September 11, 2005

REMEMBER THE CLUTCHED:

The Falling Man (Tom Junod, September 2003, Esquire)

Do you remember this photograph? In the United States, people have taken pains to banish it from the record of September 11, 2001. The story behind it, though, and the search for the man pictured in it, are our most intimate connection to the horror of that day.

In the picture, he departs from this earth like an arrow. Although he has not chosen his fate, he appears to have, in his last instants of life, embraced it. If he were not falling, he might very well be flying. He appears relaxed, hurtling through the air. He appears comfortable in the grip of unimaginable motion. He does not appear intimidated by gravity's divine suction or by what awaits him. His arms are by his side, only slightly outriggered. His left leg is bent at the knee, almost casually. His white shirt, or jacket, or frock, is billowing free of his black pants. His black high-tops are still on his feet. In all the other pictures, the people who did what he did—who jumped—appear to be struggling against horrific discrepancies of scale. They are made puny by the backdrop of the towers, which loom like colossi, and then by the event itself. Some of them are shirtless; their shoes fly off as they flail and fall; they look confused, as though trying to swim down the side of a mountain. The man in the picture, by contrast, is perfectly vertical, and so is in accord with the lines of the buildings behind him. He splits them, bisects them: Everything to the left of him in the picture is the North Tower; everything to the right, the South. Though oblivious to the geometric balance he has achieved, he is the essential element in the creation of a new flag, a banner composed entirely of steel bars shining in the sun. Some people who look at the picture see stoicism, willpower, a portrait of resignation; others see something else—something discordant and therefore terrible: freedom. There is something almost rebellious in the man's posture, as though once faced with the inevitability of death, he decided to get on with it; as though he were a missile, a spear, bent on attaining his own end. He is, fifteen seconds past 9:41 a.m. EST, the moment the picture is taken, in the clutches of pure physics, accelerating at a rate of thirty-two feet per second squared. He will soon be traveling at upwards of 150 miles per hour, and he is upside down. In the picture, he is frozen; in his life outside the frame, he drops and keeps dropping until he disappears. [...]

THEY BEGAN JUMPING NOT LONG after the first plane hit the North Tower, not long after the fire started. They kept jumping until the tower fell. They jumped through windows already broken and then, later, through windows they broke themselves. They jumped to escape the smoke and the fire; they jumped when the ceilings fell and the floors collapsed; they jumped just to breathe once more before they died. They jumped continually, from all four sides of the building, and from all floors above and around the building's fatal wound. They jumped from the offices of Marsh & McLennan, the insurance company; from the offices of Cantor Fitzgerald, the bond-trading company; from Windows on the World, the restaurant on the 106th and 107th floors—the top. For more than an hour and a half, they streamed from the building, one after another, consecutively rather than en masse, as if each individual required the sight of another individual jumping before mustering the courage to jump himself or herself. One photograph, taken at a distance, shows people jumping in perfect sequence, like parachutists, forming an arc composed of three plummeting people, evenly spaced. Indeed, there were reports that some tried parachuting, before the force generated by their fall ripped the drapes, the tablecloths, the desperately gathered fabric, from their hands. They were all, obviously, very much alive on their way down, and their way down lasted an approximate count of ten seconds. They were all, obviously, not just killed when they landed but destroyed, in body though not, one prays, in soul. One hit a fireman on the ground and killed him; the fireman's body was anointed by Father Mychal Judge, whose own death, shortly thereafter, was embraced as an example of martyrdom after the photograph—the redemptive tableau—of firefighters carrying his body from the rubble made its way around the world.

From the beginning, the spectacle of doomed people jumping from the upper floors of the World Trade Center resisted redemption. They were called "jumpers" or "the jumpers," as though they represented a new lemminglike class. The trial that hundreds endured in the building and then in the air became its own kind of trial for the thousands watching them from the ground. No one ever got used to it; no one who saw it wished to see it again, although, of course, many saw it again. Each jumper, no matter how many there were, brought fresh horror, elicited shock, tested the spirit, struck a lasting blow. Those tumbling through the air remained, by all accounts, eerily silent; those on the ground screamed. It was the sight of the jumpers that prompted Rudy Giuliani to say to his police commissioner, "We're in uncharted waters now." It was the sight of the jumpers that prompted a woman to wail, "God! Save their souls! They're jumping! Oh, please God! Save their souls!" And it was, at last, the sight of the jumpers that provided the corrective to those who insisted on saying that what they were witnessing was "like a movie," for this was an ending as unimaginable as it was unbearable: Americans responding to the worst terrorist attack in the history of the world with acts of heroism, with acts of sacrifice, with acts of generosity, with acts of martyrdom, and, by terrible necessity, with one prolonged act of—if these words can be applied to mass murder—mass suicide.

IN MOST AMERICAN NEWSPAPERS, the photograph that Richard Drew took of the Falling Man ran once and never again. Papers all over the country, from the Fort Worth Star-Telegram to the Memphis Commercial Appeal to The Denver Post, were forced to defend themselves against charges that they exploited a man's death, stripped him of his dignity, invaded his privacy, turned tragedy into leering pornography.


Four years on it remains the case, as we've said on past anniversaries, that the same fundamental decency that won't allow us to use the horrible images of 9-11 dulls the anger we should still feel afresh and inhibits our determination to pursue Islamicism with the fury we ought. However, it is likewise true that it is because of the kind of society we are that we are Reforming the Middle East far faster and more thoroughly than most dreamed possible those four years ago.

It is the great irony of 9-11 that what rose from the ashes that our fellow citizens fell into was not just a better, more serious, America but a better, more liberal, represenative, and hopeful Islamic world as well. One would not wish ever to seem to be referring to the attacks as "worthwhile," but the ascent of liberty that has followed them at least means that none died in vain that day. Correction: 19 actually did die in vain, their evil actions producing exactly the opposite effect they'd planned on. Those 72 raisins must taste damned bitter.


N.B.: One of the books I keep handy, for the express purpose of recapturing the righteous anger that 9-11 should always provoke, is Face of the Tiger, the collection of Mark Steyn's columns from its aftermath. Mr. Steyn is always worth reading but was never better than in the wake of 9-11.


MORE:

Posted by Orrin Judd at September 11, 2005 09:11 AM
Comments

"...the same fundamental decency that won't allow us to use the horrible images of 9-11..."

Who's the "us" here? The media won't show them, but the average American would have no problem if tomorrow the networks simply rolled in real-time what they aired four years ago.

"...dulls the anger we should still feel afresh..."

Every time I saw the footage of the planes hitting the towers I literally felt like I had been punched in the stomach. And damn straight I felt anger. I don't know what I'd feel now, considering that the footage is never shown...

"...and inhibits our determination to pursue Islamicism with the fury we ought."

As you've said yourself many times, oj, when it all comes down to it, we aren't fundamentally threatened, or at least we don't feel as if we are anymore. We're back in Sep 10 mode.

Posted by: at September 11, 2005 02:54 AM

You gotta love America. Other great empires get attacked and bury their enemies in rubble. We get attacked by radical Islamists and what do we do? We bury our enemies in rubble and fundamentally reform the authoritarian societies they come from.

You were a fool to attack us, bin Laden.

Posted by: Matt Murphy at September 11, 2005 03:21 AM

Matt:

You gotta love America.

I'll buy that, you big crazy, huggable hyperpower, you.

Posted by: Peter B at September 11, 2005 07:16 AM

Thanks, OJ. I took the liberty of linking to this from my site.

Posted by: Ptah at September 11, 2005 07:47 AM

Yes, we're us.

Posted by: oj at September 11, 2005 08:51 AM

Matt: Well said.

One of the Spartan institutions, handed down from Lucurgus and recorded for our consideration by Plutarch, was the law that Spartans do not harm surrendering enemies.

Posted by: Lou GOts at September 11, 2005 09:13 AM

Thanks, OJ.


SMG

Posted by: SteveMG at September 11, 2005 12:01 PM

But the Cadaver News Network now insists on photographing bloated bodies in New Orleans.

Perhaps because that would hurt the President, while 911 photos would bolster support for him? Hmmm?

Posted by: obc at September 11, 2005 01:27 PM

Had Anderson Cooper, Jack Cafferty, or Aaron Brown been killed on 9/11, would CNN refrain from showing photographs of their bodies? What about Paula Zahn, sprawled in the courtyard between the Towers, with her hair stained dark red?

They are truly repugnant, from the top almost all the way down.

Posted by: jim hamlen at September 11, 2005 02:05 PM

Yes, I remember very well: I saved this picture and put in as background on the monitor last night. Watching a much sanitized 9/11 documentary on PBS more out of curiosity than anything else. So far more footage of President Bush's facial expressions when he received the news than of the attacks. You wouldn't know that planes hit any of the buildings. About what I expected.

Posted by: Rick T. at September 11, 2005 04:29 PM

And of course, the next day, the NYT put scare quotes around the President's characterization of the act as 'Evil'.

Posted by: Mike Earl at September 11, 2005 11:35 PM

The networks are gutless and biased. The towers coming down including the poor souls that jumped should be shown daily so people will never forget that horror that the Islamic fascists brought to our shores.

God Bless the 343 and all of the other 9/11 victims

Posted by: BillMill at September 12, 2005 07:24 AM
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