by BAR editor and columnist, Dr. Marsha Adebayo
The author and her colleagues were congratulating themselves on the Capitol building steps, for their victory over injustice in government service. :As we started moving toward the Capitol steps, a large plane flew over the building—so low that I could see the symbols on its belly. We all looked up ... Within minutes, we heard a loud explosion from the direction of the Pentagon.
Journey to No FEAR: 9/11
by BAR editor and columnist, Dr. Marsha Adebayo
“A guard screamed out from the top of the Capitol steps, “Run for your lives! The Capitol is under attack!”
The following text is an excerpt from my book: No FEAR: A Whistleblower's Triumph over Corruption and Retaliation at the EPA. The vote for the Notification of Federal Employees Anti-discrimination and Retaliation (No FEAR) Act was scheduled for September 11, 2001. Whistleblowers and civil rights activists were on the steps of the US Capitol when the planes flew into the Pentagon. This is a two-part series that recounts that fateful day. We present this chapter in honor of the victims of 9/11 attacks and the whistleblowers that attempted to warn the government about the impending attack and were met with retaliation.
It was a sparkling-clear September day, one of those rare days in Washington when it feels like anything is possible. It was about seventy degrees. The Capitol dome was inscribed on a crisp, blue sky, with no trace of Washington’s unbearable humidity. Approaching the United States Capitol, I felt confident. If you’ve ever tried to find legal parking anywhere near the Capitol, you know how frustrating that can be. But on that day, some allies in Congress had made things easier by providing special parking privileges near the Capitol building. A little thing, but it made me feel powerful.
It was also a beautiful day politically. In a city where black people and white people—Democrats and Republicans—live separate lives, ignoring and talking past one another, Congress had come together and was about to pass the first civil rights and whistleblower law of the twenty-first century. I was so pleased and proud to have Dr. Ruby Reese Moone with me. After her husband’s death, Sis. Moone took on much of his work. She had been a big part of the Poor People’s Campaign in Washington in 1968. About five feet tall, with long black hair and a deep southern drawl, she was the chaplain at the University of Maryland, and I adored her. I called her Sis. Moone out of respect for her status in the civil rights movement—a surprisingly feisty warrior for her outward appearance.
Sis. Moone had driven her car to my house around 8:00am. I had been on the phone with coalition partners past midnight with last-minute plans. Congresswoman Connie Morella of Maryland had arranged to provide the tickets to the House of Representatives gallery where the voting would take place. All the way to Capitol Hill we relished examining the similarities and differences between passing the 1964 Civil Rights Act and No FEAR. Sis. Moone’s advice and guidance had been indispensable to our strategy.
“We found common ground. We made the American political system work.”
“God,” she said, “has allowed me to live to see two civil rights laws passed into existence.”
She reflected on her late husband. “How proud he would have been to see ‘the next generation’ carrying on the struggle.” She laughed. “I can’t believe anyone ever questioned that we would pass this law.”
I laughed too, adding, “But we found common ground. We made the American political system work.” In victory, enemies seem naive.
Congressman Sensenbrenner’s arrangements for us to park in front of the Capitol were both a gesture of respect and recognition that I would have a considerable amount of literature, posters, and other memorabilia with me that morning. Two long, hard years of work were about to culminate. I was so happy that I couldn’t concentrate on what the woman standing beside my car was telling me about a bomb at the World Trade Center when I pulled into the special parking area.
“I’m sorry, excuse me?”
“I need to check your car. The World Trade Center was bombed again this morning.”
The female guard told me that she had to search my car and trunk.
I turned to Sis. Moone. “Maybe the Capitol is on alert, because this is the anniversary of the first Trade Center bombing.”
Overhearing me, the guard said, “It’s not because of an anniversary. About an hour ago a plane flew into the World Trade Center.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “The Capitol is on alert, and all cars have to be checked.”
We spotted our group, standing in front of the Capitol and talking about the bombing in New York. No one had any additional information. The air was heavy with fear and anxiety. I called Beth Sokul to find out more—if anyone had the latest information, Beth did. As soon as she heard my voice, Beth said, “Marsha, where are you?”
“I’m standing with our group in front of the Capitol. What the heck is going on in New York?”
Her speech was racing and anxious but delivered in a low, tenuous voice. “We’re monitoring the situation. It doesn’t look good. It looks like the planes were intentionally flown into the World Trade Center. This could be an act of terrorism.”
I couldn’t wrap my mind around planes being intentionally flown into the World Trade Center - a second attack at the same site—it seemed surreal.
“Sit tight,” Beth said, “I’ll get more information and call you back.”
Sis. Moone and I didn’t know what to think or do. It started looking like all of our plans were in jeopardy. Beth called me a few minutes later and told me that we should start moving to the gallery section of the Capitol where the House votes took place. She explained, “Congressman Sensenbrenner is in the underground train on his way to the Capitol to introduce the bill.”
Later Beth called back and said, “Most likely the Capitol will be shut down after this vote. There’s a possibility that the Capitol could also be under attack.”
The North Tower of the World Trade Center had been hit at about quarter of nine in the morning, and, within minutes, news of the attack had reached Congress. When the South Tower of the World Trade Center was hit just after nine, we opined that this was no accident. I informed our group that we should get in line, that the congressman was on his way.
As we started moving toward the Capitol steps, a large plane flew over the building—so low that I could see the symbols on its belly. We all looked up because of the roar of the engine. Someone remarked, “I thought the Capitol was a no-fly zone.” The plane circled, taking some outer route.
I called Beth again for reassurance and comfort. She said, “The vote is on.” We needed to get into the gallery as quickly as possible.
“I think we’re standing on ground zero.”
Within minutes, we heard a loud explosion from the direction of the Pentagon. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but I felt deep in my gut that the low-flying plane I’d just seen was not being navigated by some poor pilot who’d lost his bearings.
Norris McDonald ran over to me. “Marsha, I’m a single father. This morning the World Trade Center was bombed—now the Pentagon. I’m out of here. I think we’re standing on ground zero.” Norris took off.
We were standing on the side of the Capitol and could see the Pentagon belching black and gray smoke. I called Beth again and told her that smoke was coming from the direction of the Pentagon. Then a guard screamed out from the top of the Capitol steps, “Run for your lives! The Capitol is under attack!”
Somebody in the crowd yelled, “The Capitol is under attack!” And then hundreds of people started shrieking and running down the Capitol steps.
People were losing their footing. Faces blurred past. People dropped their purses and pocketbooks and briefcases in a mad scramble, and other people tripped over the jettisoned personal items littering the ground. Within milliseconds, hundreds, perhaps thousands of people started streaming from the Capitol, men and women, shouting and pushing, bunny hopping down the short steps. People were tumbling down the Capitol steps like feathers, tripping over one another, eyes bulging, with only one thought in mind: How do I get out of here?
Where was Sis. Moone? I remembered that before the rush, she had been standing next to me. I couldn’t see anyone I knew. I yelled out her name but got no response. I was being jostled by the crowd and by a sense of survival. I saw Leroy Warren. He was on the ground with blood gushing from his head. He had fallen or fallen victim to the mob rushing for safety. Janet and Tanya were trying to stop the bleeding while Joyce and Altheria were exhorting him and others to flee.
But where was safety?
I finally caught a glimpse of Sis. Moone standing by herself next to a tree. She was bent over, holding her chest. Her breathing was labored. I ran over to her. “Sis. Moone, this is not the time to have a heart attack. We have to run!”
She looked up and gave me a slight smile as if to say, I’ve seen war before. “OK, let’s go.”
She was sixty-two years old, and she’d just run down a long staircase in a panic. Obviously, she needed a rest. But we were all going to die, we thought, if we didn’t get out of there. I dragged her by the hand and pulled her down the street, quickly. Where is the safety? Where are we going?
It’s a good distance from the Capitol to the congressional administrative buildings. We passed the Rayburn Building. These buildings no longer represented the seat of US power—they were simply targets that we had to get as far away from as possible. Congressional staffers and visitors were fleeing. There were screams and yells—people calling out names. Friends and co-workers. Loved ones. Nothing made sense. What’s happening? Who is after us? Why?
Beth Sokul had told me, “We’re going to pass the bill first—and then recess,” just before the phone lines died. What’s happened to Beth? Where is she? Is she in this stream of bodies fleeing Rayburn? The world was crumbling beneath our feet. Will this be over in minutes? Hours? Ever?
Beth, I later found out, had dropped the phone when the evacuation order was given. She, like her colleagues, ran to the nearest exit in hopes of surviving what they thought would be another bombing. She made her way down the corridor. People were shouting and pushing and trying to get an advantage. She finally arrived at the steps. Congressional staffers, like their counterparts at the Capitol, were running for their lives.
Halfway down the stairs, with hundreds of people pushing and shoving behind her, she remembered that she had left her No FEAR folder on her desk. Beth elbowed her way back up the stairs away from safety. She found her way back through deserted corridors that only minutes earlier had been filled with alert staffers attending constituents. Now, with everyone gone, the clamor outside filled the long stone halls with the sounds that fear makes. She reached her desk and looked around—she was alone. Once she found her folder, she was gripped anew with fear, realizing that coming back might turn out to be her last act on earth. She picked up her phone.
“Stan, pick up the phone,” Beth said as the number rang. She got the recording. I’m sorry, we’re not home. If you want to speak to Beth or Stan, please leave a message.
“Congressional staffers, like their counterparts at the Capitol, were running for their lives.”
She waited for the beep. “Stan, pick up the phone . . . please!” Then quickly, “Stan, Rayburn is being evacuated. They blew up the World Trade Center this morning and”—her voice cracking—“I think the Capitol is next. If I don’t make it, I love you!” Tears rolled down her face. “Please tell my boys that I love them.”
This woman, a white, middle-class professional, who had so little in common with me in her cultural background, had scratched and clawed her way against all the panicked people fleeing—to get to that folder. She had come to believe so strongly in the No FEAR bill that in her heart and by her actions, she was ready to give her life for it. And Congressman Sensenbrenner said repeatedly in the days and weeks following, “I almost died for this bill.” He had gotten stuck in the tunnel beneath the Capitol as the terrorists took aim at Washington.
I tried to call Segun on my cell phone to let him know that I was fine and that I had survived the evacuation. Sis. Moone and I found a small cafe open on Pennsylvania Avenue. It became a sanctuary—congressional staff members and folks from all walks of life were huddled together in total disbelief. I prayed that Segun would be able to pick up our children and that the school would not release them to anyone but him. The thought that my children were vulnerable nearly drove me mad. I was frantic, desperate. I considered removing my dress shoes and running, but to where? I went outside for fresh air. Soldiers were posted on the tops of buildings with guns in hand. Military vehicles were moving to their posts. Within hours, Washington, DC, was a militarized zone.
Dr. Marsha Adebayo is the author of the Pulitzer Prize nominated: No FEAR: A Whistleblowers Triumph over Corruption and Retaliation at the EPA. She worked at the EPA for 18 years and blew the whistle on a US multinational corporation that endangered South African vanadium mine workers. Marsha's successful lawsuit led to the introduction and passage of the first civil rights and whistleblower law of the 21st century: the Notification of Federal Employees Anti-discrimination and Retaliation Act of 2002 (No FEAR Act). She is Director of Transparency and Accountability for the Green Shadow Cabinet, serves on the Advisory Board of ExposeFacts.com and coordinates the Hands Up Coalition, DC.