Jessica Suarez

The war in Iraq started the day after I arrived in New York City. I had never been scared to ride the subway, scared to walk through Brooklyn at 3 a.m. or scared to ride in a taxi cab while it weaved through traffic, but I was pretty scared then. I had thought of my trip to New York (my third one in a year), as a way to forget about school, work, and all the things I have to worry about here in Tucson. But every place I visited reminded me of what was going on in Iraq.

One of the arguments against those who are against the war is that they must have forgotten about Sept. 11. How then, does that explain the large anti-war movement in New York City, where one march while I was there drew 250,000 people, where the percentage of those who favor war is lower there than in most of the country?

Subway advertisements still have ads that say, "Still depressed? Talk to someone," alluding to a city where, more than a year later, a large part of the population says they still can't get over what happened.

The subways allude to even more than the city's collective depression. Police are everywhere in the terminals; they walked in groups of three in Grand Central, with 19-year-old soldiers looking nervous and following close behind. It's odd watching these kids in uniforms, younger than I am, trying to look stoic while following around New York's veteran cops, smiling and chatting up tourists. I guess they know the cops they're following have seen more combat than they have.

We couldn't go through a tunnel to get to Manhattan, because protesters blocked the entrance. We couldn't get to the top of the Statue of Liberty, because the city had closed it. We did make it to the top of the Empire State building, and my boyfriend and I tried to point out buildings to each other over the roar of the helicopters that now pace back and forth over the island.

Away from monuments and landmarks, the war was still everywhere, especially the anti-war. Everyone, it seemed, had stickers on their jackets with peace messages. We passed protesters on the way to restaurants and shops. An elderly women that, in a different world, would probably be crocheting blankets for their grandchildren, walked through the Village with a giant sign that read, "George Bush, you ignorant slut."

There were still the clubs and late-night restaurants to see. My best friend, who lives in New York, took us to Remote Lounge, a club that was once on "Sex in the City." Each table comes equipped with a camera and a video screen, where you can channel over to any other table and check out its occupants. If you like what you see, each table comes with a phone that lets you call the other table. Unless you were checking out another table, you would see what another table was looking at while they were looking at you, you could watch them slowly pan over your group of friends, over faces and (of course) chests, stop on the ones they liked, and then call your table.

We also went back to Brooklyn this time, to a new club that had no sign, no phone number, and no liquor license. Kids drank wine near tables covered with candles while bands played. Someone in front of me had "No War" sloppily written in duct tape on the back of his vintage denim jacket.

But every time we emerged from some dark club I would wonder if there was another explanation for the empty streets. Did something happen while we were inside? Is something keeping people in their apartments, watching their TV sets? My boyfriend and I would linger in our hotel room too long in the mornings, watching news channels, even with all of New York City waiting outside and our limited time there.

I felt a little guilty about not participating in any of the protests. My cousin and his ex-girlfriend were also visiting New York. While on their break they protested the St. Patrick's Day parade (they don't let Irish gay and lesbian couples march), the circus (cruel to the animals), and the war (cruel to the Iraqi people). My boyfriend and I were too busy searching for the perfect pair of Diesel shoes, Paul Frank wallets, Built By Wendy clothes and all the other labeled clothing that is too hard to find in Tucson.

To say that anti-war protesters must have forgotten Sept. 11 is stupid and misguided. New York City proves that. Here the anti-war movement is strong and confident, but the people are still worried, still depressed. Maybe we shouldn't forget that New York City is the closest thing we have to an American front in the war. While the military conducts its various operations in the Middle East, New York City has its own: Operation Atlas. In Greek mythology, Atlas was the Titan whom Zeus punished for leading the war against the Olympians. He was forced to carry the weight of the sky on his shoulders.

The war so far seems to have done little in the way of finding those weapons we claim Iraq has in stockpiles, and much to enrage the Arab world. But though the connections between Sept. 11 and the war in Iraq are artificial at best, people know, instinctively, that had there not been the attack on New York City there would be no war right now. I want to go back to New York as soon as possible, and I'll probably move there when I graduate. I worry though, that in a year, or in two years from now, we'll be saying the opposite: had there not been a war in Iraq, there would not have been a second attack on New York City. It seems like too heavy a burden to bear.