Take Back the Memorial Rally: A Report From Ground Zero

“No! No! The IFC must go!” the speaker on the podium shouts into the microphone. The crowd, packed into the space between NYPD barricades, joins in enthusiastically. “No! No! The IFC must go!” A sea of signs and placards waves against the brilliant background of Manhattan sky. A grandfather lifts the youngest protester up onto his shoulders in front of me; little Jeremiah claps as the crowd cheers around him. “No! No! The IFC must go!”

***

The alarm clock buzzed at 6:00 sharp, an unwelcome intrusion. A quick shower later, Brian & I were walking to the train station from our hotel in Jersey City. We boarded a delightfully clean train and were soon under the Hudson River, speeding along for our first visit to the World Trade Center site.

As the train emerged from the tunnel, I got my first look at Ground Zero. I had tried to prepare myself mentally, but the sheer vastness of this cement bowl of destruction overwhelmed me beyond anything I could have imagined. My eyes filled with tears at the thought of the loss, sorrow and devastation that hate-filled terrorism had caused in this place.

We scoped out the location where an e-mail had told us to gather, and found the NYPD already setting up barricades to demarcate the protest location. I strolled off to snap some pictures, and returned to find Brian shaking hands with a police officer who had answered a few questions for him.

We had arrived quite early on purpose – we wanted to check out the whole thing from start to finish for our first protest experience. A few people showed up shortly after us, and we introduced ourselves and shot the breeze as everything was being set up. By the time 9:30 rolled around, the crowd had grown to several hundred, and the program began shortly thereafter.

The sounds of the city faded into the background as an invocation was offered, including a minute of silence for both Hurricane Katrina and 9-11 victims. My eyes flooded with tears once again as I considered the strength of my fellow Americans who had lost with such magnitude, yet persevered with such strength. I opened my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks, to find a TV camera trained on my face, it’s cold, greedy eye capturing my emotional breakdown.

I glanced around at my fellow protesters. A young woman near me sobbed, her brother’s face displayed on the back of her t-shirt. Nearby, a man comforted his wife as she clutched a laminated photo of their son. Face after anguished face, these folks had gathered for the same reason as me: to honor those who died in these heinous, vicious terrorist attacks – and to make sure that the WTC memorial will honor them as well.

The speakers – Anthony Gardner, Frank Siller, Edie Lutnick, Jim Slevin, Jack Lynch, Michael Burke, Patricia Reilly – brought their passion as 9-11 family members to the podium. Their message resounded loud and clearly, and echoed hauntingly in the steel and concrete canyons of lower Manhattan, and across the pit where two towers once stood. No politics where heroes died – The IFC Must Go.

***

The breeze tugs at the protesters’ placards and flutters American flags held high as Patrick Lynch takes the podium. His rich voice lilts across the crowd. God Bless America, land that I love. As one, we join him in song. The impromptu choir is a balm to my aching heart. Stand beside her, and guide her, through the night with the light from above. I lift up a prayer that our voices will be heard by those who hold the message of the WTC memorial in their hands. I pray that they will realize that there is no room for politics where heroes died. From the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam – God Bless America, my home sweet home. I pray that they will choose to honor the 2,749 innocent victims who perished, on a day much like this one, four years ago. God Bless America, my home sweet home.