But without 9/11, America would never have experienced 9/12. I’m grateful I got to witness that unity, because it feels like that was the last time we were truly united as a country. Back then, everyone wore red, white, and blue. Every house, car, and business flew the American flag. Everyone stood for the anthem, and we were all determined to take down those who attacked us. We were proud to be Americans. I miss that America.
*These images were taken by me on my Canon Xtsi film camera. This was one of the first documentary projects I photographed.
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