I Am Muslim
By Usman Farman
My name is Usman Farman and I graduated from Bentley with a
Finance degree last May. I am 21 years old, turning 22 in October;
I am Pakistani, and I am Muslim. Until September 10th 2001, I used
to work at the World Trade Center in building #7. I had friends and
acquaintances who worked in tower #1 right across from me. Some made
it out, and some are still unaccounted for. I survived this horrible event.
I’d like to share with you what I went through that awful day, with the hopes
that we can all stay strong together; through this tragedy of yet untold
proportions. As I found out, regardless of who we are, and where we come from, we only have each other.
I commute into the city every morning on the train from New Jersey. Rather,
I used to. I still can’t believe what is happening. That morning I woke up
and crawled out of bed. I was thinking about flaking out on the train and
catching the late one, I remember telling myself that I just had to get to
work on time. I ended up catching the 7:48 train, which put me in Hoboken
at 8:20 am. When I got there I thought about getting something to eat, I
decided against it and took the PATH train to the World Trade Center. I
arrived at the World Trade at 8:40 in the morning. I walked into the lobby
of building 7 at 8:45, that’s when the first plane hit.
Had I taken the late train, or gotten a bite to eat, I would have been
5 minutes late and walking over the crosswalk. Had that happened, I would
have been caught under a rain of fire and debris, I wouldn’t be here talking
to you. I’d be dead.
I was in the lobby, and I heard the first explosion; it didn’t register. They
were doing construction outside and I thought some scaffolding had fallen. I
took the elevators up to my office on the 27th floor. When I walked in, the
whole place was empty. There were no alarms, no sprinklers, nothing. Our offices
are, or rather, were on the south side of building seven. We were close enough
to the North and South Towers, that I could literally throw a stone from my
window and hit the North tower w ith it.
My phone rang and I spoke with my mother and told her that I was leaving,
at that moment I saw an explosion rip out of the second building. I called
my friend in Boston, waking her up and told her to tell everyone I’m okay,
and that I was leaving. I looked down one last time and saw the square and
fountain that I eat lunch in, was covered in smoldering debris. Apparently,
I was one of the last to leave my building, when I was on the way up in the
elevators; my co-workers from the office were in the stairwells coming down.
When I evacuated, there was no panic. People were calm and helping each other;
a pregnant woman was being carried down the stairwell.
I&rsq uo;ll spare the more gruesome details of what I saw, those are things
that no one should ever have to see, and beyond human decency to describe.
Those are things which will haunt me for the rest of my life, my heart goes
out to everyone who lost their lives that day, and those who survived with the
painful reminders of what once was. Acquaintances of mine who made it out of
the towers, only got out because 1000 people formed a human chain to find their
way out of the smoke. Everyone was a hero that day.
We were evacuated to the north side of building 7. Still only 1 block from the
towers. The security people told us to go north and not to look back. 5 city blocks
later I stopped and turned around to watch. With a thousand people staring, we saw
in shock as the first tower collapsed. No one could believe it was happening, it is
still all too-surreal to imagine . The next thing I remember is that a dark cloud of
glass and debris about 50 stories high came tumbling towards us. I turned around and
ran as fast as possible. I didn’t realize until yesterday that the reason I’m still
feeling so sore was that I fell down trying to get away. What happened next is why
I am here today.
I was on my back, facing this massive cloud that was approaching, it must have been
600 feet off, everything was already dark. I normally wear a pendant around my neck,
inscribed with an Arabic prayer for safety; similar to the cross. A hesidic Jewish man
came up to me and held the pendant in his hand, and looked at it. He read the Arabic out
loud for a second. What he said next, I will never forget. With a deep Brooklyn accent
he said “Brother, if you don’t mind, there is a cloud of glass coming at us, grab my hand,
lets get the hell out of here”. He helped me stand up, and we ran for what seemed like
forever without looking back. He was the last person I would ever have thought, who would
help me. If it weren’t for him, I probably would have been engulfed in shattered glass and debris.
I finally stopped about 20 blocks away, and looked in horror as tower #2 came crashing down.
Fear came over me as I realized that some people were evacuated to the streets below the towers.
Like I said before, no one could have thought those buildings could collapse. We turned around
and in shock and disbelief and began the trek to midtown. It took me 3 hours to get to my sister’s
offic e at 3 avenue and 47th street. Some streets were completely deserted, completely quiet,
no cars, no nothing… just the distant wail of sirens. I managed to call home and say I was okay,
and get in touch with co-workers and friends whom I feared were lost.
We managed to get a ride to New Jersey. Looking back as I crossed the George Washington Bridge,
I could not see the towers. It had really happened.
As the world continues to reel from this tragedy, people in the streets are lashing out.
Not far from my home, a Pakistani woman was run over on purpose as she was crossing the
parking lot to put groceries in her car. Her She had her head covered and was wearing the
traditional clothing of my homeland. I am afraid for my family’s well being within our
community. My older sister is too scared to take the subway into work now. My 8-year-old
sister’s school is under lockdown and armed watch by police.
Violence only begets violence, and by lashing out at each other in fear and hatred, we will
become no better than the faceless cowards who committed this atrocity. If it weren’t for
that man who helped me get up, I would most likel y be in the hospital right now, if not
dead. Help came from the least expected place, and goes only to show, that we are all in
this together … regardless of race, religion, or ethnicity. Those are principles that this
country was founded on.
Please take a moment to look at the people sitting around you. Friends or strangers, in a
time of crisis, you would want the nearest person to help you if you needed it. My help
came from a man who I would never have thought would normally even speak to me. Ask yourselves
now how you can help those people in New York and Washington. You can donate blood, you can send
clothing, food, and money. Funds have been setup in the New York area to help the fami lies of
fallen firefighters, policemen, and emergency personnel. The one thing that won’t help, is if
we fight amongst ourselves, because it is then that we are doing exactly what they want us to
do, and I know that nobody here wants to do that.
My name is Usman Farman and I graduated from Bentley with a Finance degree last May.
I am 21 years old, turning 22 in October; I am Pakistani, and I am Muslim, and I too have
been victimized by this awful tragedy. The next time you feel angry about this, and perhaps
want to retaliate in your own way, please remember these words: “Brother, if you don’t mind,
there is a cloud of glass coming at us, grab my hand, lets get the hell out of here.”
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