Epilogue - Romulan Plot I
Having had time to consider the early morning explosion, it seems that in the grand scheme of things not much happened. A single tremendous explosion destroyed a structure that housed 18 people, a vehicle, shattered glass over a wide area and no one was seriously hurt. Most of our friends living in the US have the attitude, "well, what do you expect, living in Kabul?". Yet we who were called to live here refuse to accept great explosions at a short distance as the routine. Perhaps that is why we can live here happily and most others could not. Counselors were called in and we were required to attend an emotional debriefing session before the lockdown was lifted. That bothered me, as my desire was to run my normal 15 mile workout - when I was finally able, running was what, besides journaling, helped me to assimilate the events into a logical perspective. Nevertheless, it was enlightening to learn what others were feeling and thinking during the hours of the crisis.
The blog piece posted on 11/22 will remain without further editing. Written from a position of shock as a means of reflecting on my own transient perceptions, it communicates the confusion that I felt by simply describing what I thought was reality at different points in time. Those perceptions were morphing moment by moment as more information - and misinformation - came in (the explosions were probably not caused by flowers, EVERYONE denies having told me so). To this day we do not know exactly what happened. The preliminary reports have information we know to be false and no final report has been issued. It was not a rocket attack. It was probably not aimed at ISK... No one else felt the tremors that afternoon, though others saw MY COMPUTER shaking as they passed by and warned me to get out of the building... My class is still without windows.
Much about the man I have become was revealed as a result of the event. My behavior, in a crunch, is still very much like that of the Engineroom Supervisor I was trained to be on a nuclear submarine. We did not know that until the ISK emergency occurred. On the sub, we simulated about 10 disasters per week in a very realistic fashion. If gas masks were used, they were covered to blind you, and you had to operate the sub blindfolded. If the reactor was scrammed, the control rods really went to the bottom and no power could come out, all while the sub really was under water. In the space of a half hour to forty five minutes, you would either save the day or be responsible for the death of the crew. Drills were designed for success, so you usually saved the day. Being Engineroom Supervisor meant that my action, or inaction, would often be critical. But either way, an hour later we'd all be joking about it. If things really started to go south, they'd terminate the drill. As Protestant Lay Leader, I was, on occasion, called to the torpedo room afterwards to "perform funeral services".
When the ISK blast happened you knew that something was dramatically wrong, but could not know what. The light flash, the noise blast and the percussion wave woke everyone from a dead sleep and each was left to their own misinterpretation of events. Others had assumed (some for long periods of time) that loved ones had been lost; the not knowing became traumatic. In retrospect, it was evident that I was simply going around to save the day (or possibly ruin it), hoping to follow the correct procedure. The assumption that in an hour everything would be "normal" again and we would be laughing about it all pervaded my attitude. This stood in stark contrast to those who had assumed the worst and needed to speak to each person on staff to be sure that they were not dead. My naive attitude would have been shameful had anyone been seriously injured or killed, but since they weren't, it was exactly right. The sobering fact is that the absence of any human casualties sustained was totally beyond our control. Hence I did not experience anger until the realization set in (about 15 minutes after the lights went on) that ISK would not be capable of receiving students that day. Until that point, I thought that the Director had been over-reacting. A sense of normality would take considerably more than one hour to achieve.
The blog piece posted on 11/22 will remain without further editing. Written from a position of shock as a means of reflecting on my own transient perceptions, it communicates the confusion that I felt by simply describing what I thought was reality at different points in time. Those perceptions were morphing moment by moment as more information - and misinformation - came in (the explosions were probably not caused by flowers, EVERYONE denies having told me so). To this day we do not know exactly what happened. The preliminary reports have information we know to be false and no final report has been issued. It was not a rocket attack. It was probably not aimed at ISK... No one else felt the tremors that afternoon, though others saw MY COMPUTER shaking as they passed by and warned me to get out of the building... My class is still without windows.
Much about the man I have become was revealed as a result of the event. My behavior, in a crunch, is still very much like that of the Engineroom Supervisor I was trained to be on a nuclear submarine. We did not know that until the ISK emergency occurred. On the sub, we simulated about 10 disasters per week in a very realistic fashion. If gas masks were used, they were covered to blind you, and you had to operate the sub blindfolded. If the reactor was scrammed, the control rods really went to the bottom and no power could come out, all while the sub really was under water. In the space of a half hour to forty five minutes, you would either save the day or be responsible for the death of the crew. Drills were designed for success, so you usually saved the day. Being Engineroom Supervisor meant that my action, or inaction, would often be critical. But either way, an hour later we'd all be joking about it. If things really started to go south, they'd terminate the drill. As Protestant Lay Leader, I was, on occasion, called to the torpedo room afterwards to "perform funeral services".
When the ISK blast happened you knew that something was dramatically wrong, but could not know what. The light flash, the noise blast and the percussion wave woke everyone from a dead sleep and each was left to their own misinterpretation of events. Others had assumed (some for long periods of time) that loved ones had been lost; the not knowing became traumatic. In retrospect, it was evident that I was simply going around to save the day (or possibly ruin it), hoping to follow the correct procedure. The assumption that in an hour everything would be "normal" again and we would be laughing about it all pervaded my attitude. This stood in stark contrast to those who had assumed the worst and needed to speak to each person on staff to be sure that they were not dead. My naive attitude would have been shameful had anyone been seriously injured or killed, but since they weren't, it was exactly right. The sobering fact is that the absence of any human casualties sustained was totally beyond our control. Hence I did not experience anger until the realization set in (about 15 minutes after the lights went on) that ISK would not be capable of receiving students that day. Until that point, I thought that the Director had been over-reacting. A sense of normality would take considerably more than one hour to achieve.
posted by Terry at
9:13 PM
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