I’m writing this column on Sept. 12—the last day before we must go to the printer. I had planned to write about software, but it’s impossible to concentrate on technology now. I don’t think I have anything particularly important to say about yesterday’s incomprehensible events, but I can’t make myself think about anything else.

To those of you who work with David Angell, Berry Berenson, Doug Gowell of Avid, Danny Lewin of Akamai, and all those who lost loved ones and friends, the thoughts of everyone at Millimeter are with you. And to everyone who lives and works in New York—including Millimeter’s own New York-based editors—we are all mindful of the unique losses you have experienced. Even though it has been a long time since I lived at Franklin and Varick, it’s hard to accept that a city I love has been violated so profanely.

Today people are already claiming that this will not change us. But I’m sure that we are changed in many ways we don’t even understand yet, some that may even ultimately bring good. It’s also clear that while we were pondering the entertainment potential of digital video and the web, we never guessed how technology would define this terrible event: We have never seen any moment in history so immediately and so intimately.

I know several distinguished Vietnam-era cameramen who waded into the fray with film cameras, knowing they were potentially transforming democracy with their images. In retrospect they also know that they could only show one viewpoint at a time, unable to completely avoid the bias inherent in all pictures. This time, with the devastating speed of amateur newsgathering, images have filled our television screens and raced across the Internet unedited and unfiltered. This brings its own kind of bias as we each assemble our individual collages from the mass of raw material.

Now we must become our own editors, sorting through the pictures to find our place again, to rebuild our beliefs and priorities. The pictures will call out to us to participate. I think they will compel us to exercise our citizenship more seriously because we can’t say we didn’t know, we didn’t see. These pictures of loss also reaffirm what we have not lost—our fundamental privilege to communicate freely, question ourselves, inspire each other, and participate in the decisions of our democracy.

By the time you read this, who knows what will have transpired. I hope whatever it is will be in keeping with the enormous dignity that so many people have already shown. I hope that the pictures of hate that are burned in our brains will somehow vanquish hate from all our hearts so we can see the way forward. Can any picture be that powerful?

Cynthia Wisehart is the Editorial Director of Millimeter and Video Systems.