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December 13, 2001
WASHINGTON -- On Capitol Hill, their anguish brings prominence -- and access. Sen. Patrick Leahy, D-Vt., diverts from his packed schedule to spend several minutes talking. A meeting with Rep. James P. Moran Jr., D-Va., is arranged without delay, and during the face-to-face with Moran, word comes that one of his colleagues hopes to sit down with them, too.
"We're celebrities of sorts," Stephen Push says, not boastfully. He walks the halls of Congress as a widower; his wife, Lisa Raines, was one of the 184 victims of the Pentagon attack. "They want to talk to us. They want to hear what our experiences are, what our concerns are."
On an extraordinary scale, Sept. 11 is turning devastated family members into outspoken activists. It's also giving rise to grief as a political force.
At least five groups have formed: the Families of September 11 and Pentagon Angels in Washington and three others in New York. While all offer sympathy and support, several claim a greater purpose, realizing the power of their collective voice to affect everything from the recovery of bodies amid the rubble of the World Trade Center to government debate on improving airline security and combating terrorism.
"It's a gift. Don't squander it," Push tells others.
The nonprofit Families of September 11 announced its formation last week, with Push as treasurer.
"This is therapy to me. . . . This is my life," he said.
At its site on the Web, www.familiesofseptember11.org, the group declares an ambitious agenda. It wants to influence decisions on where memorials are placed at the New York, Virginia and Pennsylvania crash sites, to weigh in on federal discussion of immigration policy, to push for improvements in high-rise building safety.
Nearly 13 years ago, the parents, siblings and spouses of the 270 casualties of the bombing of Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie showed the way. They marched on Capitol Hill and lobbied Congress to require greater airline security. They raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for a memorial at Arlington National Cemetery and then, for more than a decade, they kept international pressure on to bring their terrorists to justice.
"Who could turn us down? We knew we had a power," George Williams of Joppa, Md., recalled recently. In memory of his only son, he served four years as president of Victims of Pan Am Flight 103. "The mere fact that we were together was emotional support."
Unintentionally, there's been a hierarchy of sorrow, with Pentagon relatives saying their losses have been ignored, even forgotten, compared with the attention given New York City. Feelings are even more bruised if a spouse or parent was a contractor at the military complex or, worse, a passenger aboard Flight 77. One of those new widowers, a career Army man, is trying to help these families help themselves.
"It's about making sure the families heal," said Chief Warrant Officer Craig Sincock.
Sincock is the force behind Pentagon Angels. In part, its Web site represents his tribute to wife Cheryle, a two-star general's secretary who apparently had returned to her office from a cigarette break only moments before the attack.
"The loss of their loved one is as important to me as the loss of my wife," he said.
Organizing, lobbying and public speaking have become a mission for many survivors.
The most concerted activity has been in New York. But rancor and schisms among survivors over the disparities in aid have marred their unity. Three organizations are exclusively of and for the World Trade Center, though they represent different people or have somewhat divergent goals.
There's the WTC United Family Group, founded as a support and information network by the brother of a civilian killed. And the 9-11 Widows' and Victims' Families Association, whose main mission is "the dignified recovery" of bodies.
A third organization, Give Your Voice, arose out of a sister's distress; as she saw it, World Trade Center casualties who died without the benefit of a uniform were being passed over by officials.
The question is what lasting impact impassioned advocacy will have. American University professor Leonard Steinhorn, who studies social movements, popular culture and politics, cautions the families, "Even if you have sentimental, emotional power on your side, sometimes it's not enough to counter vast special interests."