I was in New York City on Sept. 11 this year. On the night of
the anniversary, I saw the two blue beams of light that stood
looming over lower Manhattan in place of the fallen towers. Like
inverted search lights, they seemed to search deep into the dark
sky looking for answers. Three years later, and none exist.
On Sept. 12, I visited Ground Zero. At first glance, it looks
like a barricaded construction site ““ a
construction-turned-tourist site, that is. Visitors to the city
happily pose arm-in-arm for a picture destined for a vacation
album. Smiling faces ironically clash against the bulldozers and
blackened buildings that creep into the background. Street vendors
sell photographs, paintings, and artwork depicting the two towers
ablaze and minutes from crumbling down. A homeless man plays
patriotic songs on his flute, beckoning passersby to contribute to
his money cup. Mothers can be heard explaining to their children
why they came to see this site, many of whom would undoubtedly
rather have an ice cream cone in Central Park than stare at a pile
of asphalt.
I came to Ground Zero as the reporter, notebook and pen in hand,
ready to write a story for the Bruin. I would capture the
tragedy-become-spectacle. I would talk to friends and family of the
victims, tourists, vendors ““ get a real sense of what the
place was like and convey it all to the UCLA community
Did the 9/11 report provide some closure for the victims’
families? How do they feel about the hundreds of times the event is
mentioned by politicians on both sides? Armed with many questions,
I was anxious to begin reporting.
But, I never anticipated that the hard shell of the trained
journalist I often rely upon would crack and break away, of having
such a deep connection with a place, of the raw tangibility of the
implications, the exploitations, devastation and utter hatred that
resulted in and resulted from the attacks.
I came as a reporter, but quickly became wounded, vulnerable and
unable to separate myself from the situation ““ I was
overwhelmed with emotion as I stared death in the face.
The sadness that arose when a coworker of victim James Cartier
told me about his friend what cannot be conveyed through quotations
and paragraphs. (Sept. 11, 2001 was one of Cartier’s first
days on the job.) I read a letter posted on the steel fence
surrounding the site written by the family of Jesus Gonzalez, who
is still considered missing. They’ve been “waiting,
waiting, waiting,” the letter said, for him to return. My
problems dwindled in significance when looking at that handwritten
letter next to a picture of a young, healthy man. Words can’t
explain that feeling.
Ironically, a journalist’s job ““ my job ““ is
entangled in words. Words that are supposed to convey feelings.
These pages are filled with them. But, sometimes we realize that
words have limitations.
Journalists are, after all, part of the community. We feel the
same emotions everyone else feels: the same frustration when we
have to pay more fees to go to school, the same fear when shots are
fired while at an off-campus party, the same satisfaction of
getting an A on an exam (the same disappointment with an F), and
the same sorrow when hearing about our peers dying in a faraway
war.
Instead of considering this as having a bias, of which
journalists get accused all too often, consider this as being
human.
As the news editor, I can’t assure you that all the
writers of this section will be objective. That is not our goal.
Our goal is truth. Objectivity is reserved for inanimate objects,
and a day in our chaotic newsroom will prove that inanimate is
something we are certainly not.
I can assure you, however, that we will be passionate ““
passionate about telling stories fairly. We want to tell your story
because its unique or maybe it is like so many others, even our
own. Of course there are opposing views. And we want to tell their
stories too. We want to represent UCLA as accurately as possible.
We want to record history. But we need your help. We need you to be
loud, tell us what you think, and trust us to convey your opinions.
Understand that we will make mistakes, but also that we will be
quick to correct those mistakes and learn from them.
We are journalists, students and people with whom you can make
connections ““ people who are trying as much as you to get by
and just to make sense of it all.
And once in awhile, we throw our notebooks and pens aside, look
up at the lights streaming through the sky, and cry for the
inexplicable loss of lives … just like anyone else.
Fernando is the 2004-2005 news editor. She can be reached at
mfernando@media.ucla.edu or (310) 825-2795.