As a Canadian I look at the attack on the U.S. on September 11th and think it happened far away—in another land. In some ways it did and in others it was in our own backyard.

Canada is a peaceful nation proud of its multicultural character. But a week after the September 11th call to arms, I experienced a moment too close to the fire. In ninety seconds, between three stops on a downtown subway, my perspective changed.

I was riding the TTC (Toronto subway) around 10:00pm after my first writing class of the fall semester. Emotions from the previous week had calmed down and people were returning to their routines and everyday habits. But then I witnessed an outburst that brought the anger and hatred of the situation down to a microcosmic level.

Thoroughly engaged in Bill Bryson's book In a Sunburned Country, which lured me into the vast and unique world of Australia, I was content, enjoying the space of my own imagination. My mind was quite absorbed with thoughts of beaches and surf when I witnessed something that jolted me back to the present and reminded me that September 11th was only a week past. A young woman had entered the subway and stopped a man to tell him it was rude that he cut in front of her. He didn't apologize, shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'whatever' and turned his back on her.

She was a Muslim by appearance, in that she wore a headscarf. In every other way she looked like any other girl, dressed in khakis and a T-shirt over a long sleeve shirt, with a bag slung over her shoulder and a pair of old school Adidas. Initially I didn't consider the situation unusual and so I went back to my book, turning my thoughts to the poisonous spiders Down Under, most of which have venom strong enough to kill a man. We worry about terrorists, but the denizens of Sydney recognize that the Sydney Funnel spider can kill you in your backyard swimming pool.

Suddenly, from the back of the car, I heard her angrily yelling: "Let me go! Let me go!" Everyone on the car stopped whatever they were doing and froze in a state of confusion. Perhaps this only happens in Toronto, but when someone acts strangely on the subway, people ignore that person and suddenly find the shoes of other passengers very interesting.

Her male companion tried to restrain her, hold her and keep her back from something. I realized she was freaking out because the man who cut in front of her getting on the train, was provoking her by whispering racially motivated accusations about how she was to blame for what happened in New York. He was so quiet most passengers couldn't hear his belittling comments.

"I didn't do anything. It wasn't me. They don't know for sure who did it. We're not all like that," she exclaimed. Defending her faith, her wardrobe, her birthright.

She fought with the ferocity of a tiger being held back from its prey or defending its territory. It was enough to raise the heart rate of every passenger on that eastbound subway car making its way over the Don Valley.

Sadly riders sat motionless, staring at each other with a look of confusion and anxiety because, for that moment, this new war had trickled down into our suddenly shared world. An unfamiliar weight hung in the stale air of the car as it rattled along the rails. It was the longing to deny the truth of what caused this outburst. I clung to my book with this longing.

Meanwhile, her scarf was being torn from her head as a result of her struggle to get to this man. Only one man had the nerve to confront the instigator and did what most of us should have done. He stood up, grabbed the center pole to anchor his anger, pointed to the man and raised his voice, "we all know what went on in New York City, and we're not going to repeat the situation here, so get the fuck off this train."

He did—at the next stop—as if some invisible force pushed him out the door. If this can happen on the TTC, then we are all being affected by the attacks on America. I thought it was something I only read about in the paper or saw on the news, but it's real and it's affecting people of all walks of life.

The car was remarkably quiet for the next two stops. Only the hollow sound of the train going over the tracks echoed between the bridge and the bottom of the Don Valley. I sat numb to the reality that one day my memoir may include chapters of living in wartime Canada, similar to Simone de Beauvoir's account of living in wartime Paris in The Prime of Life.

Apparently there is a variety of seashell in Australia that can kill you if you step on it. Not the actual shell, but the bite from a tiny, venomous creature that lives inside.

Copyright © 2001 Juli Strader. All Rights Reserved.

Last year Juli traveled around Australia and thankfully didn't step on any spiders or seashells.