Thinking about what it means to be a hero...

I am now safely in the US, and am happy to report that I managed to 'escape' from South America without being robbed. I survived my first continent unscathed, something which I definitely didn't think was possible after my first week. That week I encountered so many people with stories of being mugged or pick-pocked that I was sure that it was unavoidable.

Interestingly, it was the first and last places I stayed that I think were the most dangerous. I met three people in Quito who had been mugged and the Lonely Planet warns that certain areas of Quito have high levels of crime, in particular the new town, or the Mariscal, also known as ‘gringo town’ where most of the travellers end up. I read this and decided that I wasn’t going anywhere near the place, and decided to go to the Old Town instead. But on the bus on the way to Quito, I met a couple of European exchange students based there, and the girl that I sat next to told me that her host mother had warned her that she shouldn’t go to the Old Town on her own because it is so quiet and the streets are empty at night, which makes it dangerous. She told me that the Mariscal could be dangerous too, but was generally okay if you stuck to the busy streets. I felt a little overwhelmed because everywhere I was planning to go sounded dangerous, but in the end decided to go with gringo town, trusting the local knowledge over the book.

I liked the area a lot, actually. It was conveniently located near lots of travel agencies, internet cafes, coffee shops, and a lot of cool bars and restaurants, and I walked around there quite happily both day and night, despite the myriad warnings. The robberies that I learnt about all happened in the Old Town. I felt so safe in the Mariscal that on my last evening there before heading to on my jungle excurstion I decided that I was going to walk to the bus station rather than taking a taxi. It was only eight blocks or so, and it seemed silly to catch a cab and pay when walking would have been free. Sure, the Lonely Planet advised to take a taxi after dark in the Mariscal, but I hadn’t once felt at risk, and so I figured if I stuck to the main streets, where there were lots of people and lights then it shouldn’t be a problem.

So I set off with my bags packed for the jungle trip, but I hadn’t even gone two blocks when I heard a loud yell, ‘Help! Help’ in a loud American accent. I looked over towards the voice, and less than 5 metres from me, in the middle of the road there was a group of 4 or 5 local youths, and a guy writhing on the ground. Some of the local boys were holding him down, while the others searched his body, supposedly for a money belt, wallet, or cash, and all the while the man kept screaming 'help, help!'

I stood, paralysed with fear, feeling totally powerless to do anything but watch. I kept thinking ‘if I try to do anything, they may attack me,’ and so I just hid behind a car and watched. I wanted to help, and I thought about what I could do to help, but other than calling the police I couldn’t think of what else to do and I didn’t even have a cell phone to do that. So I yelled from behind the car ‘Stop it!’ in Spanish, but I was so nervous it came out more of a squeak. The attackers didn’t pay me any attention anyway. I looked around, and noticed that there were at least 10 other people in the area, all watching the man being assaulted and nobody DOING anything about it. I couldn’t believe that with so many witnesses, in such a lit-up, public area that they would even consider it. And I couldn't believe that everyone was just letting it happen. Finally a car turned into the road, and pulled up just behind the youths. The car honked its horn, and the driver started to get out of the car, presumably to intervene, and the boys ran away. The American shakily got to his feet, muttering ‘they tried to mug me'. I saw that he was unhurt, so left quickly, making my way to a more public space, my heart racing the entire time. I decided right then and there that I would pay whatever the taxi driver wanted for that ridiculously short drive, but I was not taking another step at night in the Mariscal!

I was so shaken afterwards, I couldn’t get it off my mind. I remember feeling that I had a small sense of what people must have felt around Hitler. Wanting to do something, but feeling so afraid and therefore helpless to stand up for what was right. I kept wondering what I could have done, realistically, to help. I came up with a couple of things. I figured that I could have got out my camera and taken some photos, to have evidence to be able to identify the attackers and assist the police. This was a fairly safe option, that didn’t involve a lot of personal risk. Unless, of course, I was observed taking the photos, then my camera quite possibly would have been stolen or destroyed, and I might be hurt in the process, but I figured that it was definitely a justifiable risk.

Incidentally, on my second night in New York City, I had the opportunity to test my theory of what I would do in such a situation. I had just come out of Barnes and Noble Bookstore in Union Square (by far the most amazing bookstore I’ve been in in my life) when I heard a cry for help. ‘Help! Help!’ yelled an American accent. I couldn’t believe it was happening again! This time, though, instead of hiding behind a car, I turned and ran towards the incident, deciding that this time I wasn't going to do nothing. So as I ran towards the incident, I was already reaching in my bag for my camera. There was two men beating up a third, again in the middle of the street. While I was snapping off shots, another man approached them and tried to calm the situation. He first tried to reason with the attackers, pleading with them to consider the number of witnesses, telling them that they didn’t want to do this.

When I looked around, I found that he was correct, there would have been at least 50 people gathered watching. The two guys wouldn’t let the third go, so the guy said that he was calling 911. ‘Go on, call the police! I’m the good guy here!’ He yelled. He stopped hitting the other man, but still wouldn’t let him go, even going to far as try and cuff him with some handcuffs that he happened to have in his pocket. I wondered whether maybe he happened to be an undercover police officer or something, but something about that didn't fit. Maybe it was the way that he had slammed the other guys head against the car, but despite the cuffs I didn't think he was a cop.

I looked around and noticed that at least 4 or 5 people in the crowd were already on their mobile phones, and I guess that they were all calling for help. Some other people had the same idea that I had, because I saw a number of flashes go off. When he noticed the flashes, the not-police-officer-guy went a little bit crazy. ‘Who's f*^%+ng taking photographs?’ he yelled, looking into the crowd. ‘Don’t you dare take any mother-f*^%$ng photos of me!’ I quickly hid my camera. Although I hadn’t used the flash, I was afraid if he saw my camera he would come after me!

Thankfully, the 911 messages must have gotten through quickly, because it didn’t take long for 3 NYPD officers to be on the scene. They took control of the situation and it turned out that the guy being attacked had stolen a pen, been caught in the act, so the two guys beat him up. I have to confess that this somewhat disappointed and disgusted me. I couldn’t believe all that violence was over a PEN!

Unfortunately, when I reviewed my photos I discovered that most of them were so blurry that the people in them were not identifiable anyway. As my photos were so bad I figured they wouldn’t be very useful as evidence, and the police had all of the people they needed in custody, so I left and went on my merry sightseeing way. In the end, my plan was a bit of a failure, and I wasn't very helpful. I pondered that maybe a better idea might be to use the video function instead. But I did feel a sense of satisfaction that at least this time I hadn’t sat idly by, even though my photos weren't really needed.

At least that is how I felt until today, when I decided to visit the World Trade Centre. Seeing Ground Zero was something that I had definitely wanted to do from the first moment I decided to visit New York. 9/11 was such a traumatic event for the whole world, and I was no different. I still remember vividly the call from Amber, turning on the television, and watching through the night, with one ear pressed to the phone. We lived only a few minutes walk from each other, but neither of us wanted to leave the television, so we stayed on the phone while we watched the unfolding drama together, and saw the second plane crash live, followed by the collapse of both towers. I’m sure I’m like most other people when I say that I couldn’t think or talk of anything else for days.

So visiting Ground Zero, the site of the former World Trade Centre Twin Towers in New
York was such an emotional experience, and an incredibly rewarding one. If I had the choice again, I wouldn’t choose to go when it is -10 degrees, but I would definitely like to go back to see what the memorial is like when they finish it. At the moment the area is simply a huge construction site, pulsing with activity, but in a very different way to how it used to.

Although the proposed memorial isn’t finished, there is a small area in a building in a neighbouring street, known as the World Trade Centre Tribute. It seems mostly to be designed for remembrance and reflection. Rather than providing a comprehensive account of the incident, it was an eclectic compilation of pictures, videos, artwork, words, stories, and seemed more emotional than factual. The first hall showed videos of what the WTC was like before the attack, with people talking about how it felt to work there, the sense of community that came with having so many people working in offices in the same building. The voice-over was comprised of memories of people reminiscing about taking their kids to the cafeteria, watching bands at lunch time, their first day of work, and so on. From there was a collection of items pulled from the rubble, from a window of one of the airplanes, plaques from the elevators, police radios from police cars destroyed in the collapse of the building, to a small teddy bear found in tact in the arms of a dead policeman. There was a reproduction of the posters that frantic family and friends posted on a wall after the event, while they were still trying to determine whether their loved ones had lived or lied. There were images and short anecdotes of people, survivors and victims. You could listen to actual radio recordings from police officers and fire fighters while they were inside the building, as well as listen to accounts from survivors and witnesses after the event. I doubt that anyone could get through it without shedding a tear. I have to confess that I was sobbing like a baby, although hopefully with a little more dignity!

Finally there was a room where you could sit and read how the day had changed other people’s lives. There were cards to fill in, where you could write your own thoughts about 9/11, and countless folders full of the words of others, for you to read. I read through every single folder, which took hours (it helps that I can speed read). Finally, I felt like I had been through an emotional roller coaster, but I also felt to touched and inspired to write my own message. It made me think about the things that had happened to me in the past few weeks, and the nature of heroism. The fire fighters and the police officers, and the others who risked their lives to help someone else that day were truly heroic. It made me realise just how cowardly my plan was, to take a video in order to help someone who needed it. As if that was actually going to help! At best I might end up with a recording of a crime, an assault, maybe even a murder... and while it might be useful in prosecuting the guilty, it wouldn't help the victim at the time. The WTC tribute made me think that if we had more people in the world who were willing to run into danger and help others, heedless of the danger to themselves, the world would be a much better place. I'm not saying that I'm planning on becoming a masked crime-fighter or anything, because at heart I'm a big chicken and a weak one at that, but the memorial definitely made me think about my life, and my experiences, especially over the past few weeks. And so, while sitting at the table in the reflection room, this is what I wrote:

"Twice in the last week I have been petrified, frozen with fear and unable to do anything but watch as I witnessed two separate incidents in which a victim cried for help as they were being attacked. I discovered that it is so easy to do nothing out of fear for oneself. To me, those that ran into the burning buildings on Septemper 11th, 2001, to rescue people stuck in the towers are the greatest heroes in the world. They shine the light that inspires an entire generation, a nation, all the people of the world. Although they may be gone, their legacy lives on. To the true heroes, those that sought to save others despite their own fears, I want to say thank you for your strength, your courage and your sacrifice. May we all learn from your example."