September 11, 2001

A photojournal from inside Ground Zero, by Hiro Oshima. Written in 2001; revisited on the 25th anniversary.

This journal is shown exactly as it was recorded on the day and in the weeks after. It includes candid descriptions of casualties and photographs of the destruction. Please read at your own pace.

Scroll to follow the day in sequence. Some of these photographs are held by the National September 11 Memorial Museum and were used in the NIST investigation into the collapse.

This is a photojournal of my experience on 9/11/2001.

On the day of the World Trade Center attack, I was living inside what is now known as “Ground Zero.” My apartment, in this picture, is one of the buildings closer to the WTC on the left side.

I found myself shooting these photographs as the entire event unfolded. Running from the falling tower, I was evacuated to New Jersey on a tugboat from Battery Park.

This photojournal is my way of sharing my experience with other people. Please feel free to share it with others. If it makes a difference, if it reaches one more person who may take away something from it, I am grateful. If you feel so inclined, I would be happy to hear from you — whether it be your experience, or otherwise — and many thanks to those who have sent me kind thoughts and wishes through this ordeal.

Waking up

I woke up to the sound of the first plane crashing into the WTC, living a block and a half away. I thought it was a very large traffic accident, except for the eerie silence and the never-ending shimmering sound of metal and glass falling.

Down in the streets

After the first crash, the debris, plane parts and body parts were all over the area. Around the corner from this location, I saw an arm… It didn’t occur to me how stupid it might be to walk toward the Towers at this moment.

I got hit by some falling metal debris on the leg — luckily, only a slight burn (which I didn’t realize I had until about midnight that night; goes to show I was running on adrenaline all day).

West Side Highway

I went to the other side (West Side Highway) of my building, and came across this — what looks to be an office chair or an airplane seat embedded in the back of a car. I found out that the telephone pole near the building was wiped out by a falling plane tire.

Run away

I look up the street, and people are still running out (and away, as anyone with brains should have done at this moment).

Instead

Instead, I headed up the street. At one point, I was a block away, watching the first tower being evacuated. The rescue and police response to the first crash was amazingly fast.

Bundle of sheets

Someone laying a sheet on body parts to cover them up. Notice the bundle of sheets in his arm…

Looking up

Looking up at Tower 1, from West Side Highway.

It wasn’t over…

I went inside, thinking it was over and I should get out of the way of the rescue workers who were quickly assembling.

Just then, the second plane came screaming overhead and into Tower 2. I thought it was going to hit my building.

Heading back out

When I realized that I was still alive and uninjured, I went back outside. There was a gaping hole in the South Tower — you can see the outline of the plane’s wingspan.

People in the streets

People were in shock, and unable to move. A few residents tried to run to the subways, muttering “I’ve got to get out of Manhattan,” but the entire island was locked down.

Stunned people

More stunned people.

I thought it was over

Still, no one thought it would collapse. Again, thinking it was over, I went inside to watch the news and call home. I was emailing friends when I heard another loud screech. I quickly counted that there were only two towers — and wondered which building was next.

Billowing smoke covered my 14th-floor window — debris was flying horizontally — and my TV died, and the apartment went pitch black. I thought it was another missile or plane, hitting the building next door. It was the first collapse.

In the lobby

Crawling down the smoke-filled staircase (and convincing those coming up the stairs to avoid the smoke to go back down through it all), I managed to get to the lobby of my building.

Firemen who were outside came in covered in debris, coughing soot and throwing up. We were told to evacuate as soon as the debris settled.

Silent snow

Debris was still falling everywhere.

Covered

The firemen were utterly covered by the debris. We all could tell that a lot of it was asbestos, though no one said it out loud. It crossed my mind that this could be the real terror, if all the people around became ill after the fact.

Walking away

Once the debris began to settle, people were back on the streets, walking away from the towers.

Evacuate!

We began our orderly evacuation down the street and away from the building — when the second tower came screeching down. I didn’t need to be told what the sound meant. I grabbed my neighbor and told him to run.

And run we did.

Battery Park

A few of us dove under a half-open garage door for cover, but the fireman leading us yelled at us to keep running.

We were quickly overcome by the gushing smoke and debris, through which we ran to the south tip of Battery Park.

I saw the light

You can see the cleaner air, if you look toward the waterfront.

On the pier

Everyone huddled on the pier, seeking fresh air. For once, strangers were helping each other, sharing water and masks, caring for the elderly and injured.

Added later:

In 2011, a photo editor from New York Magazine emailed to ask me, “Can you confirm if the white spots in this image are dust or paper?”

I replied that it was a white cloud of debris that enveloped the entire downtown as the second tower came down. She then emailed back to ask, “Was there paper in the debris?” to which I responded, “I’m fairly sure there was… at what point does pulverized paper become dust? How do you tell the difference?”

I wondered why she was so focused on the paper in the debris, and whether a lack of paper made the image less useful or powerful.

It turns out they published an article, “Paper, Dispersal of,” with the tagline “The odd sparkle of devastation,” on August 27, 2011. The thing is, the photo they used for the article didn’t have any sparkles of paper. (They later edited the article and removed the tagline, but I managed to find the original online.)

The waterfront

The waterfront haze.

Some people were injured, but if you made it this far, you were OK.

Every boat in the area came over, and we were pulled out.

Good-bye, Manhattan

As I was getting onto a tugboat.

On a tugboat

I was pulled out on a tugboat, and taken to the Red Cross camp set up in New Jersey.

Liberty State Park

From the safety of New Jersey.

Triage

People huddling around a radio — no one knew what was going on. Rumors were flying everywhere, and there was little food or water.

Triage (2)

In Liberty State Park, NJ. A crowded area, waiting to hear what was in store for us.

Rescue squad

Amazingly, rescue vehicles came from all over the state to prepare for arriving injured victims. The parade of ambulances, I knew, was unfortunately in vain… most of these did not see an injured victim.

By the time we left the area to go to a Red Cross temporary shelter, they were calling for freezer trucks for the bodies.

Refugee

We left Liberty State Park, which was to become the triage area for all evacuees, and were taken to a shelter. I was fed pastries and told to sign a check-in form. I was officially a refugee.

Looking back

Looking back across the Hudson from the Red Cross shelter, you could see the shell of the tower that collapsed.

The morning after

The next day, I managed to return downtown in a failed attempt to get essentials (my cat) out of my apartment. I couldn’t even get near.

Chambers Street

I talked my way downtown, as far as I could get. The smoke, the ash — it was horrible, but nothing compared to the day before. I had a horrible cough from the inhalation.

More collapses?

Downtown, rescue workers were working around the clock, amid rumors of more building collapses.

Powerless

Every time there was a threat of a new collapse, work had to be stopped.

Still not close enough

This is as far as I got, on the north side. You can see the West Side Highway covered by the fallen Tower.

Vengane

Ash-covered car.

Smashed

More smashed vehicles.

ConEd truck

Movie-TV

The Movie-TV Unit. I was struck by the irony — real life imitates the Movie-TV…

Finally back in

Finally, I was allowed back into my apartment with an escort, to retrieve essentials.

This is the south side of WTC2 on 9/24.

WTC2

A close-up.

This is the south side of WTC2 on 9/24.

Take a look back at the earlier shot of this location, moments after the first plane hit.

WTC2, south side

Another close-up. The pile of debris is two to three stories high.

This is the south side of WTC2 on 9/24.

Getting too close

The only reason I was able to get this close is because I lived on this block.

Even then, shortly after I took these photographs, I was chased away by the National Guard at gunpoint.

Battery Park City

You can see the blown-out windows of the Battery Park City buildings from the east side of Broadway.

The fire was still hot, and the cranes were pulling out red-hot iron pieces.

In memoriam

(As of September 24, 2001) Most of this remaining structure has come down, and it has been said that it will be reconstructed as part of the WTC memorial.

Steven

This is Steven.

Steven found me online in 2011, having seen the photograph of him in the street, above. He told me he was the unidentified man in the photograph, and asked if he could have a copy. I said yes, of course, and asked him if he would send me a photo of him smiling, in return.

He sent me this photo, with his daughter, who was still a newborn in 2001. He is there to see her grow up, and now I remember him as the guy in this photo, not the face of anguish in the photo above.

That makes me profoundly happy.

(I did not take this image, as is clear from the above.)

See the 2001 photograph of Steven.

Twenty-five years have passed since the day that changed the world.

In many ways, it feels a little harder now to find the good in the world. I wanted to revisit this photojournal in the hope that it reminds us how people came together that day and in the days and weeks afterward — that kindness outlasts loss and violence, and that hope, however hard it may be to see, can always be found.

So many people today were not yet born in 2001, and yet they live with the consequences of what came after, and with the innocence that was lost. My hope is that this year, new eyes will see these photographs and feel, if only for a little while, what it was like — and why it matters to remember.

Thank you for reading, and for remembering.

© Hiro Oshima. Please feel free to share this page. If it reaches one more person who may take something away from it, I am grateful.

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