A personal reflection on the ordinary Tuesday when everything changed, and the newsroom responded to an unprecedented crisis.
It was an ordinary Tuesday, one that began with a sense of optimism both within and outside of the Guardian newsroom. The Labour party had recently been re-elected for a second term, and the internet was increasingly bringing the world closer to us. But by lunchtime, everything changed.
A group of us had gathered to celebrate a new partnership with the Hay festival, where the mood was light and perhaps even a bit smug. But that afternoon, as we sat enjoying our meal, a waiter appeared asking for Ed Pilkington, the foreign editor. He returned with a strange look, telling us that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. It was dismissed as a joke at first, but moments later, the situation turned much graver. Another waiter returned asking for Gary Younge, who quickly left to catch the next flight to New York.
In those few minutes, we experienced a shift – a passage from a world that seemed familiar to one that would never be the same again. As we rushed back to the office, the newsroom was filled with hushed chaos. There, we watched in disbelief as images of the second plane crashing into the tower were replayed over and over again. Editors immediately shifted gears, tearing up their plans and starting to work on the first edition of a new era. It was a tragedy unfolding before our eyes, one we knew would reverberate for decades to come.
