Today is September 11th. In the U.S., there are many ways that people discuss and remember this day and its aftermath. I was teaching at the time. I remember getting to school and the reality of it all sinking in. I remember calling my dad to find out if my mom was okay because she was flying home that day. She was fine. But, she didn’t make it home that day.
Now we’re in Oslo and today Chris and I decided to visit the memorial to Oslo’s 9/11. 22 July 2011. The deadliest attack in Norway since World War II. Sometimes we forget that tragedy happens everywhere and that death and loss in a country and community are not the sole property of the U.S. I don’t know if I will do the story justice, but I want to share what happened in Oslo and the island of Utøya in hopes that the realization of grief as universal starts to make us realize how we all exist together and need to take care of one another.
On 22 July 2011, Anders Breivik, drove a fertilizer bomb to the office building that house the Prime Minister, Jens Stoltenberg. His bomb killed eight people.
After the bombing, he took a ferry ride to Utøya island where 600 campers, the majority of whom were 16 to 22-year-olds, were attending a Labour Party youth camp. Dressed as a police officer, Breivik roamed the island, killing and wounding campers. In all, he killed 69 young people on Utøya.
Frustrated with the Labour party and its pro-immigration campaign, 32-year-old Breivik, a right-wing Christian extremist, writes a 1,500-page manifesto attacking Muslim immigration and the Labour Party. He targeted these two locations as a way to stop the present Labour Party leaders as well as the leaders of tomorrow.
Today we visited the 22 juli-senteret (22 July Centre) which tells the story of the attack where it began—at the government building. Throughout the building, you can see the effect of the bomb blast, as a living memorial.
Oslo also chose to block off the street where the attack occurred, so that no one could ever drive down that street again. Outside the building is a bus stop, which has now become a memorial as well. It is no longer used. Instead, it holds newspapers from that day, as a way to remember the day and all that happened.
As any memorial to young people who are violently killed, this was a difficult experience. Seeing the way the building itself served as a time capsule was stark and haunting. The photos I took with my phone don’t do it justice. Watching the 20-minute video of the survivors made me wish there weren’t English subtitles.
The United States has different burdens, different demons, but the demons that we share are those that hopefully make us more understanding and more compassionate to those around us.