I was in New York City on 9/11. Grief remains from that awful

When Teju Cole wrote, “I was in New York City on 9/11. Grief remains from that awful day, but not only grief. There is fear, too, a fear informed by the knowledge that whatever my worst nightmare is, there is someone out there embittered enough to carry it out,” he spoke not only for himself but for all who have lived through an age when innocence was shattered. His words carry the quiet gravity of one who has witnessed the unimaginable — and who has learned that evil is not a ghost, but a human possibility. Beneath this quote lies the aching truth that grief and fear are inseparable in the modern soul: grief for what was lost, and fear for what humanity is capable of doing again.

The origin of this reflection lies in Cole’s personal experience as a witness to the September 11 attacks, when New York City — a symbol of freedom and vitality — became a stage of terror and devastation. For those who lived through that day, the world itself seemed to split in two: before and after. Cole, a writer attuned to the spiritual depths of emotion, understood that the wounds of such an event were not only physical or national, but existential. It was not merely the towers that fell, but the illusion that civilization stood beyond savagery. His fear, then, is not irrational, but born of knowledge — the knowledge that the human heart, when poisoned by bitterness, can turn imagination into destruction.

The ancients would have recognized in Cole’s words the same lament found in the tragedies of Aeschylus or the meditations of Marcus Aurelius: that suffering is the teacher of wisdom, and that the price of awareness is often sorrow. When one learns what mankind is capable of — both in love and in hatred — one’s view of the world can never be the same. Grief is the remembrance of what has been lost, but fear is the recognition that such loss is always possible again. And yet, as the Stoics would remind us, to see the truth clearly — even the darkest truth — is not weakness, but the beginning of wisdom. For only those who understand evil can choose to resist it with compassion and vigilance.

Throughout history, humanity has faced moments when the veil of safety was torn away. The citizens of Pompeii, the survivors of Hiroshima, the witnesses of Warsaw and Sarajevo — all learned what Teju Cole expresses: that civilization is fragile, and that hatred left unchecked can destroy what love has built. But in every such moment, there also emerged those who refused to surrender to despair. After 9/11, amid the smoke and ruin, there were firefighters who climbed into flames, neighbors who opened their homes, strangers who wept together in the streets. This is the paradox of humanity — that even when the world reveals its capacity for horror, it also reveals its capacity for courage and grace.

Cole’s acknowledgment of fear, therefore, is not an admission of defeat, but an act of honesty. He teaches us that to live without illusions is not to live without hope. The knowledge of evil need not lead to paralysis; it can awaken in us the determination to guard what is good. Just as grief purifies the heart by reminding us what we cherish, so fear, rightly understood, sharpens our vigilance and compassion. It is when we deny fear that we become reckless; but when we face it, we become wise protectors of peace.

In the ancient world, philosophers often spoke of the “education of the soul” through suffering. They believed that the pain of loss awakens a deeper moral awareness — that those who have looked upon destruction must become builders of understanding. So too does Teju Cole’s reflection serve as both mourning and mandate. It reminds us that tragedy demands response: not vengeance, but remembrance; not hate, but renewal. The lesson is that fear can be transformed — from a force that imprisons into one that enlightens and strengthens.

Therefore, let this teaching endure: to know fear is to know responsibility. Every generation must guard against the bitterness that breeds violence, and every individual must strive to keep empathy alive in a world scarred by cruelty. Do not forget the grief, for it roots your humanity; do not reject the fear, for it sharpens your conscience. As Teju Cole reminds us, there will always be those who seek to act out the world’s nightmares — but there must also be those who live as keepers of light. In remembering that truth, we rise from the ashes not only as survivors, but as sentinels of hope — wiser, humbler, and more deeply alive.