Throughout our own histories, there are a number of pivotal moments that help each of us to define ourselves, both in terms of our past identities and those of our futures. Group identities are formed when a number of people share an experience, geography, or ethnicity, creating a unified psychographic which is integral to the coherency of any given society. Each of us has our own interpretation of that identity.
My experience with earthquakes seemed pretty sheltered until October 17th 1989.
I’ll never forget it.
My friend and I were playing Nintendo on one TV and watching the ‘Battle of the Bay’ World Series on the other. My mother was cutting hair in her make-shift salon in the laundry room of our 1-bedroom duplex in Redwood City, CA. It was 5:04 PM.
It came all of a sudden. It was like I heard it coming. I dropped my video game-
controller, sprang to my feet and shouted ‘it’s an earthquake’ almost before the floors of my home started trembling beneath my feet. I braced myself within the closest doorway.
When my mother came running over with her apron on and everything, towing her client in full perm-dress and smock, and my friend and 5-year-old brother started approaching, I realized we were all seeking refuge under the same door way.
We just huddled there as our home was shaking violently around us. Things were falling. Things were breaking. We were freaking out. It was crazy.
When it all stopped, the first thing we did was turn to each other, and then the TV.
The only network news we could actually tune-in to, with our little ‘bunny-ear’ antenna receiver, was running its station on generator-power. They were reporting heavy damage as well as power outages all over the bay area, on channel 7 ABC News, shortly after the 6.9 Mw (moment magnitude scale) quake and its minor aftershocks struck.
This was the first major earthquake in the San Francisco Bay Area since 1906. According to the University of California at Berkeley Seismological Lab, it caused 63 deaths, 3,797 reported injuries and close to $6 billion in damages, making it the most costly natural disaster in United States history at that time. The rumble itself lasted only 15 seconds.
In Chapter 5 of A History of News, Mitchell Stephens writes: “Societies depend for their unity and coherence on a sense of group identity. A group identity can be forged by geography, ethnicity or shared experiences.’’
We, as an identity group, forged by our shared geography, and consequential experience, have many different memories of that day, and timeless little stories to tell.
Most of us who experienced the great quake of 89’ remember exactly where we were when that big one hit, and exactly what we were doing. We all share a certain definition of ‘our’ natural disaster, and how ‘mother nature’ pertains to catastrophe in our little cities by the bay.
I was fixing a sandwich, almost 10-years later, in the kitchen of my then girlfriend’s messy 1-bedroom apartment. It was ‘4/20’ (April 20th), the day that all of my stoner friends and I would celebrate our love of marijuana with a trip to Golden Gate Park for yet another ad-hoc gathering of pot-heads. It’s an annual thing.
In 1999, however, the date took on another meaning for me.
My girlfriend called me back into the living room and pointed to the TV set. I just remember thinking: ‘Oh my god! That is Terrible! What a buzz-kill!’
A couple of teenagers, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, went and had a shooting spree at their high school in Jefferson County, CO.
After their homemade bombs failed to detonate and explode in the cafeteria during lunchtime, according to Slate, they shot and killed 12 of their fellow students and a teacher, leaving 24 others wounded before finally committing suicide in the library of Columbine High School.
Aside from being utterly heartbroken for the families of the students that were killed in this massacre, I felt angry at the parents of these psychopath youngsters for not paying close enough attention to the activities that developed under their roofs.
I remember being concerned for my own family, and thinking about what kind of example I was setting for my younger brother. I realized that in this ‘crazy world’ we need to keep an eye on each other sometimes, as well as be there for each other when and before it really counts. I spent the rest of that day at home with my family.
The Columbine Massacre became a source of trepidation in people’s lives; just hearing about the event on television, and in the newspapers, caused moms everywhere to sweat in fear.
Because of Columbine, another one of my “group identities” has been forged. Together, we are continually shocked at what the human being is capable of.
On October 30th 2006, I flew out of the house, running late for my commute to class. I hollered ‘Bye Nonni’ on my way out the door.
Nonni (Italian for Grandma), who I had lived with since I was 13, was making pumpkin soup in the kitchen. It was the day before Halloween, her favorite holiday.
My long day at school ended with me listening to a voicemail from my mother, telling me to call her immediately because of a family emergency.
It turns out, while I was in class, my Nonni had been struck by a pickup truck while crossing the road, just blocks from our family home in Redwood City. She was pronounced dead the next morning at 2:00 AM, October 31st 2006.
Until that day, she was a sprite and healthy 73-year-old woman. She has a whole lot of friends and family that love her. Hoards of people showed up at our house crying and offering support, neither of which really seemed to help matters much.
On the eve of her death, I spoke with a reporter from the Redwood City Daily News about my grandmother in great lengths. As a 1st semester journalism student, I was dealing with news from the inside out, and for the first time. It was hard to do.
My entire family is devastated, having never dealt with death in such a tragic way. Together, we are trying to pick up the pieces and do what we can to make her proud.
By Mitchell Stephens’ definition of “group identity,” my family identity has been forged by an experience that has changed all of our lives, forever. Our identity, much like our Nonni, is truly preserved in our memories, aspirations and values.
News has not only kept me informed over the years, for better or for worse, but it has also carried the terms of my identity, as an individual, and as part of a larger group. For this reason alone, the news I seek should be consistently responsible, reasonable, thoughtful and fair, as any great society, and individual should be.
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