Every September, there's a noticeable shift in New York City. The familiar aroma of hot dog carts lingers, the hustle and bustle of the streets continues, but for a brief moment, something heavier hangs in the air. 25 years after the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks, the debris has been cleared, the skyline has been reshaped and a memorial now stands where the Twin Towers once soared. Still, while the physical reminders fade, the grief remains. For New Yorkers, especially for the Staten Island community that shaped my upbringing, 9/11 is not just a date on a calendar; it’s a legacy we carry.
I was born two years after that tragic day. I don’t have memories of watching the towers collapse or the smoke engulfing Lower Manhattan. Still, it feels like I grew up with those memories.
I grasp them through my dad.
On Sept. 11, 2001, he was merely a few blocks away from the Twin Towers, and in an instant, his city, and his life, were forever altered. As a seasoned New Yorker (I’ll keep his age a secret, knowing he’ll read this), he has witnessed the city navigate its ups and downs. But there’s something uniquely profound in the way he recounts that day. As a child, I didn’t need to know every detail to feel the impact it left on him.
Growing up on Staten Island, I quickly grasped what it meant to come from New York City's so-called ‘forgotten borough.’A borough that is so vastly different from the others due to its geographical isolation, political conservatism and cultural differences. Yet, every September, ‘forgotten’ is the last term I’d use for us. Families, friends and neighbors gather near the Staten Island Ferry and throughout the borough to honor those who never returned home. I remember being a kid and watching the Tribute in Light shine across the skyline from the harbor, two beams marking the spot where two buildings, where 3,000 lives were taken from us, once stood.
For many people in Staten Island, the impact of Sept. 11 goes beyond just emotional scars. Even after 25 years, residents dealing with cancers linked to the attacks are still looking for answers about their health issues tied to the toxic fallout. Recent news serves as a reminder that the effects of that day didn’t disappear when the smoke cleared. Instead, they followed first responders, workers and residents back home, and for some families, these consequences have lingered for decades.
This ongoing health crisis has transformed September 11th into a present-day reality for many families in Staten Island, rather than just a historical event. First responders, recovery workers, and others are still battling illnesses years later. The anniversary serves as a reminder of the support and resources they continue to need. For the borough, honoring those we lost is closely tied to acknowledging those who live with the ongoing effects of the attacks. 25 years on, their stories highlight that the legacy of September 11th goes beyond that fateful morning; it also encompasses the challenges Staten Islanders have faced in the years that followed.
And still, Staten Island remembers together. This year, local performers will gather for a memorial concert honoring 9/11 victims on the 25th anniversary. Events like these might seem ceremonial to someone looking in from the outside. To me, they represent something deeper. They are how a community refuses to allow the passage of time to become forgotten.
As a child, I understood Sept. 11 on a surface level. I knew the events, I knew why we came together and I could sense the somber mood among adults as the anniversary approached. But it was when I felt my father grip my hand as we looked at the New York Skyline, trying to hold back tears, that I truly understood the weight of the day. Grief can be passed down, even when the memories fade.
Growing up in New York, I came to understand that remembering September 11th wasn't just for those who experienced it directly. It lived on through the stories our parents shared, the names read aloud every year, and the moments of silence that felt heavier than I could grasp at the time. As the years went by, those traditions turned into more than just ways to remember; they became a means for my generation to grasp the loss our city faced on that day. While I may not have my own memories of September 11th, I carry the feelings of those who do — and with that, a duty to remember.
I sometimes wonder what Sept. 11 will mean when my generation is the one responsible for telling its story. We are the generation that came after, too young, or not yet alive, to tell you where we were when the towers fell. But I can tell you where I was afterward. I was standing beside the Staten Island Ferry, looking across the harbor. I was watching two beams of light rise into a skyline I had only ever known without the Twin Towers. I was holding my father's hand and beginning to understand why he held mine so tightly.
25 years later, New York has been rebuilt. Staten Island is still jokingly called the forgotten borough. I was born too late to remember Sept. 11.
But I was raised by people who made sure I would never forget it.
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Lali Tobin MPA '27 is an Opinion Columnist and a master's student at the Jeb E. Brooks School of Public Policy. Her monthly column, The Tobin Times, explores public policy and politics through different lenses. She hopes to engage readers in hearing how politics is the most discussed topic in the media and why it is important to stay on top of current issues. She also hopes to tackle current social trends that can be connected through public policy. She can be reached at ltobin@cornellsun.com.
