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Five years ago I was living in a lovely shared house in South East London with Husband and 3 other friends. Husband and I had been living together for over a year and we were engaged to be married that September. I was finishing up my internship as part of my masters course in central London. On that particular day, I was headed into my part time job in Chelsea. I was running late (as usual) and had to get a later train than husband did. As the train pulled up to Waterloo Station, people began to stir. Something was wrong in central London, but no one knew what yet. The day before, London won the Olympic bid over Paris to host the 2012 games, and I thought it may have something to do with the disappointed French who happened to be in the capital. Then someone on our train got a text and announced to the carriage that there was a terrorist attack on the underground. The train was just pulling into Waterloo and people did not know what to do. My thoughts raced as I imagined Husband getting on the underground not 20 minutes ago. I tried to text him, but my network was down. I had to make a decision: turn around and go home or risk it and continue on to work. Thankfully, I had enough sense to know that in these kinds of situations it is wisest to go home and wait someplace safe for more information. Indeed, I had been through something similar before.
Four years earlier, I woke to a young girl’s shrieks coming from the hallway of my friend’s dorm room. I was visiting her in Boston, where she went to college, and taking advantage of the fact that I had no lectures on Mondays and Tuesdays. We watched with horror as the television showed the twin towers collapse in New York City. Seeing it on the television it looked like some sort of action movie. It took my violence-desensitised generation and I a minute for our brains to compute that this was happening for real. Hysteria broke out as all the college students began packing their bags to get out of town. No one knew where they would actually go to be safe, but we did not want to stay there. No longer mature young adults out to conquer the world, we quickly subverted into adolescents who needed their mommies and daddies. I said goodbye to my friends, got in the car, and drove non-stop back to New York state where my mother lived. As I drove over the big suspension bridges that connected the interstate, I had visions of the road crumbling and dropping out from under me. I had never been in any real danger my entire life, and Hollywood had seeded my imagination with vivid images of the worst case scenario.
As the United States came to grip with what had happened, we went through several stages: fear led to anger which led to revenge, and eventually war. As a nation we had never been attacked in a non-war scenario before, and we were outraged. We wanted retribution. Back in London when the 7/7 bombings happened, I was struck at the marked difference between the American and British reactions. In the UK, this was not the first time a terrorist had attacked civilians. The 1980’s were riddled with horrific bombings and destruction on UK soil – specifically aimed at causing the most civilian casualties as possible in each attack. The British people, as a result, knew what to do. There was no mass hysteria. There was anger and outrage of course, but they were solidly stoic. Rather than running and hiding, they just got on with their daily business no matter what. Life went on.
After a day at home spent watching BBC news 24, and after reuniting with husband who walked 8 miles home from work because the transport systems collapsed, we returned to life as usual. The next morning I got the train to Waterloo station, gave husband a kiss goodbye, and walked down the stairs to the underground. I got on the tube with all the other commuters, who boarded in complete silence, and took a seat. Everyone was solemn but they were resolved to get on with business as usual. I WAS TERRIFIED. But I made myself be brave. The British resolve in the face of extreme circumstances is best described as having a stiff upper lip. I