September 11, 2001. On the bus that takes me to the UN headquarters in New York, a passenger tells me that a plane has hit the World Trade Center (WTC). I see in the distance a huge arc of smoke above the 2e Avenue. The passengers are nervous and all on the phone.
At the UN, the guards let us in, but forbid us to go up to our offices. The reception hall is packed. Better get out.
Outside, a plane comes up over the East River, contrary to safety regulations. My colleagues lift their heads and follow the plane with worried eyes, their mouths open.
A colleague tells me that the second tower of the WTC has been attacked. And there would be another attack in Washington. We are stunned and helpless. Nobody reacts, for lack of knowing what to do. There doesn’t seem to be any government anymore.
Some people wonder if we will not soon be receiving orders from an invading force. We smell a strong smell of smoke. We are already inhaling the white dust of the collapsing towers, causing coughing and gagging.
Several are coming home. I do the same, on foot. The 1re Avenue is filled with pedestrians coming from the site of the attack and heading north. We don’t see any policemen.
It seems obvious to me that in such an attack there must have been chemical weapons. I remember reading that a simple jar of one of these poisons would wipe out the entire population of New York and the East Coast. As we are already coughing, I expect some to fall. It remains for me one of the mysteries of this attack: that there was no chemical weapon in the planes.
I walk home wondering what to do. Take my passport. But then ? Continue north, then try to hitchhike to Montreal? Wait to see the rest? Returned home: moment of hesitation. I try to reach my family and my friends. Without success. They are all on the phone.
Television
In bars, employees put a TV on the window shelf, facing the street, to allow passers-by to follow the events. The fact that the television was on went a long way to reassure the population and to maintain calm in this tragedy.
Back at home, on TV, some channels present images of the towers where we see falling those who have thrown themselves from the windows of the WTC or have been pushed. We see them floating, very slowly, it seems to me. Other channels have chosen to erase them and present only a clear sky.
I decide to go to the bar of a hotel near my home, the Carlisle. My experience of dangerous UN missions has taught me that in such cases it is to large hotels that the first protective measures and first aid are sent.
Elsewhere, in the evening, in the side streets, very quiet, an unforgettable spectacle: at the foot of each of the trees bordering the sidewalks, masses of small lanterns. As well as on the steps of churches and temples.
Heroes ? There were a lot of them. It is a day of heroism. The first, it is surely the firefighters who went up in the towers, towards an almost certain death. An extraordinary case of generosity, a sense of duty and honor.
Another, unsung hero, the manager of the WTC subway station who, noting a problem, held back the train that had just emptied, ordered the passengers to get back on the train and saved them, then applied himself. to divert the other trains.
Other heroes, the officials of a school near the WTC who managed to empty their school and walk all their students and teachers to Brooklyn, across the bridge there, without losing. anybody. For all, a day forever engraved in the memory.
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