나는 2005~2006년에 걸쳐 호주 시드니 대학에서 '미디어 프랙티스'(Media Practice) 석사 과정을 공부했다. 그때 피처 스토리 과제로 9.11 취재기를 제출해 HD를 받았다. 시드니 대학의 학점 평가는 HD(High Distinction)-D(Distinction)-C(Credit)-P(Pass)-F(Fail)의 5단계 시스템이다. 당시 내 피처 스토리를 꼼꼼하게 데스킹 해 준 교수가 마크 모듀였다. 팝 매거진 롤링 스톤의 호주 편집장을 지내기도 했던 그는 내게 피처 스토리 작성 스킬 ABC를 가르쳐 준 프로페셔널이다. "<롤링 스톤>(Rolling Stone)은 음악에 관한 것이 아닌, 음악이 아우르는 모든 사물과 태도에 관한 것이다"라는 창간 정신에 투철한 사람이었다. 남한보다 북한에 더 관심이 많았고, 북한보다 북한의 인권에 더 관심이 많았다. 9.11 테러에 대해 분노했지만 이슬람에 대해서는 적개심을 드러내지 않는 코스모폴리턴이었다. 그의 첨삭지도에 힘입은 9.11 취재기 영문 버전을 업로드한다. 그런데 웬 잉글리시? 꼰대스러움을 대놓고 드러내는 건 아닌가 하고 다소 망설였다. 하지만 어쩌겠나. 언어가 다르다고 생각을 전달하지 못하는 것보단 낫지 않겠나. 모국어의 세계화를 간절히 염원하며... [편집자 주]
Autumn in New York
The first day
The hands of the clock stood at quarter to nine.
After taking a shower, I turned on the TV same as usual without sound. There was something new on. At first I thought it was a fire accident. But it didn’t matter to me. I packed my Compaq ready to go out for my interview. Han Seung-soo, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Trade for South Korea, was the newly appointed Chairman of the UN. Three Korean reporters accompanied him to New York to cover his inauguration. I was one of them.
No sooner had I got to the door than the plane hit the tower. At that moment, the scroll under the monitor seized my eyes: “Planes were hijacked before crash.”
Oh! My God! That was the twin tower, the World Trade Center!
Suddenly I thought of Samuel Huntington, “the clash of the civilization.” But I didn’t have enough time to really think. I push the phone button over and over again. I couldn’t get line. I ran to the South Korea’s UN consulate building five blocks in front of the UN. That morning, the streets of Manhattan were upheaval. It seemed upside down and inside out. My first day in America was 9.11.
Ten to ten, the first tower started to collapse.
I was trying to do my best from the consulate to connect to my newsroom in Korea, but I couldn’t.
Around quarter past ten, the line was connected: “Two planes crashed World Trade Center.” That was my first lead, and I continued. “ According to CNN, it might be terrorism.” As I hung up the phone, the second tower was falling down.
After reporting twelve times by phone from New York to Seoul since the two towers fell down, it was 2 A.M. Fire engines were running in the heat of the night. The darker, the louder. I was a sleepless in Manhattan.
The Second day
“Please tell me the way to World Trade Center?”
An Afro-American gazed at me before replying: “You wanna die? Are you insane?”
Walking south from Lexington Avenue, I caught a yellow cab.
“Let’s go to World Trade Center!”
The driver stared me like the Afro-American but he didn’t say anything.
“After checking, I want to go back to my hotel.”
At 17th avenue there was a barricade fence. The driver said: “We cannot go further. You wanna go back now?”
Getting out I walked down the avenue, approximately ten blocks before there was something like cloud in the distance. I was trying to gather facts. But the place was still far away so I came back to my hotel without any real details.
The desk from Seoul wanted me to figure out how many Koreans and how many victims could be identified as soon as possible.
“Hi Kim, it is not important what is the reason and how the US government will respond against terrorism, just focus on Koreans, right? Well done, so far!”
In gathering and organizing the news, I had to depend on on-the-spot broadcast of CNN. Shame on me! I was just a relay reporter of US media. Where is my point of view?
Fortunately, my base camp, the Korean Consulate, had some merits for newsgathering beyond the street: using phone and fax anytime I wanted, contacting consul about domestic issues related to the WTC easily…
Six P.M the second day, seven A.M the third day in Korea, I snatched a list of names from the Consulate; Koreans missing in the WTC, 37 names in all. I connected to the news line directly and aired the names first followed by other Pens and Mics. What a poor journalists. Exclusive!
The third day
Get up at 6 A.M
I was accustomed to turning on local channel NY 1 (New York 1) because CNN’s reports were too broad to gain details. For example, in NY 1: “Tonight the musical Chicago prepare to special stage for the victims of 9.11.” CNN emphasized the terrorism, anti-terrorism, George Bush’s address and so on.
Take the E line at 51st Lexington avenue, transmit D line, arrive at Central park.
There was memorial service for the victims. Candles, flowers, photos…this is my first time in Central park. But I know here owing to two people: one is J.D. Salinger, who wrote “The catcher in the Rye”; the other is John Lennon. When the harsh winter has come, Holden, the teenager protagonist of the Catcher in the Rye, worries about the ducks. When he finally reaches the lagoon, the ducks are gone, which makes Holden think about death. I learned from him what sympathy is.
What about John? His image in New York was printed in my high school days when I looked at monthly pop magazines. H e was leaning on against wall, wearing black leather, and smoking. H e got a name not only famous pop star but also peace activist at that time with “Imagine.” His song captivated me. Right after that, he murdered somewhere in New York and now there is “Strawberry Fields Memorial” for him in the Central Park. I learned from him what the real peace is: “imagine there’s no heaven, (…) no countries, no religion.”
“I don’t know about terrorism. Ignorance is not a shame, but arrogance is sin. I don’t know why the president stresses the war,” said, an old woman,
“Retaliation? Eye for an eye, teeth for teeth, but remember this. Blood calls blood. It’s time to wake America,” she mumbled giving her sadness to unknown victims.
I dropped by St.Patrick’s Cathedral on my way back to hotel. Inside of the Cathedral was dominated by silence. But there was something new, some kind of bitterness after the war. There were sobbing among the prayers. A woman who resembles Picasso’s “weeping woman” was falling down tears without sound. Four violinists were playing Cannon. It was beautiful sound but I felt something different. Ironically, it reminds me of some kind of warfare fanfare, which announces “Holy War.” Holy war? For whom?
The fourth day
There are many cities in small Manhattan.
As I went back to hotel, I stopped in front of the restaurant named “Bukhara.”
“Bukhara”, the ancient city of Uzbekistan. Yes, I know there, that was planted in my memory.
“Is it right Bukhara is in Uzbekistan?” asked to waitress who has red mark between the eyebrows.
“How did you know that?”
“I also know Samarkant.”
“You came from?”
“Korea, South.”
“When did you travel my country?”
“Two years ago. I was passing the Silk road at that time.”
Serving water, she sat down beside me, and asked me.
“You may know there well rather than me, cause I left my hometown for a long time ago.”
“Very nice. Especially, Minaret was so beautiful.”
“You even know the Minaret?”
“Yes, it is like lighthouse in oasis city, isn’t it?”
“It sure is. We used to call it Kalyan Minaret. It means Great Minaret. Caravan can find the route in the middle of the desert because of the light from Minaret. I used to play with my friends there.”
“Did you? Fantastic! Anyway, you, Islam are under trouble, aren’t you?”
“Yes, all the bad things came from terror. I hate it? I don’t care about Osama bin Laden”
And she continued her assertion: “As you know, we, most Islam are opposite on terrorism basically, but to be honest, we are scared after 9.11. Some Islam were attacked in lower Manhattan from white people last night.”
The touch of terrorism licks the minorities living in this global city.
The fifth day
I walked to lower Manhattan, and very close to “Ground Zero” for the first time.
Nothing. That was nothing but a bone structure around WTC. It seemed like Giacometi’s bronze sculpture. I had nothing to say when I stood in front of the wreck of the tower. Where have all the bricks, irons, actually people gone? There was no more news for survivors except five people who saved their life at the first and second day. People walked in row after row like pilgrims without a word. Silence! I felt some kind of horror from the silence of the mobs.
I found a Deli store’s signboard written by Korean around the corner of the Wall Street, the signboard was hung over from the roof, and the windows were broken.
“We’re open.” But nobody was there inside. The street was dominated by gray tone. It seemed like ghost city. God bless the Fallen Tower wrapped with death ashes.
I picked up New York Times at Newsstand; “Invisible enemy-Dust,” headline warned the toxic dust near ground zero. The war is continuing, and the fear is remaining, particularly at the lower Manhattan.
Got a fever and cold.
The sixth day
At St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the New York held a mass in memory of the fire fighters who lost their lives. To Americans, fire fighters jumped into the fire to save the lives and more than 300 never came back. “They symbolize the sacrifice, which is the highest value of Americanism,” said Cardinal Edward. But I have some skepticism about that. What does standing front line mean when the war has broken? Is it “courage” or “patriotism” or “obligation”?
The Cardinal named the WTC not as a “Ground Zero” but as a “Ground Hero.” Hero? Whose hero and hero for whom? Once again, I asked myself: “What is the difference between fire-fighter and freedom fighter? As a journalist, I have bared in my mind the definition: “One person’s terrorist is another person’s freedom fighter.” However, in the real place, real situation, and real broadcast, I have used the black and white logics without consideration. Following my broadcasting, they, Islam fighters, were absolutely terrorists. “According to CNN, the terrorists….” As far as my audience is concerned, I’m a messenger of American point of view.
At that time, I was just another brick in CNN. What a shame on me!
The seventh day
Reopen Wall Street, and restart Baseball.
New Yorkers has been coming to daily life one after another since the day broke. The people, New Yorkers, walk, run, cross the streets, take the trains, read a newspaper, and watch news sign board same as usual, as if nothing was happened a week before. Will they remember or forget? An English proverb came out of my memory; “Vows made in storms are forgotten in calms.” But Bush will probably remember: “ None of us will ever forget this day. Yet, we go forward to defend freedom and all that is good and just in our world,” he said, the first day. He also mentioned “Crusade” when the WTC destroyed. Not always, but many times religion has justified the war in the name of “holy war.” But all that wars is terrorism, because it kills the people, civilians, specifically non-combatants. And after that? I was thinking about North Korea, the half of my country, at the moment.
Eating McDonald late in the evening got a call from Seoul: “Come back!”
Just before a day of 9.11, the song, “autumn in New York” sung by Ella Fitzgerald waved to my ear smoothly and tenderly around a corner of Manhattan, in the evening. But, suddenly, the season, which attacked the tranquility, was not autumn but summer, what is called “Indian summer.” Autumn, in New York, was hot! And I was “a cat on a hot tin roof.”
