By DIANE PHILLIPS

Wednesday this week passed almost unnoticed. Americans were caught up in the post-debate letdown, having tuned in sure that the candidate they were rooting for would blow the other poor sucker out of the water. But no matter how hard they tried to declare victory, the reality was that except for a few brief bursts, the debate between former President Donald Trump and wanna be President Kamala Harris was about as exciting as an ingrown toenail.

The morning analysis of the night before gave way to more immediate news. Fires raged in California, Hurricane Francine was making a beeline for Louisiana, stirring memories and fears of those who lived through Katrina. In The Bahamas, the Prime Minister dismissed campaign finance reform. His remarks made Page One.

Just another Wednesday, a hump day that by evening would bring the weekend a welcome bit closer.

Only it wasn’t just another day. It was 9/11.

Twenty-three years ago on this day, 2,996 people lost their lives in the deadliest terrorist attack in history. Since then, thousands more have perished – members of the New York Fire and Police Departments who rushed into the twin towers of the World Trade Center to try to save the lives of those whose only mistake that day was to show up for work. No one would have, no one could have, imagined that terrorist would deliberately fly commercial airplanes into the sides of two skyscrapers packed with professionals, many if not most of whom had spouses and children and lives waiting for them at home. Since that day, the number of deaths has continued to climb. They call it 9/11 Cancer or World Trade Center Cancer. Those deaths are slower, more painful, men and women whose courage and bravery were rewarded by the agony of trying to breathe through lungs scarred by smoke inhalation. Some say they will never forget the odor of death, the stench of human flesh on fire. They say they will never forget the screams that reverberate in their ears when they least expect them to. They say they will never forget seeing men and women in their own fire company lose their lives, holding on until the very last second before they had no choice but to let go as the scalding embers were too hot.

EVEN OUR TOOTHPASTE

9/11, September 11, 2001 – the day that changed the world, the day, as one journalist put it, that America’s luck ran out. Only it was not just America’s luck. It was all of ours, the day we lost our political innocence. From that day forward, we began a journey of distrust. The bags we used to carry on the plane now had to be examined. Everything we carried or claimed was reason for suspicion. Even our toothpaste was suspect. The soles of our shoes could be deadly weapons so we had to remove them just in case. The water we were told to drink for our health had to be tossed out prior to boarding on the odd chance that we found a way to slip poison in it between opening the cap and taking a sip.

We became so suspicious that every stranger was a threat. Suddenly we were surrounded not by people we could count on in case of emergency but people we did not know who could cause an emergency.

No one ever resolved the question of whether the date nine eleven was chosen for what it represents, the number you dial in an emergency. It is not really relevant. What is relevant is that from that day forward, we changed. It wasn’t just the inconvenience of undergoing body and baggage checks or the extra time it steals from us. It was that we stopped believing the person sitting across from us was a potential friend. We thought he could be the enemy. We did not bother to take the time to find out so we became a bit more isolated, more insular. We built walls in spaces where we once built communities.

It was not just another Wednesday or the morning after the debate or the day before Hurricane Francine made landfall. It was 8395 days since the day that changed the world.

Give a dog a break this Saturday morning

The Pet Food Institute is seeking volunteers to help take dogs from the Bahamas Humane Society for a walk tomorrow, Saturday starting at 6am. All proceeds from the $10 registration fee go to the no-kill facility. With BHS’s shelters overflowing, the Washington, DC-based pet wellness association that represents 99 percent of dog food manufacturers is lending a hand, partnering to solicit volunteers for the early walk with dogs from Humane Society headquarters in Chippingham to Long Wharf. Junkanoo Beach and back. Dogs get treats, humans get the pleasure of knowing they are helping to make a dog’s tail wag and clearing the shelters. It’s all over by 8am.