Another terrorism alert seems to be fading away. People say the White House overreacted by closing the embassies and consulates. If I worked in any of those places I’d want to do my job, but would also want to be as safe as one can reasonably be in times like ours – especially since a building like the one I work in today was a target, before 9/11 and right here on American soil.
That place, the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City, is now the site of a memorial that is breathtaking in its power and dignity. Like all the best memorials, this one uses universal elements – stone, water, earth, and space – and shapes them in a way that makes a statement but allows visitors to bring their own emotions. I’ve been there twice, and meant to write this after the latest visit last fall, but couldn’t put the words together. The impression it left was that strong.
You walk in through a high gate marked 9:01, the moment before the bomb exploded. There’s a block-long reflecting pool leading to another gate marked 9:03. The sense of emptiness and dislocation is palpable and heartbreaking. It makes everything around you more vivid: the horn of a nearby train, a friend’s footsteps, the feel of the bark on the big elm tree that survived the blast, and a pale crescent moon rising over a field of 168 empty chairs.
You don’t talk much. You realize that this is where people walked, made phone calls, wrote, filed papers, laid plans, laughed, started careers and retired, dropped off and picked up their children in day care, living their daily lives in the service of not just a paycheck or a government, but in the service of this country. It could’ve been any of us. It still could be. But the words etched on the gate offer a poignant lesson:
We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived and those damaged forever. May all who leave here know the impact of violence. May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope, and serenity.
Photo by Chris Germano
