The repository wall at the 9/11 Memorial & Museum. New York.

In late 2004, as a first-year Performing Arts student at South Cheshire College, I embarked on a journey that would profoundly shape my understanding of storytelling through movement and drama. The piece I was asked to be a part of, aptly titled 'Debris,' was not merely a performance; it was a poignant reflection on one of the most harrowing events in modern history—the 9/11 terrorist attacks in New York City.

As the main narrator of 'Debris,' I found myself at the helm of this emotional voyage, tasked with delivering a message that felt both heavy and urgent. I was honoured to be asked to be involved, and I was filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The raw energy of the year one and two BTEC Dance students, as they each choreographed their own individual motifs, then coming together to create their group dance pieces, and our shared ideas of movement and physicality, filled the air. It was an electric environment, and yet, it was solemn in nature, dedicated to a subject that demanded our utmost respect and attention. 

I grew up in the United Kingdom, and I was an ocean away from Ground Zero when the attacks occurred, yet the shockwaves resonated deeply. I was 26 years old at the time, and I had just started working the 2-10 late shift at Blockbuster Video, when a guy burst through doors asking us if we had a TV. “Someone has flown a plane into the World Trade Centre!” He exclaimed. “What the hell?” I responded, looking at my manager at the time. “How the hell do you fly a plane into one of the two tallest buildings in New York?”

I was old enough to grasp the gravity of the situation yet young enough to be shaped by it. I remember the visceral feelings of fear, sorrow, and disbelief I experienced as I watched the events unfold. 9/11 was not just an American tragedy; it felt like a global one—an event that challenged perceptions and ignited discussions on security, freedom, and humanity itself.

For many of my fellow students, those memories were distant echoes, as they were still quite young when the attacks occurred. Yet, our age difference became a strength rather than a barrier. I found myself in a position where I could share the weight of my experiences while inviting my peers to engage with their own emotions in a nuanced way.

The use of Steven Berkoff's poem 'Requiem for Ground Zero' in our performance was a masterstroke—its raw emotional authenticity and stark imagery became the backbone of our piece. British playwright Steven Berkoff, known for his experimental and provocative theatrical works, wrote Requiem for Ground Zero as a response to the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks in New York. It is a one-man play that reflects on the events and aftermath of 9/11, capturing the horror, grief, and political ramifications through Berkoff's intense, physical, and often controversial performance style. Although we only took a portion of the play for our 50-minute performance, “Requiem” is one hundred verses of four lines each, written in iambic pentameter.

I recall feeling so nervous as I read the epic poem for the first time as we began rehearsals. At the same time, I was also preparing and rehearsing for our first-year production of Federico García Lorca's ‘Yerma’ with my own class of other BTEC Performing Arts students. I began wondering how on earth I was going to learn it all. Needless to say, I lived and breathed it for the next three months.

As I rehearsed my lines, I could feel the implications of every phrase seeping into my consciousness. The poem was both a tribute to the fallen and a rallying cry to remember the resilience of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable adversity.

As the main narrator, my role was to weave together the experiences of loss, hope, and collective memory. I felt a profound responsibility—not just to convey the text but to honour the individuals who had their lives forever altered on that fateful day. The rehearsals demanded that I immerse myself deeply in this narrative, allowing the emotions associated with that tragic event to wash over me. With each run-through, I discovered new layers of meaning in the words, forcing me to confront not only the story being told but also my own feelings of grief and reflection on humanity.

Through the medium of dance and movement, we explored the chaos that enveloped New York, the silence that followed, and the ways in which we connect in moments of shared trauma. With every leap and turn, we sought to embody the frantic energy of the city during those heart-wrenching hours, as well as the stillness that accompanied the gratitude for survival and the mourning for loss.

We staged 'Debris' for five performances in early 2005.

'Debris' became more than just a piece I performed; it was a communal experience that drew us closer as a cast and allowed us to confront a shared history, even if it manifested differently for each of us. The emotional weight of the performance reminded me of the power of the arts to heal, to provoke thought, and to connect across borders and cultures.

Years later, I still reflect on that poignant creation—how it brought together the students to address a painful chapter in our collective memory. It reinforced my understanding of performance as a tool for empathy and dialogue and highlighted the lingering impact of 9/11 on individuals worldwide. Berkoff’s play urged me to confront uncomfortable feelings and grapple with complex themes of loss and hope amidst destruction. I will forever be humbled to have been able to speak his powerful words.

As I look back on 'Debris,' I remember not just the rehearsals, but the connections made, the lessons learned, and the importance of storytelling in preserving memory. Although the events it depicted cannot be changed, our dedication to art ensures that we can continue to honour and reflect upon the weight of history, one performance at a time.

Debris - The Performance

The start of our performance is under darkness, and quite difficult to see due to the quality of the video. To give some context, we begin with a flight safety instructions, which you will no doubt be aware of if you have ever flown anywhere in the world. Next there is a movement piece by one of the 2nd year dancers, and then all other dancers come down to stage one by one. I am the last one to stage at around the 7.51 minute mark. In these sections, we remove our shoes, and hang them from large metal fences, which were situated on both sides of the seating area out of view, and then mimic the movements of firefighters suiting up, preparing to go into the WTC. There were also TV's stacked on either side, a few were just static, and the others were switched off.