For most Pitt students, early September consists of raucous house parties, new classes, warm… For most Pitt students, early September consists of raucous house parties, new classes, warm weather and reunions with friends. This upcoming weekend, though, might inspire more melancholy than excitement.

As most readers are aware, this Sunday marks the 10th anniversary of Sept. 11. Accordingly, today’s magazine — alongside countless other publications across the country — will re-examine the tragedy and its still-affecting aftermath.

Despite the pervasive coverage, however, one observation risks going unmentioned: Ours is the last generation that will remember actually living through 9/11. Those born after, say, 1996, will know of the day’s panic only through their elders and the media. This is both a blessing — at the very least, younger Americans won’t witness the same Islamophobia — and a cause for concern.

The more chronologically remote a disaster becomes, the less emotional resonance it retains. Pearl Harbor, we suspect, does not disturb students in nearly the same way 9/11 does; and the 1906 San Francisco earthquake likely registers even less profoundly. Sure, we have images to remember these events by, images which might arouse sympathy, but there’s no substitute for living through the ordeal and experiencing firsthand the resulting panic.

As earth-shattering as it was for us, 9/11 will inevitably undergo the same sterilization. In fact, it would be astounding if the event’s 20th or 30th anniversaries were to be as hallowed as this one. By its 100th anniversary, Sept. 11, 2001, will be lucky to garner mention at all.

But rather than despairing, our generation, as witnesses to history, can still protract the disaster’s significance by retelling our experiences of it as vividly, as faithfully and as regularly as possible to those born after the mid-1990s. Solemn anniversaries and perfunctory moments of silence aren’t enough; in order to remain relevant, the event must retain its human element, which is contained chiefly in individuals’ accounts.

Already, a robust catalogue of artwork — Don DeLillo’s “Falling Man,” Paul Greengrass’s “United 93,” Bruce Springsteen’s The Rising — exists for just such a purpose. But the obligation to tell stories extends beyond artists. Everyone who remembers watching the chaos unfold on TV or who, God forbid, saw it happen firsthand, must work to ensure that those who weren’t yet born or aware enough in 2001 nevertheless understand its psychological impact.

Ground zero has been cleared of rubble. Osama bin Laden is dead. One World Trade Center is rising to fill the void left by the Twin Towers. In light of these developments, it’s all too easy to neglect the memory of Sept. 11, and to forge forward with a clear conscious. But if we carry out our duty as storytellers — if we treat history as a matter of personal experience — then, perhaps, the potency of 9/11 will endure beyond our lifetimes.