The following was written by Scott Bates and was first published in The New London Day on September, 16, 2001
I'm sorry, I have to go. It's an emergency," said a friend at the U.S. Mission here in Kosovo. And with that, our national nightmare began to unfold. We scrambled to a nearby hotel and watched dumbstruck, huddled around a tiny screen as the World Trade Center fell. We just stared wishing it away.
"You can use my phone to call home, anything," said one of the hotel staff offering a cell phone. I jumped in a jeep and headed to the U.S. Mission, speeding over the broken roads of Kosovo's war-torn capital of Pristina.
We caught CNN and the networks on Armed Forces TV. As the madness of hijacked planes on suicide runs unfolded, people tried frantically to call friends and relatives in Washington and New York.
All of us Americans here in Kosovo have gotten accustomed to the idea of terrorist threats in our everyday lives here in the Balkans. Just that morning I'd received a warning from the State Department on increased risk of terrorist activity in the region. Not in 100 years could we imagine the scene unfolding with the slow motion dread of a nightmare.
Late night, as I climbed the hill to my new home in the gray Balkan hills, the landlady and her family appeared at the door. None of the family speaks English, but she said, "America" and held her hand to her heart.
Tuesday Morning. I watched on satellite TV as members of Congress stood on the steps of the Capitol, and in a spontaneous instant began singing "God Bless America." My eyes fill with tears and my gut aches.
We had a training session this morning with people who are candidates for Parliament in the first national elections for this nation. Kosovars came up one by one to offer condolences, many with tears in their eyes.
A moment of silence
As about 50 Kosovars settled in for the presentation, Ramush Haradinaj, a former Kosovo Liberation Army general and now head of a political party, asked for a moment of silence.
My mind was a blur of contradictions. I want to embrace them all. The humanity of their concern warms my heart. But I know they are all watching how we react to it all. Kosovars have seen the United States as their protectors since we defeated Slobodan Milosevic and his genocidal plans for the region. Whether I want it or not, I represent America at this moment in time to these people. I'm reminded of having to deliver the eulogy at my father's funeral some years ago, and summoned the strength.
"Today in America, we know what Kosovars have known for a long while. Our buildings may be destroyed, our families may be threatened, some of our friends may be killed, but the spirit of a free people can never be defeated. If America lasts for five hundred years- it will be our ideas that will survive. I'm here today to share with you what is best about our nation, the idea that free people can stand unafraid and chart their own destiny.
I want to be home right now. But since I cannot, there is no other place I'd rather be than with you here today."
Later in the afternoon, thousands of Kosovars flooded the streets, holding American flags.
On the steps of the National Theater, hundreds of young people held signs that said, "America, We are With You." I was handed a flower and we marched together down the main street of Pristina.
Returning to my office, I opened an e-mail from a young Kosovar friend, Niti Shehu.
He wrote, "Please do accept my and my people's sorrows and condolences for the tragic, monstrous and horrifying terrorist attack on your country which is seen as a symbol of modern civilization and human values.
We all do sympathize and share your country's grief and pain. We do believe that in these difficult moments you, as always will find strength, courage and wisdon to overcome this act of madness and insanity that left us all shocked and horrified. Sincerely, your friend Niti." Amen.