[Nettime-bold] Manhattan's Displaced Persons

["Ivo Skoric" <ivo@reporters.net>]

A friend of mine, living to close to the destroyed area, lost his 
apartment and a place of work, and is now, what observers of 
Balkan wars aptly called: an internally displaced persons. A 
refugee in his own city.

ivo


------- Forwarded Message Follows -------
From:           	"Tomislav Novakovic" <feedthemonkey@msn.com>


Dear friends and family,

Last night, I was compelled to return to my neighborhood and was driven to 
see more.  I think more than anything it was my own denial of how much has 
changed and how enormous the consequences of these attacks have been.  For 
some reason I was not satisfied with the images presented to me on a 
television set with reporters giving their comments so freely and 
speculating the next set of events.  I wanted to see with my own eyes.

On September 11th, two blocks from my apartment... I was awoken by my wife 
Alejandra who screamed and looked out the window... we lived on the fourth 
floor of a five story building... the windows face Park Place... one block 
south is Barclay... and one more block the World Trade Center.  At first I 
looked and thought an accident... some type of explosion... a gas leak 
perhaps... but I quickly remembered that the World's Towers were under 
attack in 1993 and my assistant Takuro Miyoshi, a Japanese national got his 
video camera and started to tape the event.  What seemed like moments 
later... the second plane hits the next tower.  Still inconcievable to all 
of us... I summon Takuro back inside and the smoke... a thick black velvet 
passing through the streets like the angel of death beckoning all to 
recognize its face.  A few moments later and the smoke clears... we are all 
in a deep panic and can now see that both towers are in ablaze.  Mass 
hysteria on the streets as people try to outrun the thick ash that rains 
upon them.  We turn on the television... my guest from Argentina, Marcela... 
says the obvious... we're under attack.  But the words are necessary to 
comprehend the unthinkable situation.  We all watch from the window.  My 
wife says... what if they collapse... and Marcela rightfully so... responds 
quickly.  No... those towers will burn but never fall.  Moments later... the 
first tower collapses and we all freeze... the unthinkable has just become a 
reality.  Now... we quickly gather some of our possessions and are ready to 
leave... the north tower is too close and if it cracks it will surely crush 
us if it falls in our direction... we know that and know that we must act 
quickly.  We get to the door... all four of us... our bags in hand... and 
suddenly just like the first tower... there is a grumbling... I rush 
everyone into the bathroom... and we crouch to the floor.  A few moments 
later and I rush to the window.  The second tower is no longer there.  The 
deadly black smoke rushes through the streets once again.  I check the 
windows to make sure they are closed.  There is fire... I watch the 
televsion which repeats the images over and over.  But the dimensions don't 
represent what we all saw.  Amazingly our telephone lines are still 
functioning... we begin to call family and friends... I start to call 
friends that live in the area... completely desperate to hear their voices.  
Family calls... friends call... the phone is a life line in the turbulent 
sea.  The calls are quick and basic... yes we are alive... next call... yes 
we are alive.  This continues for a few hours.  I think we are all in a deep 
state of shock.  We are paralyzed... we don't know where to go... what to 
do.  Now... the phone lines are cut... and by five pm our electricity is 
cut... we need to move.  I run down to the streets covering my face... the 
fear of poison gas or chemical warfare.  No one knows... I open my front 
door... the first thing I notice... is that the ash on the street is like 
snow... only gray in color.  An officer sees me... and asks... what are you 
doing in there... you need to get out now.  I tell him I have three people 
upstairs and I will get them and then we will leave.  I try to stay as calm 
as possible... I tell my wife, Marcela and Takuro... we need to leave... we 
are being evacuated.  We get down to the street with our bags and still in a 
daze walk north... the streets are blocked off by police.  Most of the 
people are hurded to Reade Street which is four blocks north.  The police 
hold people back... a great black cloud rises from the sight of the towers.  
Everyone's face has dropped as if watching the latest special effects from a 
Spielberg movie.  Of course at this point no one can process what has 
happened.  Myself included.  I tell my wife to keep walking... she is in 
shock and keeps looking back as if she were watching a movie.  The streets 
filled with sirens and police officers.  Building number seven... to the 
north of the towers... 47 stories high collapses... we hear the sounds of 
collapse and we are quickly moving.

We walk up sixth avenue... and then cut across Bleeker... through the 
village... very few people in the streets.  We have no idea where we will go 
but I know we must continue walking north.  I try to keep focused and live 
in the real world... not what I want to think.  My mind has played that 
trick on me in the past.  The most simple elements that so many New Yorkers 
have abandoned... the payphone is now a very valuable commodity.  Cell 
phones are no longer working... there are lines of people waiting to make 
phone calls.  We walk up Greenwich Street... a street that has mostly 
industrial buildings... we have friends that live close to Times Square.  
I'm afraid to take the subway... I do not want to go to a dark place... I do 
not want to go underground.  I see a payphone and run... I pick it up and a 
dial tone.  I realize that another friend is closer... living on Jane Street 
in the village.  I call... Jorge picks up the phone and tells me to come 
over.  I tell him I have three people with me.  He doesn't hesitate and 
tells me to come right over.  We get there and my eyes rush to the 
television.  From his window on the fifteenth floor with a sight of 
downtown.  We see from a distance... the smoke and for the first time I 
realize the towers are gone.  I try to stay calm.  I want to scream.

We stay up all night watching the news... and I think to myself.  When will 
I be able to go back home.  I say to myself... again in denial... a few 
days.  How ridiculous I think now.  I need some normalcy in my life... some 
structure.  I'm a New Yorker... lived here for thirty years... this is my 
city.  How could I be a refugee in my own city?  Impossible... in New York.  
It's a nightmare.  After a day... I say to my wife that I will try to return 
the next day and pick up some things.  I walk down with Takuro.  The only 
documents I have with me are my marriage license... ok... my passport... but 
nothing with my address downtown... Ok... but my name is on the marriage 
license and my wife has a travel document from immigration services... a 
federal entity.  This has our address on it at Murray Street.  It's a bit of 
convincing... but it works.  I am through the first checkpoint on Houston 
Street.  Again I am not used to checkpoints in New York City... no one is.  
I walk west and then south to Canal Street.  Another checkpoint... no one is 
allowed in.  I explain... after about 15 minutes I am allowed through.  I 
get down to Chambers... and now I see the national guard... in military 
fatigues.  They don't let us through... I walk to Church and the guards are 
in shock really... and I walk through with a bunch on New York City police 
officers.  We walk one block south and then one more and we are on my 
corner.  Murray and Church... and I just look down the street... two more 
blocks... and see the mangled steel of our towers.  I don't even think about 
going down.  I rush with Takuro to the apartment... we are in darkness and I 
use my little maglight attached to my keys.  We take some clothes and I load 
my camera with film.  We go back downstairs to the streets... and we just 
stand on the streets... I take photos of soldiers of firemen of construction 
workers of emergency crews.  I take photos not because I want to remember... 
but to record so I will believe in the reality of the image.  It all feels 
like a bad dream.  Tears stream down Takuro's eyes... we both realize that 
the toll in human devastation is going to be enormous.  My neighborhood has 
now become a warzone.  They found one of the plane engines on my street.  
It's too much.  We walk back to my friend's place in the village.

That night we sleep at a friend's place on 57th Street... my guest Marcela 
stays in the village with Jorge.  Takuro stays with my friend Juan on the 
lower east side.  We have separated... it sets in... everything has changed 
now.  People walk in the streets with looks of shock on their faces.  It's 
all unreal... not happening.  That night I fall asleep watching TV... the 
images of the planes entering into the towers like a knife cutting into bars 
of butter.  I am haunted.

The next day... I want to get closer.  I want my neighborhood back... I 
decide to go alone... it's easier for onc person to negotiate the 
checkpoints.  I leave at about six in the evening.  I get down to West 4th 
Street with the train.  I get past the checkpoint at Houston Street.  Make 
my way to the checkpoint at Canal Street.  The officer tells me no one is 
allowed in.  I go to another checkpoint.  I ask another officer.  He says 
the only way to get through is with a police escort.  There ae about twenty 
people waiting to get in.  A lieutenant decides to let everyone in that can 
prove they live in the area.  I make my way down to Chambers via Church 
Street.  Now I am not allowed in... it's too dangerous.  The national guard 
tell me to go home.  I double back and try to get past the checkpoint on 
Greenwich and Chambers.  It's chaos.  The media are barricaded on the west 
side of Greenwich and some hopeful tenants that want to get some possessions 
on the east side of the street.  No hope of getting in... one by one... all 
the tennants leave... I wait two and a half hours.  I watch the amount of 
movement.  They are in full production... a military operation... food tents 
are set up for the troops... evacuation crews... thousands of firemen and 
polcie officers... FBI agents and lights set up for 24 hour visibility.  It 
hits me... this is a war zone.  My neighborhood is the first target of a 
very dirty war.  I decide to double back again... and this time two national 
guardsmen check all my documents and with stern faces tell me that the only 
way through is with those officers on the corner.  Suddenly a bus load of 
officers dressed in black t-shirts and green pants are being unloaded at the 
checkpoint.  The guardsmen are busy directing the wall to wall traffic of 
trucks and cars.  I take a chance.  I slip between the police officers 
getting off the busy and enter through the checkpoint... one more checkpoint 
and I'm in.  I stay close to some of them and look as if I belong aside from 
being dressed in shorts.  Last checkpoint... about ten soldiers... I try not 
to make eye contact and I'm through... one block... Warren Street... next 
block Murray... I quickly step aside... light a cigarette... and stand there 
a moment.  I look down the street at the mangled steel and I am drawn by the 
destruction.  I must see with my own eyes.  First I take out my flashlight 
and go to the front door of my building and make my way up the stairs.  I 
get my wife's thyroid medication... she hasn't taken them in two days... and 
it's dangerous for her.  I get some clothes... and some of Marcela's 
possessions.  I take one of Takuro's bags and I fill my backpack and 
Takuro's leather bag.  I didn't bring my camera.  Takuro's camera is on his 
desk... I search for film.  I only have black and white film... 20 photos.  
I smoke another cigarette... load the film and I'm out.

I walk to Murray and Church and think for a moment... how far down could I 
go... I decide to do it... I begin to walk and say to myself... if someone 
stops me I'll leave.  I walk one block to Barclay and the next is Anne 
Street... the beginning of the tower... thousands of workers... police 
officers... emergency rescue teams with dogs... FBI... heavy machinery... 
and one part of the tower maybe ten stories high... impaled into the street 
like an arrow.  Nothing like television... nothing that fits into this neat 
little box with remote control.  No... the dimensions are enormous... and I 
can't even recognize where the towers once stood.  They are charred like 
barbecue grills.  Many workers take photos from time to time... officers do 
the same... even the soldiers.  So I move right to the middle of ground zero 
and standing between all of the chaos and destruction begin to take photos.  
I see the surroundings and I now see what war is...this is war... this is 
hate... this is destruction... this is sadness... this is not real... I 
think the numbers they give those poor family members who are looking in 
hospitals and shelters for their loved ones.  I speak to a police captain... 
all the police know the real numbers.  I say something like why do they say 
5000 missing on television... and he says little by little... maybe people 
will never get a real number... but he assures me that the number is close 
to 50,0000.  This is a number that America can not imagine... this is a 
number that threatens our acceptance of what has just happened.  I look 
through the wreck and say to myself... and feel... no survivors... bodies 
will never be found because of disintegration.  One of the workers tells me 
that all day long... they find body parts... but not whole bodies.  He says 
he has nightmares... he says he wasn't prepared.  I don't think anyone is 
prepared for something like this.  I saty for about 45 minutes... and I take 
photos... I am at ground zero... I know... I didn't trust the images on the 
tv... they don't have the same impact... but I trusted my eyes.  And now I 
know my life has changed forever and the life of my family and friends.  I 
know I am homeless... I know that it will be months before I am allowed to 
return... I know that I can no longer support my family like before... 
everything I did and made in terms of income came from the home we've built 
on Murray Street... my acting classes... my art gallery shows... people knew 
our place as a safe place to express their emotions... and now we don't feel 
safe.  We are all affected in ways that we can only experience in our own 
times.  I realized that when I stood at Ground Zero... and saw soldiers 
marching though... putting up tents... and paroling the area... the streets 
no longer looked like the streets of New York City... they were full of dirt 
and ash... This is not the New York I once knew... this is Sarajevo... this 
is Kosovo... this is Israel... this is Palestine... this is Rawanda... we 
are all the same now... we are all Americans... we are all at Ground Zero... 
and I know that rebuilding lives will be difficult... but I know that I can 
only fill my life with the love of family... and the greatest friends from 
all over the world that have worried about my wife and me.  Now... I am not 
afraid to cry... not just for me... but for all those families that have had 
knives plunged into their hearts and are still hoping where hope does not 
exist... I cry because when they know the truth they will feel great pain... 
they will all have to start over again... they will all have bad dreams... 
they will all remember... they will all become brothers and sisters... they 
will all start from Ground Zero.



Dedicated to all the families of the victims of Ground Zero World Trade 
Center.

September 11th 20001   A day that has changed us all.


Dear friends and family... we love you all and we are greatful to be 
alive... I will never be able to deny that life is precious and as a 
survivor... which only today I realized I could call myself I tell you this 
story.


Please email this to the ones you love and share life.


With much love and appreciation to all the wonderful people I've been 
blessed to have in my life.


Tomislav Novakovic
feedthemonkey@msn.com
212-332-0928


PS  Please contact me via email or the phone number above.  Home phone not 
for months.


Also... Love from Alejandra, Takuro and Marcela



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