Delaney Colaio is the co-director and co-writer of the forthcoming film We Go Higher, created by and about children who lost parents on 9/11.

It’s happened again, this time in Manchester, England, a city I’ve never been to but whose people I now feel intimately connected with.

I am 18-years-old. On September 11 2001, I lost my father and two of my uncles in the World Trade Center attacks.

I was only three at the time, but I have a clear memory of returning from ballet class to see my mother crying while watching television. There were two buildings that were on fire. My father, Mark Colaio, worked on the 104th floor of Tower 1, as the senior managing director at Cantor Fitzgerald. It was there that he brought in my uncles, Stephen Colaio and Thomas Pedicini, to work with him. They were all in the office that day. In one fell swoop, I lost three of the most important men in my life.

Growing up, 9/11 wasn’t just part of my life story; it was the singular event that defined me. It shaped everything that came after — including my emotional response to things I have no control over, and a firm belief that love and understanding can always triumph over anger and hate. That can be a hard lesson to keep these days, with so many wanting to build higher walls, keep others out, alienate their neighbors rather than come together. But to me, it’s the only way forward. Always has been.

Recently, my family was asked by the Department of Justice to provide a victim's statement for the five men who were the “masterminds” behind 9/11, currently imprisoned at Guantanamo Bay. Their punishment, if our side “won,” would be the death penalty. After sitting with that in my stomach for a bit, I felt catalysed to take action in a different way. I would never want to be a part of something responsible for killing five people.

Regardless of what they’ve done. However, if given the chance under a different light, I would love to tell these men that they have failed. 

Failed in their attempt to ruin my family’s spirit. Our ideals. Our lives. I wasn’t destroyed by their actions — I am actually stronger because of them. That’s what I would say.

And that’s what I would tell those who are grieving in Manchester. Don’t get hijacked by fear, hatred and ignorance. That’s what really killed the men I love.

I know I’m young, but I lived through the reconstruction of Ground Zero and live daily through the recovery. I know it was not hatred and separation that gave us what it took to get back up when we were shoved down. It was hope. Sept. 11 was the day that we took care of our neighbors, when American flags hung on every porch. It was the day that made us realize that unity is the only path forward.

My fear is that 9/11 has been hijacked by Americans determined to twist and tout a distorted definition of patriotism. They use it to justify and even encourage hate and discrimination, of exclusion and isolation. Because of 9/11, I know exactly what anger and hatred look like.

I watched my mother lose her husband, her brother and her brother-in-law. I watched my grandparents lose their children; my aunts and uncles, their siblings. My brother and I lost our father and uncles, grieving in a bizarrely public way with thousands of other families.

There is no question that America is divided, but rather than tighten our borders, shut down our airports and weave more prejudice into the fabric of our country, can we please consider another approach? America was built on diversity, immigrants, big dreams and hard work ethics, and it’s our differences that make our country what it set out to become. If we build walls and shut down our borders to prevent people from certain countries or religions from entering, we are perpetuating the same fear and discrimination that killed my father.

Manchester, stories of your response to this tragedy make me so proud — stories of you opening up your homes to strangers, to children who got separated from their parents in the attacks. Stories of you leading with love, not fear.

I would do anything to have my dad and uncles back. But in death, they taught me and so many others the true meaning of patriotism: it’s celebrating unity and using tragedy as a catalyst for a more peaceful and loving future.