A Visit to the 9/11 Memorial Museum

May 21, 2014 in New York City - By Daryl Lang

I'd like to share some photos and reflections from my visit to the 9/11 Memorial Museum on the first day it was open to the general public.

I live in Lower Manhattan today, but I lived in Pennsylvania on 9/11. My ties to the tragedies of September 11, 2001 are secondary, through friends and neighbors. The opinions below reflect that perspective, and are mine alone.

Above: The exterior of the museum entrance, photographed May 16, 2014. All other photos taken May 21.

The first thing you need to know about the 9/11 Museum is you will probably hate something about it.

Family members of 9/11 victims have been feeding a steady stream of complaints about the museum to the press, who are eager to pile on. On top of that, anything that floods our crowded sidewalks with more tourists—and throngs of vendors hawking worthless stuff—is bound to annoy Manhattanites.

Above all, I hate that 9/11 happened. I want to feel some control over time and history that simply isn't possible. We didn't ask for this. Even 13 years isn't enough time to make any sense of it. The 9/11 Museum is an easy punching bag for those frustrations.

And who "owns" the official legacy of 9/11? Not the city, state, or federal governments, who each keep maneuvering to avoid paying for this costly, money-losing museum. Not the transient, ever-changing population of Manhattan, and not the tourists who come here for a few days and leave. Perhaps some institution of memory like the City Museum or the Historical Society or the Public Library or The New York Times—but which one? Maybe the victims' families, who don't even agree on whether a museum belongs here? Or just The People in general, who can't even agree on basic facts of what happened? All inadequate choices. So we ended up with this museum.

The folks who run the 9/11 Museum will be beset with complaints whatever they do. This place has already been the site of several protests. The day we went to the museum, we saw this group of people protesting the museum's depiction of Islam in an exhibit about Al-Qaeda.

In we go.

We had timed tickets, arrived on time, and didn't have to wait in any lines. Several attendants checked our tickets and directed us through an airport-style security checkpoint. A polite security agent waved us through and said, "Enjoy!" Well no, we won't, but thanks for being friendly.

Entering the museum, I tried to prepare myself by imagining I was entering a Civil War museum. I thought about 9/11 as a history event that I wanted to learn more about. That's what museums are for, right?

The Civil War was a painful time, and yet most Americans are comfortable with Civil War tourism, and consider Civil War history a reasonable hobby, rather than an act of voyeurism and bad taste.

We began our descent.

Oof. My "pretend I'm in a Civil War museum" strategy quickly fell apart.

The World Trade Center site is a cemetery. The people who died in this very spot were loved and important; many died heroically.

So we step back and flail around for some context. If we're talking about history, much of Lower Manhattan is a cemetery. Since the 1700s this place has endured two great fires, the American Revolution, the Draft Riots, various deadly pandemics, tragic accidents, natural disasters, even several smaller acts of terrorism. This place is no stranger to death and catastrophe.

How important was 9/11, really? How important are we, the Americans of the early 21st century? To us, we are really important! Which illuminates the danger of history told by the people living in it. Should we be trusted to write our own legacy? Will this museum make any sense to kids who have yet to be born?

We have gone down a rabbit hole.

Once below ground, you can see the interior of the museum is designed around the square footprints of the Twin Towers (which, up at street level, now form the 9/11 Memorial fountains).

This hunk of metal offered some startling perspective. A little sign next to it explains that it was a piece of one of the World Trade Center towers. There's a photograph showing where it was on the building. Then I realized: it hasn't been moved. This piece of steel wasn't carried into the museum; the museum was built around it. It is still anchored into bedrock. This was the point where the towers met the earth.

Everyone will stop and take a photograph of the destroyed fire truck. This is fine, because the next section of the museum is a no-photography zone.

The "September 11, 2001" exhibition is dense with information, and tight enough to feel jammed with people even at a moderately busy time. The displays contain a fascinating selection of curated artifacts, photos, videos, and audio recordings. Facts are presented clearly, evidence is offered, history is respected.

Still, it's easy to find fault with an exhibit this intense, so let's go there.

Near the beginning of the exhibit, a TV set plays a short loop of the NBC Today Show anchors on September 11 trying to figure out what is happening, right before they cut to a live shot of the World Trade Center engulfed in smoke. That set up an awful feeling of dread in my stomach that stayed with me through the exhibit.

I also wondered about the order of the exhibit, which begins with daily life in Manhattan interrupted by the first plane crashing. Then it walks you through the tragic events of the day, giving fair space to the Pentagon and Shanksville. Then it turns back the clock to tell you about the rise of Al-Qaeda and the movements of the hijackers. While that's how the story unfolded to most Americans, this order of storytelling has a strange consequence: I was angry and fired up when I entered the room about Islamism. I was expecting a place of thoughtful reflection, and instead I felt angry at strangers.

In another area, I was off-put by a sign next to a wrecked FDNY truck (yes, there are two wrecked fire engines in this museum) telling us it had been made possible thanks to a generous donation from Anheuser-Busch InBev. Yuck. This part of the museum should be a brand-free zone.

We also observed that it's a long exhibit, with a lot of sorrow thrown at you, and would benefit from a place to sit, reflect and take a break between rooms.

The exhibit returns you to the enormous main hall. Several stories of the World Trade Center slurry wall—an engineering marvel—are exposed for you to see. Water seeps through it to a drain, enhancing the feeling of being in a cave.

I'm fascinated with buildings and engineering, and to me one of the most illuminating sections of the museum was an exhibit about the construction of the World Trade Center and daily life there. It seemed like there could be a whole separate museum dedicated just to the old World Trade Center.

I expected the museum would take us less than an hour to see. We were there 2 hours and we still didn't see everything; we had to leave because the place was about to close at 9. You could easily spend 3 hours in there. (And contrary to rumors I'd heard, the museum does have public restrooms; the memorial plaza does not.)

About the "Museum Store," which has already been attacked in the press for being tasteless: To me, it's not worth any outrage. Guys on the sidewalk have been making money selling 9/11 souvenirs for years—and over the years a long succession of nearby shops have profitted selling NYPD and FDNY merch. The 9/11 Memorial organization has had at least two gift shops before this one. Somehow we all continued to go on with our days.

I'm sure the museum will move truckloads of $22 "9/11 Memorial" t-shirts and $80 silver pendants with the Twin Towers on them (actual prices for actual items!) and those gifts will make somebody happy.

Still, I wondered why the museum didn't take a more tasteful course and call it a "Book Store," and stock the front of the store with books about American history, and put all the high-margin trinkets at the back. That would have been easier to swallow.

As you exit the museum you return to the 9/11 Memorial pools, now 3 years old, and somewhat better with age as they become a familiar part of the cityscape. You can now get to this park without walking through a checkpoint. The pools look beautiful at night. They're a reminder of the people we lost. A new neighborhood rises around them.

On any given day, this spot will be overrun with tourists.

But the night we were there, around closing time, it was tranquil. All you hear is water falling. For the first time in over a decade this patch of land feels... peaceful? Close to it.