By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
The "rush to patriotism," as one broadcaster put it, reflected the natural desire in the face of danger to distinguish friends from enemies, to privilege the monolith over plurality, to crave familiarity and revile the unknown. New Yorkers were formerly a breed of our ownin the happier days when elections were the big news, even "Latinos, blacks, Asians, Jews, and white ethnics." But now a town already struggling with one test is put to another: to prove that this polyglot metropolis is American enough.
"He thought I was dead," said Christina Benedicto, a housekeeper at a midtown hotel, of her husband's reaction when he couldn't reach her right away from the Philippines, where he lives with the 10-year-old daughter she works here to support. So did the family of one Barbadian woman, the nanny to a family in Battery Park City. When the towers collapsed, she was evacuated to New Jersey, where she spent a sleepless night pining for her kin down on the island.
The worst must have befallen some of her countrymen, said Jean Alexander of the Caribbean American Center of New York. "Lots of back-office people in those buildings were Caribbean. They worked in every single one of those brokerage houses," she said. Asociacion Tepeyac, a worker-advocacy center in Manhattan, fielded dozens of phone calls from families all over Mexico, whose loved ones worked as cooks and cleaners at the World Trade Center to send money home and are gone now. But "50 percent of the Mexican population in New York City are singles, without parents or family support here. There are no people who are going to ask about them," said Tepeyac executive director Brother Joel Magellan SJ last Wednesday. "The people who lived (through the attack), they came to our office yesterday," he said. "We asked, how many Mexican people involved, they say hundreds."
When terrorists felled the World Trade Center and the city went into lockdown last Tuesday, the parameters of being American here took literal shape. Checkpoints, border closings, shut bridges and tunnels, became the dividing line for 8 million people, the difference between this side and that. Cleveland seemed as far as Cairo when phone calls refused to connect and global news media beamed the disaster into living rooms on all continents. The world was at once suffocatingly small and achingly vast. In the immediacy of disaster, fearing death, being loved, and loving were American enough.
As shock turned to coping, government leaders called on New Yorkers to do as Americans do and resume business as usual. So when 19-year-old Bangladeshi Zarihul Haque could not go to school on the Lower East Side last Wednesday, he used his free day to pitch in with family friends, who opened their East Village eatery for lunch. Arabs and Indians in neighboring storefronts supplied police officers with water and cigarettes and residents with their everyday bodega necessitieseven cycling down barren streets to deliver door-to-door.
On deserted Allen Street, one Asian man toiled alone at a construction site, stooped over a bucket of cement that he mixed with a trowel. A few Chinatown grocers opened their doors to hungry neighbors, while the Italian-Brazilian couple behind the Little Italy Gift Shop on Grand Street answered the clamor for postcards depicting the outdated skyline. In the South Bronx, Afrifa Alex of Ghana, a New Yorker for all of three weeks, put in a day of refrigerator maintenance, learning the trade from a crew of South Americans who didn't need English to understand his need to work. The immigrant economy that undergirds the city in ordinary times last week pumped industry into a paralyzed town. That seemed American enough.
And what could be more American than the scene on Jackson Heights' Roosevelt Avenue just after sunset last Wednesday, when Ecuadoran Fred Camino, Indian Cecil Brandel, and Singaporean Chris Yee claimed a spot on the sidewalk for a leisurely chat. Comfortable as brothers, the unlikely trio "met doing business," according to Camino. In fact, they pointed out, hurriedly finishing each other's sentences, they last convened on business on July 13, 2001, in a conference room on the 80th floor of one of the twin towers. "Now, we share more than that," said Camino as his buddies nodded. With their parents in far-off countries, they were a makeshift family the morning of the terrorist attacks, working their phones to try and locate each other. "It's just not business," Camino says. "There's a moment that will never be lost."
But as grief turns to vengeance and the nation demands consensus in its pursuit of the ultimate dissenters, there is the threat that the bar will be raised, that something more absolute will decide who is American enough. Oliver Kung anticipated the unspoken challenge last Wednesday. "I've lived in New York longer than I lived in Hong Kong!" the Chinatown garment worker exclaimed, with a note of defiance familiar to anyone who has had to answer for appearance or assumption. Josefina Alvarado of Hunts Point may hardly speak English, but, she insisted, it's been 20 years since she arrived here from Mexico. For Manhattan merchant Prashant Goyal of India, it's been 35.