Hyper-patriotism in the heart of Manhattan: My visit to the 9/11 memorial

 I visited the National September 11 Museum, more out of curiosity, rather than any sense of wanting to know more about the tragedy that struck the U.S. on September 11, 2001. While most of us know the facts – enough to know the bad guys, the heroism of the people involved and the reactions from dubya and what transpired later on, what is not so well known is the narrative of 9/11 and how it is being shaped. While I respect the sentiment with which the memorial was built – to honor the lives of 2,977 people who died on that fateful day- the execution of this vision leaves much to be desired. While the memorial is beautiful, the museum fails on many accounts.

Photos by author.
Photos by author.

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First off, I must lay bare my own normative biases – I am not a huge fan of memorials – of any kind- and in particular those of the type that are particularly nationalistic or jingoistic. The only exception to this is the Taj Mahal, which is also a memorial, but considered a wonder of the world, and with good reason. It is one of the most beautiful architectural pieces in the world. While I don’t consider nationalism to be utter nonsense, but let’s say that I am deeply skeptical of a project built entirely on just one identity – often based on exclusion, false pride and a visceral suspicion of the other. That is just not me.

The museum is somewhat of an aberration. It is based in perhaps the greatest city in the world – New York – a city that I truly believe represents freedom, diversity; but ironically is highly securitized and represents ‘unfreedom.’ A fact that Adam Gopnik highlights in this New Yorker story. The level of securitization just before one enters the museum is quite shocking, and one feels as if one is about to take off on an aircraft, bound to enter the ‘free world,’ except that one is leaving this free world to enter a world where one is quite literally held hostage. To the credit of the museum curators, the exhibits are quite well organized and often detailed with audio recordings – of the people who were trapped in the towers, of the fire fighters who risked, and often lost lives saving those of others and also that of an astronaut, who said something thoughtful about this tragedy from space.

The museum itself is hard to find. I took the subway to reach the closest station, near the Financial district. Walking around, I got lost twice, having passed West Street, from where one can enter the ticketing area. On reaching the ticketing area, I was finally met by a line of about 100 people before me and the possibility of entering the museum three hours later. Given the summer season and high volume of visitors, this was the earliest I could go. I decided to buy the ticket ( $18 for students, $24 for regular adults). As someone who frequented Smithsonians in Washington D.C. ( all of which are free entry), I feel this is too steep a price to pay. Thank the lord that I am a student and can get some discounts, even if it is $ 6 – enough to buy me a falafel sandwich on the street side food cart. A more scathing review of the museum is here.

On a positive note, the memorial itself is beautiful. It stands at the exact location of the two towers, and has water falling from all four sides, into something like a huge square bowl. The water then goes into a smaller square and into the ground- viewers cannot see the entire depth of the water falling. But it is a touching memorial in many ways – aesthetically pleasing and it also bears the names of all those who died on the side walls. This is truly the most positive aspect of the whole experience.

Firefighters – the real heroes?

One fact that came home to me was that real heroes that day were the firefighters – the first responders, who came together to save thousands of lives. The exhibits are meant to give a real sense of the tragedy and they do. The reaction that many people who visited the museum was quite strong – I saw a few young ladies cry as they saw videos of the devastation that was wrought that fall morning. Others just stood there, in a daze, not believing what they were seeing. To me, it was as shocking a spectacle as it was normal – in a sense that the amount of imagery that I have consciously and unconsciously been exposed to has perhaps dulled my senses. I did not cry, but I did feel a strong sense of empathy with all those who died and a sense of respect for those who responded to the call for help– especially the first responders, including the ones from Ladder 3 Company, all of whom perished that day. “They died, saving the lives of thousands. You must remember that there were over 15,000 people in both towers that the fire fighters tried to save. We lost very few, compared to how many were there in the buildings,” pointed out the old lady who was volunteering as the point of contact at the burnt display of one of the fire trucks.

 

The ‘essentialising’ of ‘Islamic terrorism’.

While there is large consensus that Al-Qaeda carried out the attacks and extremists who used the rhetoric of Islamic jihad were behind the planning, there is definitely a problem in the way that ‘Islamic terrorism’ is portrayed in the Museum. Some commentators have taken issue with how the rise of Al-Qaeda is portrayed and the word ‘Islamic’ terrorism is a misnomer and that it is terrorism carried out by those who were claiming to follow Islam. Nothing Islamic about their actions. While this may be a linguistic nuance, and one that I would agree with, vast majority of academics and intelligentsia seem complacent and happy with ‘Islamic terrorism’ and the word has gotten a lot of play. It seems almost banal to bring it up. Except that it is not banal and harmless.

Consider this: For all the effort at portraying and including all evidence and narratives, the Museum brochure does include a few languages – to ensure that people from around the world understand what they are seeing. I did see Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and German – but noticeably there was no Arabic script. Are the Museum staff telling something through this omission? I find it hard to believe that they left out Arabic – one of the world’s most widely spoken languages from the brochure, in a city that has a large Arab population and also hosts millions of Arab speakers on an annual basis. And I don’t think it is an unconscious omission. There is more to it than just a slip on someone’s part. I find that disturbing. The museum also fails on this account, of leaving out close to a billion people. And is there a valid reason for this?

 

 

Should we all be Cosmopolitans Now?

The idea of being a ‘Cosmopolitan’ or a citizen of the world is not new and one can trace its emergence as a philosophy to the Stoics, who lived during the second and third century B.C. The most famous of them is Marcus Aurelius, whose Meditations has become a classic. The idea of not belonging to one place and embracing the universe as one is the crux of this way of thinking and one is inclined to ask: With globalization, is this the way the world is moving, and should we all be cosmopolitans now? Kwame Anthony Appaiah surely thinks so, and articulates his ideas in his book Cosmopolitanism, Ethics in a World of Strangers.c

Cosmopolitanism has many fans, but there are critics too. The opposing forces that faces a cosmopolitan way of life are the parochial ones: Nationalism, tribalism and any identity that seeks to be all consuming and dominant. This notion aspires to a ‘cultural purity’ that is an oxymoron, Appaiah argues. “The odds are that, culturally speaking, you already live in a cosmopolitan life, enriched by literature, art, and film that come from many places and that contains influences from many more” .While this is true and a valid argument, it is also true that cosmopolitanism could end up becoming another generalizing and universalizing principle, that could potentially ignore the ‘particularisms’ as Clifford Geertz, the Anthropologist would say. These particularisms are what make us unique and in their absence, we would be devoid of any identity. The other word for this is cultural relativism and one that seeks to honor each tradition on its own terms. While Appaiah acknowledges its value, he fears that this could lead to a world that is not ‘shared’ by all. This could lead to more divisiveness than is needed, in his view.

So, why is this notion of Cosmopolitanism important, one may ask? The simple answer is that because there is no other choice, at least for many, around the world, who are constantly bombarded with messages, media, ways of thinking and living that are alien to their ‘local’ traditions. Either we all cloister ourselves in our own ‘world’ and refuse to acknowledge or respect the ‘other’ whatever that may be, or we can open up our world and minds and recognize that the ‘other’s’ way of life, language, culture are valid and as human as we are. This gives life to the statement that the stoic playwright Terentius Afer made “I am human: nothing human is alien to me.” Appaiah draws out various analogies from his own life and that from history to demonstrate that cultural relativism, the belief that each one of us is so unique that we are best left undisturbed, is patently false. Further, Appaiah elaborates the tension between positivism and value laden worldviews.Positivism has its limits, he argues, because it can lead to particularism and a fixation with ‘rationality.’ What if the other person doesn’t speak in rational terms? How do we deal with this?

This is where values enter, points out Appaiah and one would have to agree that values can have a universalizing spirit. Who doesn’t believe in feeding the hungry and sheltering the homeless – we may differ in the means for doing this, but most of us would agree that these are good things that we should all aspire for. “Folktales, drama, opera, novels, short stories: every human civilization has ways to reveal to us values we had not previously recognized or undermine our own commitments to values that we had settled into. Armed with these terms, fortified with a shared language of value, we can often guide one another, in the cosmopolitan spirit, to shared responses; and when we cannot agree, the understanding that shaped our responses are shaped by some of the same vocabulary can make it easier to agree to disagree.” While this call for focusing on the positives in the narratives and values is all fine and good, what happens when there are clashing narratives and values that pit one against the other? While Appaiah does offer a critique of the ‘counter-cosmopolitan’ narrative of the radicals – Al-Qaeda and other totalitarian systems such as Communism etc. it comes across as too being too essentialist. For instance, in his critique of the concept of the Ummah, or universal brotherhood of Islam, Appaiah takes into account only how the radical Muslims frame it and misuse this concept to ‘other’, while ignoring the equally powerful Ummah that a Sufi or mainstream Sunni conceptualizes. What about the notion of Vasudaiva kutumbam, among the Hindus – that translates as ‘The whole world is a family.’ This is a big weakness of his argument and it is glaringly obvious that while he builds up the war cry, he doesn’t deliver the goods in this particular regard and ends up making a generalization, that ends up in an essentialism that could potentially be seen as carelessness.

As regards how to negotiate among warring factions, Appaiah, does not help us much in this regard, other than by saying that we must converse with one another. But the question still remains: What if people are not willing to even do that? What value system should one adopt? Should we all force everyone to adopt ‘universal principles’? While this seems like a plausible argument, the question still remains: who determines what is universal and why should everyone accept them as such? The differentiation between universalism and cosmopolitanism is that, in the latter, there is a recognition of differences and also the only criterion needed to be a ‘cosmopolitan’ is to recognize the other and have the ability to converse and deal with them. It does not necessarily mean that we adopt the views of the other, as a Universalist would demand. This difference is crucial and one that makes all the difference between ‘cultural hegemony’ and ‘respectful cultural dialogue’.

The biggest counter force to this sort of ecumenical thinking comes from ideologies such as nationalism that seek to set boundaries, both real and imagined. While these are often based on linguistic, nationalistic and other imaginaries, that are a product of historical and economic or imperialistic forces, their manifestation is real. How can one deny that American exceptionalism is not real? Or for that matter that the way Canada defines itself is in some way in opposition to what America is not. This tendency to ‘other’ those who don’t belong is part of our psyche and is deeply ingrained. Appaiah acknowledges that we began as small tribes, living in hunter-gathering type communities and this has shaped the way we think and feel about those who belong and those who don’t.

There are some problems with Cosmopolitanism too, including the very foundational one: Who can afford to be one? Can all of us be cosmpolitans? The simple answer seems to be: No. Being a cosmopolitan requires time, effort, money and not to mention access to certain levels of societal resources that are unfortunately not available to all. While we may be exposed to cultures, languages and food from other countries at a superficial level, to be a true embedded cosmopolitan requires traveling to those places, interacting with people who are not like us and living their lives, from their perspectives. This, I would argue is an expensive proposition. Especially if one is not lucky to live in a heterogeneous society. As Gramsci would say, cultural notions are unfortunately defined by the ruling classes and in this sense, the bottom rung of any society can only aspire to be cosmopolitan, in practical terms. This is a practical constraint that I see for this way of thinking and living. But despite this, cosmopolitanism is a compelling and enticing way of thinking and living, one that can make us bigger people, than we are, already.