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The Wenzel Report: September 11th
I initially planned to write about income inequality in the Hamptons. But that seems too obvious and almost redundant. This is the Hamptons, a place where excess is expected and accepted. Why pay less when the culture here thrives on spending more? Yet, on this day, September 11th, I can’t focus on that topic.
Instead, I reflect on the day that split life into two parts: before and after. Certain moments in history and in our personal lives redefine who we are. For me, September 11, 2001, was one of those moments. At that time, I was living in New York City. After finishing a late bartending shift, I drove out in the middle of the night to my house in Springs. The next morning, as the world changed forever, I was on Long Island, watching in disbelief as the skyline I loved was destroyed.
As a New Yorker, I felt trauma. As a Muslim Turkish woman, I felt even more shaken. Shock, grief, and fear mixed with something harder to admit: shame. I felt exposed, raw, as if my identity became an accusation. The city I called home had been violated in a way that changed not just the landscape but also the feeling of belonging. To this day, I have not been able to return to that site. Even the thought of it brings a heaviness that feels beyond words—a silence I’ve struggled to break. That was life before, and life after. That was BC and AD.
Yet, today, on September 11th, I also remember stories of extraordinary courage. I think of Eric Allen (a father, wonderful actor, and firefighter) and James Giberson (a father, the brother of one of my oldest friends, Robert, and a firefighter), two first responders who, while thousands rushed away in fear, kept climbing into danger. They carried a kind of bravery most of us can barely imagine—the choice to run toward fire when everything urges us to run away. Their sacrifice, and the sacrifices of many others, remain etched in this day, reminding us that even in destruction, there was humanity, loyalty, and love in action.
September 11th is a scar, but it also marks resilience. For me, it will always serve as a reminder of life’s fragility, the complexities of identity, and the strength of human courage.
