Politics, Human Rights

Like Watching The Second Plane Hit The Towers

The horror of watching Trump win— and Democracy fall.

Yes, that feeling.

The first plane was an anomaly. Something we’d surely talk about at the office. Some drunk Cessna pilot, maybe. Some suicidal guy. (I remember thinking “how rude. There are dozens of ways to off yourself without ruining other people’s day.”)

But then, the second plane.

And everything felt different then. And the sick feeling, the intense sadness at realizing someone out there hates America so intently as to plan this, to give up their life for it…

But no matter. The towers stood. It was sobering, definitely. A reason for reflection. But ultimately, things would go back to normal.

… But no, they didn’t.

Then the towers came down.

And some internal tower inside me collapsed with them. The idea of America, the beloved land of opportunity.

Just one year before, I had been up on the rooftop of Tower 2 — an immigrant, come to the land of the free, taking in the majesty of the American dream.