A college friend called me and desperately urged me to turn on my television. I was at home in my study writing a chapter on civic faith for a new book. As I tuned in to the news, I watched a second plane ram into the north tower of the World Trade Center, where my best friend from college, Frank Reisman, worked for Cantor Fitzgerald. Hours later, another call: Frank was gone.
Twenty-five years have passed, and I remember that dreadful day as if it was yesterday. Are we a better nation? Stronger? More vibrant? Kinder?
Since 2001, our nation has lived through a series of seemingly endless wars and a global pandemic. The internet has overwhelmed many of our senses, and AI now threatens to replace basic human interactions. People have lost faith in our leaders, institutions, news media, even in each other. I believe we face a crisis of belief.
Like you, I worry about where we are, and where we are headed.
Just last week it was reported that a 20-year-old Haitian immigrant who lived in Springfield, OH, and who had just started college, was so despondent and full of shame over having to wear an ankle monitor that he walked into the street amid oncoming cars and ended his life.
In America, we may hold different positions on issues involving deportation and immigration, but what exactly is our position on the dignity of each individual and the sacredness of their life? When do the actions of those in power become so malicious—indeed, heinous—that they violate basic human decency? Must we always go to extremes to make a point, win an argument, pursue a particular policy goal?
Our public lives are now enveloped in constant noise, confusion, and uncertainty; some days it’s just too much to take in. So many of us have adopted a kind of cynicism as a shield against further disappointment or despair. We sometimes tear things down to feel some semblance of power, or to exude superiority over others. Oftentimes we throw up our hands in frustration, only to retreat from public life.
Are we afraid to have hope? Is belief in one another and in our nation somehow beyond what we can now imagine, or are willing to risk? What are we willing to lose and at what cost? What are we willing to fight for and protect and cherish and grow?
There are times I sit in my study in the dark and in absolute silence and try to imagine the sheer panic Frank must have experienced when he realized a plane had hit the south tower. The fear, the sense of doom—and then the deadly impact of the second plane. My heart aches. I weep.
Reflecting on that horrific day and its lasting effects, and considering where our society has gone in the decades since, I am left wrestling with pressing questions. Shall I surrender to evil? Must I walk away in disgust? Is it time to give in or give up on trying to repair breaches in society?
My travels throughout our country over the past 40 years have led me to this conclusion: There is so much good and goodness in people and in our society. And yet, amid our current conditions, such good and goodness can be hard to see. It can be difficult to let in. Even risky.
I know you may be feeling weary. Frustrated. Angry. Disgusted. I hear you. But hear me out, please. We must restore our belief in one another and in our nation.
Indeed, I’ll be damned if I will idly sit by, wringing my hands, and allow the cynics and doomsdayers and fear mongers and bigots to win. We can do better and be better—as individuals, in our communities, and across this nation. We have work to do, building to undertake. This must be done together; it can only be done together. It happens brick by brick, neighborhood by neighborhood, community by community. This must be our collective ambition.
The World Trade Center buildings were reduced to rubble. But the spirit of those who were lost and injured lives on in our shared memory and in our hearts. We go on. We build together.
Let’s face it. We need each other. We are meant to go together. So, let us always remember the past and commit to building a future we can believe in. That’s my personal pledge to Frank.
Rich Harwood is the president and founder of The Harwood Institute.
