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I started reading a book called Kitty Genovese, based on the 1960’s murder of a young woman. What stands out is that in this case people heard the woman’s screams yet no one did anything. Neighbors either went to sleep, assumed someone else was calling for help and in turn no one did anything. The reason I wanted to talk about this is because according to the book in the 60’s ambulances did not have the capabilities to treat emergencies as they do today. The entire point is no one did anything when she was initially attacked. Her attacker returned and finished the brutality that he started when he found her lying in a hallway of a building.

Yet.. the other day, my significant other showed me a video of a young woman passed out and people working on her. I was disgusted. Why? Because I could not wrap my head around the fact that people were taping it like it was a reality show.

In that situation, medical attention was summoned, but then I was floored by the reaction. Since when did we become a voyeuristic society where everything is filmed even the most shameful, embarrassing, or life threatening situations. You called 911, awesome, you may have saved someone’s life, but why take it a step further and record and why do we watch?

In some cases, one could argue that filming certain events has saved lives. At the same time, would I want to see my mother, sister, or best friend virulently and unsuccessfully being resuscitated for the rest of my days to haunt me? As if losing someone isn’t hard enough! It’s every fight, every encounter that instead of stepping in, we opt to record. People watched the murder of Kitty Genovese. Some weren’t sure what they saw but the point is they watched.

The book is said to explain why people watched and yet, no one intervened. Is it our self preservation? Then again, why in the second scenario would people record such a thing?

All I know is that, I think we need to step up more and hold ourselves more accountable. Consider the consequences of a video that will never go away, consider who it affects, who will pay the price for its existence. Not everything that happens should be recorded to never cease to exist. We all know how the internet works. You post, he post, it gets shared and you can’t stop it. It snowballs from one small snowball to an uncontrollable one. So before we pick up our iPhones and iPads, how about we call 911 first and make sure the person’s okay if it’s safe to do so.

Jessica is a full time mother, employee, and student. She works as an Immigration Paralegal and is working towards a Bachelor’s degree in Business. Jessica loves to volunteer with organizations that are targeted towards children. She recognizes that children are our future and sometimes they need someone who believes in them.

Jessica’s motto: Balancing everything is difficult but achievable.

One of Jessica’s greatest passions is writing. She says, “You have the ability to connect with reader’s in a way that speaking sometimes you simply can’t explain. I have been through a lot in my personal life and am very open about my struggles, but I live to be an example to not only my own daughter but to others.”

19 years ago a mother was butchered to death in her walkway as her children slept upstairs. Not far from where she laid dying was her friend, also butchered, after attempting to do a good deed.

Small personal touches like a bath that had been run or a cup of ice cream melting on a bannister went from little personal pleasures to evidence attempting to place a time of death.

The man accused of their murder was called an American hero over 4 million times in the news in the days following his arrest. That man had pleaded no contest to spousal abuse a few years before. Still, he was called a hero.

Much has changed when it comes to the perception of domestic violence in this country. Unfortunately it was while America was glued to a trial often billed as The Trial of the Century.

We all saw the pictures of a battered face. We listened to 911 calls and heard the rage of a man who thought it was ok to break down a door as his ex-wife cowered behind it. We listened as she told the operator exactly what he was going to do to her when he broke that door down if help didn’t get there quickly.

We know that eventually she ended up dead.

So what is it about domestic violence that still is so puzzling? Nicole Brown Simpson changed perceptions in that we saw that it was not a problem exclusive to any race, ethnicity or even financial status.

She had our sympathy. But he was still called a hero. For running a ball? For parlaying a charming personality into a broadcasting and acting career? For those rental car commercials?

For pleading no contest to spousal abuse?

It is a sad reality that despite a raised awareness about domestic violence, we still have a long way to go. The signs are often missed and the dynamics of a relationship get lost in trying to assign blame.

It is often hard to understand why a victim goes back or even stays. It’s even harder when the abuse is hidden which is often the case.

The fear that Nicole Brown Simpson often voiced was that he was going to kill her and get away with it. She knew enough about a public image that was very different than the he that appeared in private.

It is that fear that many victims have. It doesn’t matter if he’s a football player, a doctor, a lawyer, or a police officer. No abuser is going to work speaking about that great beating they gave the wife last night or how much she deserved it.

Nicole Brown Simpson was a beautiful woman and it seemed that she had the perfect life. Until she was found in a pool of blood nearly decapitated.

19 years later there are still too many victims. They don’t all look like Nicole but they all have something in common. They are being abused and they worry that nobody will believe them or that their abuser is too charming, popular or charismatic for people to believe he is an abuser.

Abusers come in all shapes and sizes. There are even some who believe them to be heroes. Nicole’s ex-husband spent a lot of time searching golf courses for her real killer, that is until he ended up in prison for different crimes.

19 years ago a woman never got to take her warm bath or finish her ice cream. She was butchered in the walkway of her home as her children slept upstairs. Her ex, the same ex who had given a plea of no contest for spousal abuse was still called a hero. Over 4 million times.

Perceptions have changed since that day. But we still have a way to go.

If you or someone you know needs help The Nassau County Coalition Against Domestic Violence will be merging with the Coalition Against Child Abuse & Neglect forming The Safe Center LI. Please call for help or visit the web sites.

Kristen is a single mom of 3 kids and studying at The CUNY School of Professional Studies. She is blogging while she still figures out what she wants to be when she grows up.

“Look outside the window, and tell me what you see,” said Mr. P. to his history class.

We all ran to the window, and saw a huge cloud of smoke.

“Is there a house burning nearby?” I asked myself.

“Remember what used to be there?” Mr. P. asked us.

Nobody knew.

“The Twin Towers,” he said to the class.

We all stood there, and loudly accused him of lying to us. He wasn’t joking.

There’s a lot to be said for a moment like that. The realization that your innocence has left you, drifting in the wind like that giant cloud of smoke. For a while, I felt exactly like that. It was difficult to regain a sense of comfort when everything you knew was crashing down around you, literally and figuratively. I can still remember watching 7 World Trade Center fall on TV while my mother recounted walking across the 59th street Bridge to get back into Queens. It’s not the way you’d expect a bright sunny day to end.

When the dust began to settle, there was one thing that I kept on seeing. People helping each other. New Yorkers are perceived to be tough cookies, and they do what they have to do to get by. I didn’t see any of that. I saw people coming together. My mother recounted stories of commercial trucks letting people in the back in an attempt to get home. People went looking for their friends and loved ones. No one, if they could help it, was to be left behind.

While I learned many lessons from the tragedies of 9/11, I will always keep one lesson dear to my heart. If you can help someone, do it. It doesn’t matter how little or big that action may seem. I have made a vow to myself, that if I can help someone, I will.

For all the public service workers, the friends, the neighbors, and the ones who were passing through and stopped to help, I thank you. You have helped show the world, what humanity is all about.

Ebonye Gussine is a graduate student in the Master of Science in Business Management & Leadership Program at the CUNY School of Professional Studies.  She loves writing, reading, and is an avid fan of John Steinbeck’s works. In her spare time she sings off-key and travels to new places.

9/11 has become one of those dates that is etched in the minds of Americans, an event that has come to represent many things other than just the date of a terrible and devastating terrorist attack.  As the ten-year anniversary quickly approaches, I have tried to make a point to separate that event from all of the other associations I have come to have with it.  No matter how anyone feels about the wars we have been involved in since that day, the unfortunate racist reactions it sparked in some, our current political situation, or the ways in which our country has handled the War on Terror, 9/11 was a day where we all felt unified, protective of our fellow Americans.

For my mother’s generation the assassination of JFK was the event for which everyone has a clear memory of where they were when they heard, the event that changed things.  (And after this, the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy.)  For my generation, 9/11 is the defining event that everyone can remember with that clarity.  I was at the beginning of my first semester at Rutgers University and lived in a tiny, shabby basement apartment with a close friend from high school.  I remember waking up that morning to a phone call from my mom on my cell phone.  I was groggy and barely aware of what she was worked up about, something about one of the trade center buildings collapsed, or blew up, or was hit by a plane or something.  I think, at 19, I was probably likely to have gone back to sleep had she not urged me to get out of bed and turn on the news.  I rolled out of bed, and stumbled out of my room to wake up my roommate Nina, and my friend Pilar who had stayed over the night before.  We were all half asleep and I remember feeling sort of ridiculous for waking them up, thinking my mom was just worked up, overly worried about safety as usual.

Nina and I had not gotten it together to order cable yet.  I don’t remember why, we probably didn’t have the money.  We tried to adjust the tv antenna enough to get a picture on a local news channel, but unfortunately our basement apartment was not conducive to good reception.  Nothing would come in.  I still felt like all of this was unnecessary, but we turned on the radio, just to see what was going on.  We found a news channel just in time to hear the second tower fall.  Huddled around the radio like that, the three of us wrapped in blankets, listening to earth changing news instead of watching it, felt like something out of the World War II era.  I didn’t know what to think, what could have happened, whether to be scared, or angry, or sad, I just remember a keen awareness that whatever was happening was big, and that it would change things.

Pilar was freaking out because her dad worked at The World Trade Center.  She was trying to call him, to call her mom to see if she had heard from him, but by now cell phone reception was spotty, and soon our phones would stop working all together.  She headed home to be with her mom, and Nina and I got dressed and headed to the student center where they had the news playing live on a huge monitor.  We stood around drinking coffee with about two hundred other students watching the news, barely anyone speaking.  Because we were in New Brunswick, not all that far from New York, many students had family members and friends who either worked or lived in the city.  The news was repeatedly showing footage of the towers imploding, or falling, or exploding, there were horror stories of people jumping out of windows.  I think we both had goosebumps.  I was worried about Pilar’s dad, other friends’ parents.  (It turned out Pilar’s dad was fine- he’d had a meeting across town that morning, but we didn’t hear this until later that night.)  We tried to call home, but cell phone providers were overrun and we couldn’t get through to our parents.  I think that may have been the last time I remember using a pay phone.  (I have tried since then, but they never work anymore.)  We got in my car and headed home to Princeton to be with our families.

The worst part about that day was not just what happened, the people who lost their lives, the unexpectedness of it, the destruction of one of the most iconic parts of the New York City skyline, it was the uncertainty, the anxiety, the palpable vulnerability.  At this point we did not know who was responsible, Osama Bin Laden was not yet a household name, and we had no idea what else was coming.  A plane went down in Pennsylvania, something hit the Pentagon.  We were under some sort of attack, but no one knew who was responsible and when it would end.  I was glued to the television for a couple of days.  The most recent election had been the first I could vote in, and I had been staunchly anti-Bush and had felt disheartened that our country had elected someone like that.  But in the days following 9/11 I remember watching him speak and trusting him, because he was our leader, and this was a bi-partisan thing, this was something that we were indisputably in together.  I felt intensely patriotic and American.  Of course as time passed and the shock wore off, as varying opinions emerged as to what should happen next, these feelings subsided somewhat, but it broke the bubble.  The sense of impenetrable safety I had felt growing up had dissipated, and that was something that would never be the same again.

Ten years later, I am a resident of New York City.  I am in my second year here, and I love New York.  The skyline I am familiar with does not have the twin towers, and it doesn’t feel impenetrable.  Osama bin Laden is not on this earth to witness the ten-year anniversary of his atrocious act.  But as this ten-year anniversary looms right around the corner, I am trying to remember and recall the only good thing that came from that day, that connectedness I felt with my fellow Americans, with my fellow humans.  The feeling that political differences were just differences of opinion, the feeling that all differences came second to the most important thing, that we were all, in one the ways that really mattered, one and the same.

 

Ann Eggers is in her senior year as a communication and culture major at CUNY SPS. She is an ex bartender turned full time student who lives in Brooklyn, NY. She loves cooking, trying new restaurants, good bourbon, The New York Times, books (to read and collect,) flea markets, outdoor movies and traveling. She recently completed a cross-country trek and is looking forward to a little down time at home before finding the next adventure.

It was a clear September morning.

The first plane struck the World Trade Center’s North Tower at 8:46 a.m.

The second at 9:03 a.m.

Terror came to NYC in the form of evil that most had never known before.  For all of the lives that were impacted on this tragic day in our nation; I  saw a glimmer of hope that transcended anything I’ve ever witnessed.

Every effort made on that day and thereafter will never be forgotten, deeply embedded in our hearts and souls.

I can’t thank them enough for their selfless act.

They’ll never be forgotten.

At a time when our nation was mourning the loss of its brothers and sisters – that same nation put aside all of its differences for the good of the people whether big or small, black or white.

This is why I love my country.

I will forever remember 9/11/01 for as long as I live.  My nation, my city and my fellow neighbor stood tall and firm; not allowing anything or anyone to pull them apart.

And while we can never forget the evil which lay dormant until that day, our love of country, life and freedom will never fail.  No matter who opposes our will to live free.

We are one nation of many, and a nation of liberty.

On this commemorative anniversary, I shall never forget the lives taken for the liberty which we fight to protect every day.

God Bless America.

 

Miranda A. Walker is currently in her freshman year in the B.A. in Communication & Culture program at CUNY School of Professional Studies.  She works in the multi-media industry as an Executive Assistant at the New York Daily News.  In her spare time, she enjoys spending time with her children and reading immensely.  Her dream is to one day run her own company.