“Please pardon me for the delay,” the mythical man known as Jamel Shabazz says to me in an email. “I had surgery on my back a couple of weeks ago, and I am in recovery right now.” Uncle Jamel, as I call him in emails and messages to others as a sign of respect, is absolutely still a man all about uniting people together and sharing love as he ever was — now in his late 60s. Recently, I had to dive back into our archives to find stories that we’ve written about Jamel. He asked me to be the person to write an essay to accompany his exhibit happening at the Hofstra Museum. And while going through the several interviews this website has done with him, I uncovered a tale that still needed to be told.
All images by Jamel Shabazz and provided to the Phoblographer with permission. Jamel has released a few new books. One is Drama and Flava by Powerhouse books and the other is Prospect Park: My Oasis in Brooklyn by Prestel books. We encourage you to check them out.
In 2013, I asked Jamel about a time when he was truly scared in his career. “On September 11, 2001 while standing two blocks north from the World Trade Center minutes after the first plane struck, I stood in awe with my NIKON M90 watching helpless people dangle from windows and many jumping to their deaths,” he told me. Here’s the rest:
Just when I decided to compose an image of tower one, the second plane hit from the south and I was able to record the impact of the blast as flames and debris engulfed the sky of that once beautiful fall morning. I vividly remember a police officer screaming to bystanders around me, saying” You all better get out of here before you all die.” That is when the reality of the moment hit me and a feeling of uncertainty filled my mind.
Jamel Shabazz
I realized when writing the essay about his work that there’s a story that the world hasn’t heard or read yet. And it’s one that is incredibly important. You read a lot about where some of the world’s greatest street photographers were during 9/11. But no one has ever really talked to Jamel Shabazz, a life-long New Yorker, about his experience during 9/11.
Jamel was working at 100 Center Street in Lower Manhattan as a Correction Officer during September 11th, 2001. He just arrived to work at around 8:30AM to start at 9AM. A coworker told Jamel about a plane that had crashed into the World Trade Center.
With little time before starting work, he grabbed his camera with a fresh roll of film and walked the 8 blocks to the Trade Center. The sound of sirens was all around and all were racing to the World Trade Center. Everywhere around him, people were frightened at what was going on.
Jamel witnessed people jumping out of the towers to their deaths and even felt the blast of the second tower being hit. This is when he decided to return to work and heard on the radio that the Pentagon had been attacked, too. He realized after a while that America was under attack.
He documented the experience with his camera and knew just how important this was going to be for history. At 9 p.m., he headed home, and all over his neighborhood, people were showing pictures of their loved ones and asking if anyone had seen them.
It took Jamel 20 years to really recover from that experience.
We asked Jamel about a memorable conversation he had that day. To keep history intact, I’ve decided to provide Jamel’s firsthand account for you all to read.
Jamel’s Own Words
At the time, I worked at 100 Center Street in Lower Manhattan as a Correction Officer. I had just arrived at work around 0830 to start my 0900 x 1730 tour of duty at Manhattan Supreme Court when I was informed by a coworker that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center, that plane was America Airline Flight 11 which I would learn was hijacked with 92 passengers aboard.
Having a little time to spare before I started my tour, I grabbed my camera which was loaded with a fresh roll of color film, and I proceeded to the World Trade Center which was about 8 blocks away. As I got closer, all you could hear was the constant sound of police and fire department vehicles as they raced in the direction of the World Trade Center. The streets were full of frightened and curious people. I made it to about two blocks from the towers, and I could see the thick black smoke mixed with horrific flames coming out of the North Tower.
I watched in a state of shock. I could hear onlookers just a few feet away, screaming and crying as they were witnessing people trapped in the Towers in total fear, having no choice but to jump to their deaths rather than burn to death. I had my camera out and I started to document all that I was seeing when suddenly I heard this loud sound and United Airlines Flight 175 hits the South Tower, the blast was so strong I could feel the intense heat from it, while seeing debris from both the plane and buildings high in the sky bearings down on the crowded streets. I remember a police officer yelling to the crowd, “You better get out of here or you all are going to die!”
It was at that point that I decided to return back to my job to figure out what was going on. When I arrived, all of my co-workers were gathered around a radio, all of a sudden, a voice came on the radio saying that a plane had just crashed into the Pentagon in Washington, DC. The plane was American Airlines flight 77 with 64 people aboard. At this moment, we all realized that there was a well-calculated attack taking place in America.
Just a few minutes later, we all heard another shocking report that a fourth plane had crashed: that was United Airlines Flight 93 in Pennsylvania with 44 passengers aboard. I then left that particular area and I went into an area that had a decent view of the Towers, and within minutes I heard this thunderous sound of destruction, followed by a black, ghost-like, grey and black smoke filling the air. I was now a witness to an attack that would change life as we once knew it.
The main thoughts that were going through my head at the time were that America was under a serious, well-coordinated attack, and that war and retaliation were imminent.
From the moment I arrived in the area, to my time spent working as a first responder at ground zero, I documented the entire experience. What was most important to me was trying to help in locating those who were hurt and trapped in the buildings. I knew it was an important history that needed to be documented.
Heading home that night was rough. I must have left Ground Zero around 9 PM, and I remember walking down Broadway heading north, and both sides of the streets were filled with friends and family holding up photographs of their loved ones who were missing. I remember the face of an older Black man holding up a photo of a young woman that he said was his daughter, who worked in the World Trade Center. In my thoughts, after living Ground Zero, I felt deep down inside that there would be no survivors.
It would take me over 20 years to get myself back to normal. Just these past couple of years, things have gotten better for me.
The conversation was an exchange between me and an older brother, who I always looked at as a mentor, his name is Richard Green, a former US Marine who served in the Vietnam War. Richard is a highly respected community activist who lives in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn, he also served as an instructor at the NYC Police Academy where he taught new recruits about empathy and community relationships. On September 11th, at approximately 4PM, while working as a first responder with fellow co-workers at Ground Zero, I saw Richard, standing by himself, looking at all of the devastation in a state of disbelief.
Seeing him gave me a degree of comfort, because I considered him a good friend and big brother. When I approached him, he seemed happy to see me. We exchanged salutations and talked about all the events that had transpired earlier that day. He spoke about the things he had witnessed in Vietnam during his time in the country, but never had seen so much devastation as he was now. He went on to point to a very large, metal structure that was once a piece of one of the towers, he said on the upper part was a body, I looked in the direction which he was pointing, and saw the broken remains of someone that died that day, I could not tell if it was a male or female, all I knew was that out of the 2,977 people that died on that horrific day, I was seeing someone’s child that would never be returning home.
