Mike Markham.

I was in Greenville, S.C. on September 11, 2001. I called everyone I knew in New York, but no one among my friends was hurt; no one was lost. In the midst of rehearsals at the time for Federico Garcia Lorca's Blood Wedding, I was playing the part of a woodcutter who went through the forest searching for souls to chop down and harvest. In all of this, I did not really feel anything. I was concerned, shocked, amazed, somber, confused-but nothing like the grief my friend Lynne exhibited. She played Death (an old beggar woman, according to Lorca) and she romped and reveled in blood and destruction onstage-but off, it was all she could do to keep from vomiting. She'd rush to the TV, hoping for word of her brother's aircraft carrier, whether or not it had been deployed to the Middle East. I wanted to cry, to scream; I wanted to feel something, if only to know how I fit into this event. But all I could do was sit back and watch.

A year later, I am blessed with the opportunity to explore my art at The Juilliard School. I am in New York City, not Greenville; I am where it happened. I went out onto the plaza this September 11 to observe the moment of silence, to remember, to pay homage to those who died on that horrible day one year ago. But more so, I went to try to be a part of it. I wondered what it was; I wanted to be strength for people; I wanted to be a rock. I wanted to be touched by the horrific size of a monster that I could not describe or even fear.

Some students chose not to attend, but rather to practice or continue their work elsewhere on campus. Although I was with a company of actors a year ago who chose to continue working through the tragedy because our lives and our art were only bruised, not destroyed by that event, this year I chose to pause and remember those who lost their lives that day… just as I have honored those who died in battles and wars long before me, to provide me with the freedoms and comforts that I would not let others' hate take away from me on September 11 a year ago. If you did work through this September 11 as I did a year ago, I celebrate your choice. But if you worked because you did not care, then I am sad—for those who grieved in spite of you, for those whose lives and loves might vanish. But mostly I am sad for you, that your heart might be buried under such bile and mud that it cannot find the air to scream.

Elliot Isaacson.

Walking uptown on Broadway from Lincoln Center, one passes a string of very conspicuous chain stores. Several days ago I was traveling that route, and saw in the window of Pottery Barn a large poster exhibiting some of their premium candles, probably "orange spruce" scented or something to that effect. A message was printed over the photograph commemorating those who lost their lives on September 11.

On the other side of the avenue there's a Gap shop; hanging in its windows were solid navy blue posters (which showed a frightening resemblance to the clothes you can find inside) with a solemn message which reads "We Remember."

If we can find comfort in knowing that the respective advertising departments of the Gap and the Pottery Barn will remember September 11, we must also find disgust in the fact that they will use the tragedy to sell sweatshirts and candles.

A few months ago a woman who lost her husband on September 11 was interviewed on NPR, and I will never forget what she said. She said that she wished the television networks would stop showing her husband die over and over again. Not an unreasonable request, one would think, but respect and restraint don't help to bolster ratings. In the days surrounding September 11 this year each network aired its own special "tribute," and we watched the buildings go up in flames over and over again.

I watched them too. We watched because when we see the buildings fall something in our chemistry clicks no matter how many times we've seen it before. And we'll watch no matter how many commercials there are in between. At some point we can't do any more "commemorating" without having an alternate motive, whether it's attracting viewers or selling candles or T-shirts. It's been one full year since the horrible tragedy of 9/11, and perhaps our connection to the immediacy of the event has faded enough so that we only sense the ripples in the water. And the waves are exhibiting some commercial interference.

This year, when we commemorate those who lost their lives to September 11, we have to pause for a message from our sponsors.

Voice Box is a student opinion column appearing regularly in The Juilliard Journal. To submit a column for consideration, please e-mail it to journal@juilliard.edu with “Voice Box” in the subject heading, and include a phone number where you can be reached. Columns should cover topics of interest to the Juilliard community, and be about 500 words.