Opinions
Still mourning a friend, 10 years later
A beautiful morning gives way to tragedy and grief
“It’s no secret that the stars are falling from the sky
The universe exploding ’cause of one man’s lie
Look, I gotta go – yeah, I’m running out of change
There’s a lot of things, if I could, I’d rearrange”
-Bono on U2’s “The Fly”
My college roommate, Chris, died on Sept. 11, 2001, when American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the 95th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center.
Chris, just 28 at the time of the attacks, worked in technical support for Marsh and McLennan in Tower 1. Marsh and McLennan is a U.S.-based global professional services and insurance brokerage firm. What follows is a description of how I came to learn that he was missing on the evening of 9/11.
The color of the sky on the morning of Sept. 11 was probably the most beautiful blue I can remember. No humidity. No clouds. Living in Georgetown and working in Bethesda at the time, I spent about a half-hour in the car on the way to work in the mornings. At the time, I listened to CDs while driving so I was unaware of any activity in New York. I arrived before 9 a.m. at the office with my boss telling me she’d just heard on the radio that a plane had struck the World Trade Center. In my mind, I did not think much of it. Probably a Cessna that flew off course, I thought. An accident.
I went about my business. My boss continued to pay attention to what she was hearing on the radio. After she heard that the second plane had struck the World Trade Center, we all agreed to go across the street to Rock Bottom. We needed to see what we could not believe was happening at the towers. We were not the only office workers who had this idea. The bar was filled and the restaurant had lowered large viewing screens tuned to CNN.
As I watched the horrifying images from New York, I could not even grasp the magnitude of this event. What was playing out before me was indeed the most violent act that I had ever seen. And, it was all happening on U.S. soil—we were being attacked.
I went outside of the bar to make some calls to my friends in New York. Many of them were traders in the financial district. And I knew that Chris also worked at one of the firms on or near Wall Street. I was not sure at the time who among them actually worked in the Trade Center. It had never been important to know in which building they worked.
I pulled out my cell phone and made a couple of calls. The calls failed. As the morning progressed and the news of the planes crashing at the Pentagon and in Shanksville, Pa., emerged, people drifted out into the street and began to contact loved ones. Texts soon started to come through on my phone. Everyone in my family that worked in downtown Washington was safe and in the process of putting together plans to get to their homes. I received a text from a guy that I was dating in Rehoboth. We had planned dinner that night as he was coming into town for business. He was at the train station in Wilmington: “All trains cancelled. Talk later.”
I tried getting through to New York. Same rapid busy signal. Texts to my friends in Manhattan were not returned.
I eventually found my way home that afternoon and sat in front of the television—as most Americans did. As night fell, I sent out a text to my college friend that I knew did not work on Wall Street, but out on Long Island. Maybe he had heard some news. “Is everyone OK?” To this day, I will never forget the wave of sadness that overcame me as a result of the one-word response that I would soon receive. The text read: “Chris.” Nothing else needed to be said for me to realize that my college roommate, my friend, was among the missing.
In the days that followed, my friends and I would talk on the phone periodically. We had hope. Chris would turn up. I wore a picture of him on a string around my neck. In hindsight, I think it was my way of telling people that I was in shock. Chris was the last person that I would have imagined to be in the middle of this awful attack. He was innocent.
I sat in my room one night looking at my caller ID and remembering the phone call that Chris made to me at 11:30 p.m. one night the week prior. I had just brushed my teeth and was getting into bed. I saw his number come up and I didn’t want to answer. Given the time of night, I thought he would probably have been out to happy hour and would be annoying. I wasn’t in the mood. “Hello Foxy! Pick up your phone. Pick up your phone, it’s Chris. Well, alright, I will talk to you later. Bye Foxy!” Yeah, he had gone to happy hour alright. This was my last communication with him. It was one-sided. I wish to this day that I had answered.
In the ensuing years, when I thought about Chris and that infamous day, I often wondered how the events had played out for him. I had hoped it was quick and that he was quietly humming a U2 song while doing some busy work. He was a huge U2 fan and the idea that he could be playing back a U2 song in his head was not a stretch. Chris was musically inclined and would often play guitar and sing songs from “Achtung Baby” in college.
In preparation for writing this piece, I sat down at my computer and read the Wikipedia entry that outlines the timing of events for the day of 9/11. As I navigated my way through some linked sites, I discovered that Flight 11 had struck the IT center for Marsh and McLennan — the exact office where Chris worked. It was fast. But now, 10 years later, the memories are fresh, and it’s still painful.
Opinions
LGBTQ community must say NO to Janeese Lewis George
Mayoral candidate should disavow Jauhar Abraham
Unless she disavows the support, and words, of those like Jauhar Abraham, which she hasn’t done, the LGBTQ community should say a resounding NO to voting for Janeese Lewis George. I don’t know her personally, but I do know what Abraham said about my community, and I know George not only accepted his endorsement, but went to help celebrate his birthday with him.
Abraham called gay men ‘fags.’ He then ranted, including saying gay men, who he called ‘sissies,’ should not be allowed to teach his children in our public schools. We have spent too many years fighting for our rights and dignity as gay men, and have come too far, to have a mayor who will not call out that kind of language, and the person who uses it.
Another issue on which I criticized George is her asking for, and getting, the endorsement of the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), a group that is considered antisemitic. The DSA calls for the abolishment of the State of Israel, from ‘The river to the sea’ and tells endorsed candidates they may not meet with any Zionist organization, among other things. Her response to being called out on this by Ron Halber of the Jewish Community Relations Council of Greater Washington, was to have a private meeting with some Jewish leaders, where she blamed the answers to the questionnaire she submitted asking for the DSA endorsement, on a staffer. She neither fired the staffer, nor said which statements the staffer made she disagreed with. She has never disavowed the positions of the DSA. No one at that meeting was satisfied, and the same week she headlined, with others, a DSA rally. She claimed she is only a member of the Metro DSA group, but you cannot be a member of the local group, without being a member of the national organization. She also said she is a member of the Democratic Party, and doesn’t always agree with all they say. Well, it’s simple. In both cases, tell us what you disagree with in both their platforms. She has refused to do this.
I want the next mayor of D.C. to be willing to take responsibility for what they do, and say. I never agree 100% with any politician I have supported, and never expect to. But I want honest politicians. When something gets screwed up in the mayor’s office, will George blame it on a staffer?
It is also clear she doesn’t fully understand the tightrope a D.C. mayor must walk because we are not a state. George is clearly trying to emulate the campaign Mamdani ran for mayor in New York City. It was a great campaign. Mamdani is a great speaker, and charismatic. He also had the benefit, George doesn’t have, to run against a totally flawed candidate. Mamdani deserved to win.
I also want my adopted city of D.C., having moved here in 1978, to succeed. But what we are seeing in New York as Mamdani tries to make good on his promises, is his needing the help of the governor, and the state legislature. What George apparently misses completely, is, we have no governor, or state legislature. In reality, our governor is the felon serving as president, and the state legislature is Congress. We have seen generally how unwilling they are to help, and in most cases would rather try to hinder us from moving forward. It requires the mayor to be a constant advocate, but while doing that, also walking a tightrope. While fighting for statehood, and in the meantime, budget and legislative autonomy, the mayor has to deal with what exists today. Even if Democrats win back Congress in 2026, and I think we will, the felon will be there for the first two years of our next mayor’s term. Because of that, it is even more crucial they understand how to deal with him. Whether it’s housing policy, our court system, the national guard, parks department, or a host of other agencies and issues, we don’t have full control.
So, for all these reasons, I urge the LGBTQ community, and all voters, to say NO to Janeese Lewis George. She is wrong for D.C. at this time. I urge voters to say YES to, and cast their ballot, for Kenyan McDuffie for mayor. All my reasons to vote for him can be found in a column I wrote previously for the Blade. Let’s make sure our city, a city we all love, moves forward for ALL of us.
Commentary
He is 16 and sitting in a Cuban prison
Jonathan David Muir Burgos arrested after participating in anti-government protests
Jonathan David Muir Burgos is 16-years-old, and that fact alone should force the world to stop and pay attention. He is not an armed criminal, nor a violent extremist, nor someone accused of harming others. He is a Cuban teenager who ended up behind bars after joining recent protests in the city of Morón, in the province of Ciego de Ávila, demonstrations born out of exhaustion, desperation, and the growing collapse of daily life across the island.
Those protests did not emerge from privilege or political theater. They erupted after prolonged blackouts, food shortages, lack of drinking water, unbearable heat, and a level of public frustration that continues to deepen inside Cuba. People took to the streets because ordinary life itself has become increasingly unbearable. Families are surviving for hours and sometimes days without electricity. Parents struggle to find food. Entire communities live trapped between scarcity and silence.
Jonathan became part of that reality.
And today, he is sitting inside a Cuban prison.
The World Health Organization defines adolescence as the stage between approximately 10 and 19 years of age, a period marked by emotional, psychological, and physical development. That matters deeply here because Jonathan is not simply a “young protester.” He is a minor. A teenager still navigating the fragile years in which identity, emotional stability, and personal growth are being formed.
Yet the Cuban government chose to place him inside a high-security prison alongside adults.
There is something profoundly disturbing about a political system willing to expose a 16-year-old boy to the psychological brutality of prison life simply because he exercised the right to protest. A prison is never only walls and bars. It is fear, humiliation, emotional pressure, intimidation, and uncertainty. For a teenager surrounded by adult inmates, those dangers become even more alarming.
The situation becomes even more serious because Jonathan reportedly suffers from severe dyshidrosis and has previously experienced dangerous bacterial infections affecting his health. His condition requires proper medical care, hygiene, and adequate treatment, precisely the kind of stability that is difficult to guarantee inside the Cuban prison system.
Behind this story there is also a family living through a kind of pain impossible to fully describe.
Jonathan is the son of a Cuban evangelical pastor. Behind the headlines there is a mother wondering how her child is sleeping at night inside a prison cell. There is a father trying to hold onto faith while imagining the emotional and physical risks his teenage son may be facing behind bars. Faith does not erase fear. Faith does not prevent parents from trembling when their child is imprisoned.
And this is where another painful contradiction emerges.
While a Cuban pastor watches his son remain incarcerated, there are still political and religious voices outside Cuba romanticizing the Cuban regime from a safe distance. There are people who speak passionately about justice while remaining silent about political prisoners, repression, censorship, and now even the imprisonment of adolescents.
That silence matters.
Because silence protects systems that normalize abuse.
For too long, parts of the international community have spoken about Cuba through ideological nostalgia while refusing to confront the human cost paid by ordinary Cubans. The reality is not romantic. The reality is families surviving in darkness, young people fleeing the country in massive numbers, parents struggling to feed their children, and now a 16-year-old boy sitting inside a prison after joining a protest born from desperation.
No government has the moral right to destroy the emotional and psychological well-being of a teenager for exercising freedom of expression. No ideology should stand above human dignity. And no institution that claims to defend justice should remain indifferent while a child becomes a political prisoner.
Jonathan David Muir Burgos should not be in prison.
A 16-year-old boy should not have to pay for protest with his freedom.
Commentary
Celebrate Pride in Lost River, a slice of rural heaven
West Virginia LGBTQ getaway hosts events June 12-14
“Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong, West Virginia …” Those immortal lyrics describe one of the best-kept secrets for LGBTQ Washingtonians: Lost River, W.Va.
Less than 2.5 hours from the D.C. metro area, Lost River, in Hardy County, W.Va., is a haven for LGBTQ Mountaineers and our nearby city neighbors. From queer-owned businesses and artwork to a vibrant community of LGBTQ residents, Lost River has been a destination for LGBTQ visitors seeking a mountain getaway for nearly 50 years. For some, our rural community has become home for those who want to trade city life for country living.
Because Lost River welcomes all, we celebrate Pride each year in our slice of heaven.
Lost River Pride Weekend will be held June 12–14, the weekend prior to Capital Pride. If you haven’t been, our Pride is a little different from the urban Pride events most people are used to. In Lost River, forget the multinational corporate sponsors. Instead, think about local talent, grassroots community organizations, and our version of patriotism on full display. Most of all, we welcome people from all walks of life to live authentically as themselves, regardless of where they come from, how they think, or how they love. We truly welcome everyone.
Coincidentally, Lost River Pride Weekend is being held on President Trump’s birthday weekend, including a variety of traffic-jamming events in the D.C. area and the upcoming fight on the White House lawn. Why not come visit Lost River for the day or the weekend (we have some wonderful places to stay) and get a taste of West Virginia living?
While our town has only about 500 people at any given time, we swell to over twice that during Pride weekend. Friday evening includes an intimate cabaret at the Inn at Lost River (whose general store is on the National Register of Historic Places). Our centerpiece, the Lost River Pride Festival, is hosted on Saturday at the local farmers market, followed by an afternoon drag pool performance and an evening performance by the world-renowned Tom Goss at the Guesthouse Lost River. Finally, we finish the weekend with a closing brunch at the Inn to reaffirm our Pride. In between events and throughout the weekend, visitors and locals indulge in local art, restaurants, and more.
We recognize that West Virginia isn’t always seen as welcoming to LGBTQ people. State law does not protect against discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity, and cultural stereotypes remain persistent. Additionally, trans girls are prohibited from participating in sports of their affirmed gender in schools. In a state considered one of the most conservative, it can be difficult to see progress.
However, our community exists to prove that progress is possible. In fact, due to the work of statewide groups such as Fairness WV, 21 municipalities have passed local ordinances prohibiting discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity, covering more than 13 percent of the West Virginian population. Last year, Lost River Pride sponsored the first-ever equal cash prize for the nonbinary category of the Lost River Classic, a local bike race held annually. There is hope in every corner of our community.
Recently, Lost River Pride was the only West Virginia contingent in the 2025 World Pride Parade, which was held during Capital Pride Weekend. I will always remember our rugged truck coming down 14th Street to a sea of diverse, friendly faces, while waving our state flag and hearing many voices singing “Country Roads” in every remix available (trust me, there are many).
Lost River Pride is one of only a handful of Pride organizations in West Virginia and one of the few structured as a nonprofit. We sponsor the only LGBTQ scholarship in Eastern West Virginia for a graduating senior from a local high school. Moreover, we provide monthly community programming and make frequent donations to local allied nonprofits, including the fire department, food pantry, and schools.
I encourage you to attend Lost River Pride Weekend, especially this year’s Lost River Pride Festival on Saturday, June 13, from 12-4 p.m., at the Lost River Farmers Market (1089 Mill Gap Road, Lost City, W.Va. 26810). Feel free to reach us at [email protected] or visit our website at lostriverpride.org for more information.
Tim Savoy is president of the board of directors of Lost River Pride.
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