Waiting for the Other Shoe

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I remember, on my way up to school earlier this month, reading an article about the latest shooting in Israel. I thought to myself, “How amazing is it that I can live in this country where I am safe?” I was on the Jersey Turnpike, less than 40 miles from lower Manhattan. Of course, it goes without saying that the illusions I harbored now lie shattered and broken along with the World Trade Center towers.

Like most Americans, I feel like a protective bubble around our mainland has been stripped away. When I read the Washington Post, I don’t see articles on what Hamas or Islamic Jihad are doing far away in Israel, but on what Al Qaeda cells are doing right here in the U.S. I don’t read about nuclear or biological weapon proliferation in Pakistan, Iraq or North Korea but of terrorists trying to buy crop-dusting planes in Florida or get hazardous materials licenses in Detroit.

I’ve heard a lot over the past two weeks about how I can’t give in to terrorists. I’ve done my best—I’ve gone to classes, gotten problem sets done and had fun with friends. But there’s been a lingering fear in the back of my mind. I’m not ashamed to admit it. When I walk through Harvard Yard or the Square or when I get on the T, terrorism is in the back of my mind.

There are two opposing forces operating in my mind. On the one hand, part of me knows that I’m virtually powerless to actually reduce my chances of being the victim of a terrorist act. Assuming I stick to my decision not to move to rural Idaho, there is no way for me to eliminate the danger of attack altogether.

On the other hand, part of me is obsessively trying to gauge the risks of every action I take. I now spend less time in the Yard than I used to, and I sometimes walk through Radcliffe Yard and along Brattle Street to get to the river Houses rather than going along Mass Ave. and past Out of Town News. When I need a book, I check Hilles before going to Widener. This is all difficult and embarrassing to admit because I worry that my fear will be dismissed as not only irrational but also the terrorists’ goal.

Those telling me not to give into fear are mouthing platitudes. This isn’t yesterday’s terrorism. There is no specific political point to killing almost 7,000 people and then not claiming responsibility for it. The people behind these attacks and others who share their goals would be happy to kill you and me, and they are willing to use any means they can find to do it. We should be clear on this—these terrorists don’t want fear. They want bodies. Maybe I won’t radically change how I live my life, but am I supposed to not be afraid?

—Andrew P. Winerman