I shivered because it was cold in the shade, and I shivered because my skin was taut with goose bumps. At 8:45 a.m., the first pale notes echoed through Library Mall from the UW brass band, and my spine reverberated with iciness. As the three melancholy songs set the mood for the large crowd, the images from one year before played on repeat in my mind. I was glued to the spot, rigid, in my impromptu crouch on the wet Library Mall grass.

I closed my eyes and couldn’t shake the sight of plane after plane after plane striking the twin American towers. Exactly one year ago, my roommate woke me up with the television on. It’s a joke, I had thought. Then the realization hit and I was transported from pop culture ramblings to reality, too many bad action movies.

I ran to my car, camera in tow, and sped off to the Madison airport to capture the story as it unfolded. No one thought the buildings would collapse. I remember the incredulous tone on the announcer’s voices, the look on people’s faces at the airport and on the news. Heads in hands across America before the flags started flying.

Amidst the soft brassy music I could here the stiff intake of breath as people sobbed and cried. It felt like we were in the closing sequence of a movie, only I couldn’t decide which one. I waited for Harrison Ford or Mel Gibson to take the stage and issue an inspirational speech. Harrison Ford would yell, “Get off my plane!” then Mel Gibson would yell, “Freedom!” And we could grip our seats and grab a handful of greasy popcorn.

But when is fiction so real that it feels alive, and when is reality so alive that it feels surreal? The Onion proclaimed, “American Life Turns Into Bad Jerry Bruckheimer Movie,” and we laughed or cried some more. But what did the homegrown heroes who wrestled the terrorists down with their small knives and razor blades actually say? Perhaps they evoked clich�s from contemporary blockbusters before losing their lives.

Then we realize that death in the films is trite, and in real life it is hard. Yet during the hardest reality we are struck with the most overwhelming surreality.

Today there is a resolute somber mood that fills the campus. Perhaps it feels the same way around the world. Class feels like a distant priority.

The brass band resonated to a halt, and Library Mall was as silent as it had been one year before. No laughing or shouting or cell phones. Chancellor Wiley took the stage and offered careful words of encouragement, inspiration and patriotism. He asked the crowd for one minute of silence that would be followed by one minute of bells. I heard more sobs and the sharp rapid-fire sounds of camera shutters as journalists continued to document our reality. I closed my eyes, still shivering in the shade. As the first bell resonated through campus, the sun finally crested over Memorial Library, warming my skin.

Associated Students of Madison chair Brian Gadow spoke appropriately about JFK and the aftermath of such an event. He talked about national and communal fibers and learning and growing as citizens. Both Gadow and Wiley acknowledged their words could affect only subtle changes in the overall healing process. Still, we shake our heads and utter questions.

How could anyone want to do something so drastic, devastating and complex to America? How long did the terrorists plan their actions, and how proud did they feel that people in their culture would celebrate them as martyrs? Where is the root of the problem? How do you engage in a war on terrorism?

I thought back to my own personal struggle on the topic of military involvement and the debate that raged, especially through this campus.

I was struck with a question that halted me in my tracks. What would I fight for? There are the movies, the protests and my general comfort, but going into the military is hard. It is a risk, because you are, as an Army ROTC cadet said, “at the will of the American people.” No, I didn’t join the armed forces — I’m not even an American citizen — but one of my best friends did. Perhaps I’m unwilling to fight for the current popular ideals of America, but there is no doubt in my mind that I am free. What if my friend dies in battle; would I fight for him? What if my family or friends had been killed because they went to work one year ago? The question remains, what would I fight for, and what is worth fighting for?

There are the cutting logical concerns of both liberal and conservative activists. What has America really achieved in the last year of battle? Is Osama bin Laden or a charismatic follower still at large, and what will happen to Saddam Hussein? Regardless of your stance on activism and protests that evoke themes from the ’60s, you cannot ignore the fact that the fundamental right to be active is based on the freedom felt in a democratic state. This freedom to protest, preach or fight is the antithesis of terrorism. Amidst real concerns that America is a capitalist hegemony that will conform independent cultures of the world through Starbucks and McDonalds, there are thousands of very real people who have put and will put their lives on the line to fight for something they believe in.

The fact of the matter is that no one in America is currently in the armed forces against their will. Although there was devastation one year ago — striking terror into the hearts of Americans — our quality of life has not dramatically decreased. We are lucky our cities and towns have not degenerated into a war-torn battlefield where bombs, landmines and gunfire evoke scenes from Israel, Palestine, Northern Ireland, Bosnia and Afghanistan. Perhaps this is because the most advanced military in the world protects this country.

The bagpipe player was adorned in full Scottish dress. I had eyed him from the start of the ceremony, hoping he was going to play. He pumped up the bag, and there was the initial crunch before the first note pierced the air and echoed through campus. Every hair on my body stood up on end as I listened to each soulful note slice through my heart. The ancient Scottish call to reflect, remember and unite riled my blood, and I clenched my fists ready for something. Hate is the most destructive emotion, but feeling free is easy.

Henry Dombey ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in philosophy and environmental studies.