I haven't forgotten. Not the smell of death, of burning flesh and debris that invaded our home, our bodies, our days and nights for months that seemed to never end. Not the ashes wiped off our furniture and washed out of our hair. Not the low-flying helicopters, the paramilitary squads contracted in different parts of the city, the random searches and cordoned-off areas. Not the jolt everytime a truck would hit a pothole because that's exactly what the planes sounded like when they crashed into the towers, only louder.

It was that smell I'll never forget because I said "no time to grieve it". It seems self-indulgent to talk about the smells when there are far more horrible things happening in the world, like Iraq. We could be living in Iraq and have to deal with the violence, the killings and despair day in and out.

New Yorkers don't say that out loud, but we whisper it to our neighbors and friends. You know we do. While we refuse to deal with the fact that yes indeed we are worse off in New York City we scream a sotto voce, "but it is not Iraq" :

We are poorer paying the price in hidden taxes that only benefit the rich, but it's not Iraq.
We are more vulnerable to attacks and catastrophes, but it's not Iraq.
We are less free thanks to a weaker Bill of Rights and a hijacked constitution, but it's not Iraq.

It's not Iraq, it's not Iraq, it's not Iraq.

And now, it's not New Orleans.

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