What is Terror? I know him when I take a test worth half my quarter grade, when I step too close to the edge of the path on a mountain hike, when a car gets a little too close for comfort while I cross the road. Maybe I also know Terror when a lockdown is called, unsure if it’s real or not; when a shelter-in-place is called and I hear something rolling outside while I hope that everyone is okay. I know Terror as a friend who shakes my shoulders when I cannot see him, then, most times, winks and leaves.
Unlike me, my father knows Terror from his days in India, a man who he thought he left behind when he moved to America. Terror was in every Indian railway station that was mobbed as part of a riot, was sat in every train that departed with a bomb disguised as a radio left in it. My father knew Terror as a man carrying a gun, a bomb, an allegiance, and sometimes none of the three.
My father arrived in America in 2000 for a job opportunity here that he could not achieve in India. But more than that, America was a better land for life. Supposedly, here, kidnapping and stabbing didn’t lurk behind every dark corner, whereas in his motherland they were comfortable showing their faces even in the light.
Terror was never meant to cross the Atlantic. Terror was never meant to board American Airlines Flight 11.
So we tried our best to make sure this would never, ever happen again. We installed metal detectors, increased surveillance, went to war to kill the man who brought Terror to our doorstep. All of these things helped. We have not since seen Terror like we did on September 11.
But listening to my father’s stories has taught me more about who Terror truly is. We have made it harder for Terror to act, but if someone is willing to lay down their life for him, they will do it by any means necessary.
The hands of Terror are present in the idea that politics is “us versus them” just as they are present in bombings and plane crashes and riots and shootings. Terror whispers that some people are our enemies, that they are destroying our country, and that something must be done about them. Terror wins when we believe that violence to innocents is justified.
My father thought Terror did not dwell in the U.S. because he misunderstood Terror’s range. Terror is not Indian, he is not American, he is not Eastern, he is not Western, he is not old, he is not young, he is not Christian, he is not Muslim, he is not Hindu, he is not left-wing, he is not right-wing. He feeds on division.
I want Terror to remain my friend. I hope that I can live a life where he is only my shaky hands before a test, only the pit in my stomach when I look a long way down, only the feeling I get when I have to speak in front of a crowd. But if we do not seek to understand one another, I fear I will come to know him as the killer my father knew. On this 25th anniversary of 9/11, remember that Terror is not always external. Remember that he can grow within our own community when disagreement usurps humanity. Remember the consequences of allowing division to become hatred and hatred to become violence.
Never forget.