For the first time since the new year, today I felt a resurgence of fear, a premonition of disaster that poisoned my entire day. After the events of September 11th, which occurred at a time in my own life that was already particularly difficult, I was more persistently anxious and afraid than I've ever been before.
I live in Washington, DC. On September 11th, I emerged from one meeting to go to another and entered an automotive gridlock the likes of which I'd never seen even on the worst DC traffic day (the area is second only to LA in road congestion). It wasn't until I managed to fight my way home -- having given up on getting to the meeting -- that I was able to turn on a TV and appreciate the magnitude of the horror. For months afterwards, DC felt under siege.
There were armed troops and humvees stationed on streetcorners in residential areas. My local post office was closed for anthrax contamination. (The postal disruption continues to this day. I received a Christmas card mailed in mid-December a week ago, and a newletter which formerly took 2 days to reach me arrived a month late yesterday.) F-16s screamed overhead night and day, and although my apartment is under the approach path to National Airport, there was an eerie silence that lasted far longer here than in the rest of the country. Everyone was jumpy, all the time. It was impossible to have a conversation that didn't circle around to terrorism, anthrax, and anticipation of the next shoe dropping.
And then, gradually, we began to adapt. Now we expect lines and searches at public events. We've gotten used to the barricaded streets. We bitch about not being able to enjoy the things that have made the city special to those of us who live here, like the vista from the capitol steps which is no longer accessible to the public (we hope that the change is temporary). I think the adjustment has been made easier by the unusually mild winter -- and actually a deepening drought -- which has given us periodic intervals of spring weather as well as clear skies for weeks. I distinctly recall, early in January, realizing that my conversations were no longer dominated by disaster, and that I'd left my pervasive anxiety behind. Life goes on. After all, I told myself, it's not as if I live in Jerusalem or Ramallah.
But today the morning paper informed me that Daniel Pearl was dead, and described his murder in enough detail that I was able to visualize it clearly. Extremism senselessly claimed another victim and I was reminded again that this is not over and we are all vulnerable. The pain of his colleagues, friends, and family reopened the wounds. I thought of a friend of mine who lost 11 immediate colleagues at the Pentagon, and would have been one of them himself except that his shift began in the afternoon. He went to 15 funerals in ten days.
I had a morning meeting on the Hill. On my way down Massachusetts Ave., approaching the Vice President's residence, I saw that traffic was backed up. Today, suddenly, I felt fear again, and took 'evasive maneouvres' through back streets to avoid the scene. Approaching the capitol up Independence Avenue, I was suddenly sensitized once again to the omnipresence of police and military, and the paucity of casual visitors or tourists. The warm weather is making daffodils bloom, and even forcing a few of our famous cherries into premature bloom. It's surreal and -- in combination with the changed demeanor of our public monuments -- unsettling.
The television show 'West Wing' is shooting in DC again this week, and the institution where I had my meeting makes an appearance in a forthcoming episode. The building was swarming with advance people scouting out the site. Not for the first time I wished that President Bartlett were in the Oval Office and that September 11th were just another storyline. But one recent plot in West Wing featured a kidnapped journalist whom the State Department couldn't save... a case of art anticipating reality.
I love DC, my adopted city, and I have no desire to live anywhere else. It angers me when I find myself fearful on my chosen home turf. People who don't live here already have such a distorted view of this place, it seems dreadfully unfair that the city should also have to bear the burden of widespread economic loss caused by a huge drop-off in visitors and increased budgetary demands on the local governments.
Here's the DC I know: it's a diverse place, racially, economically, politically, creatively, ethnically, professionally. It's got fabulous cultural assets, many of which can be enjoyed for free. You can hear a dozen languages on any subway ride. It's a city of neighborhoods, each with its own flavor. And its a beautiful city architecturally, liberally adorned with public sculpture, parks, and flowers. It's got a lot of good restaurants.
A lot of the city's activity revolves around government, sure. But before you sneer about bureaucrats and politicians, let me tell you about the many people I know in government who could make oodles more money in the private sector, who work long and hard because they truly care about public service and have a profound work ethic.
When you go out to dinner in DC, eavesdropping on the conversation at the next table is a fascinating exercise. You may not agree with the opinions or policies or ideologies of those neighbor diners, but I find it moving that a great number of the people who come to DC are here because they genuinely want to contribute, to make a difference, to promote a point of view they hold dear. Our national conversation is alive and well in the nation's capital.
Yes, there's too much money, lobbyists out the wazoo, and business as usual. But there's an awful lot of other stuff going on here (students, artists, housecleaners, activists, and plenty of geeks like me), and by my reckoning it far outstrips the cynic's limited and jaundiced perspective.
So, despite today's premonitions of dire events, I'm going to continue to enjoy this place and its people. Tomorrow morning I'll join friends on a trip to Baltimore for a major Arts & Crafts exposition. Sunday afternoon I'll be at DC's convention center for another show. There's so much to celebrate and be thankful for in my city.
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