It is the image that almost everyone knows but many people refuse to look at. A lone man, falling perfectly vertical against the backdrop of the North Tower's steel facade. You've probably seen it. It’s called "The Falling Man," captured by Richard Drew at 9:41 a.m. on September 11, 2001. But that single photo is just one of hundreds. For years, the 9 11 photos of jumpers were basically scrubbed from the American consciousness. It was too raw. Too painful. People called them "jumpers," but if you talk to the families or the forensic experts who were there, they’ll tell you that term is actually pretty controversial.
They didn't jump. They were forced out by the heat.
The air inside the towers was reaching temperatures that melt skin. It wasn't a choice between life and death; it was a choice between how to die. Even now, over two decades later, these images spark a visceral reaction that other photos of the day don't. We can look at the planes hitting the buildings. We can look at the dust clouds. But looking at a human being in their final seconds? That's different. It’s a level of intimacy that feels almost intrusive, yet these photos remain some of the most important historical records of what happened inside those upper floors.
The censorship of the falling
On the morning of September 12, 2001, newspapers across the country ran Richard Drew’s photo. The backlash was instant. People were furious. They felt it was exploitative or that it stripped the victims of their dignity. So, the media stopped showing them. For a long time, the 9 11 photos of jumpers just disappeared from public view. It became a sort of "silent" part of the tragedy.
Journalist Henry Singer eventually made a documentary about it because the erasure felt wrong. If you ignore the people who fell, you’re ignoring a significant portion of the victims. Estimates vary, but most reports, including those from The New York Times and USA Today, suggest between 50 and 200 people fell or were forced out of the windows.
Think about that number for a second.
It’s not just a statistic. Each one of those dots in a grainy photograph was a person with a desk, a family, and a morning coffee that was still sitting on a table somewhere. The NIST (National Institute of Standards and Technology) report on the collapse of the towers actually had to look at these photos to understand the fire conditions. They weren't looking for "jumpers" for the sake of tragedy; they were looking for air flow. But you can't separate the science from the humanity when you’re looking at those frames.
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Why we struggle with the "Jumper" label
Words matter. Especially here. The New York City Medical Examiner’s Office has been very clear about one thing: none of these people were classified as "suicides."
"A 'jumper' is somebody who goes to the office in the morning knowing that they will commit suicide," said Ellen Borakove, the former spokesperson for the Chief Medical Examiner. "These people were forced out by the smoke and flames or blown out of the windows."
When you look at the 9 11 photos of jumpers, you’re seeing people trying to survive. Some were seen holding onto the window ledges until they couldn't hold on anymore. Others were trying to use tablecloths or curtains as makeshift parachutes. It’s heartbreaking. It’s also incredibly human. To call it suicide is a misunderstanding of the physics of the situation. The oxygen was gone. The heat was 1,000 degrees. You don't "choose" to leave in that scenario; your body reacts to the impossibility of staying.
The identity of the Falling Man
For years, people tried to figure out who the man in Richard Drew's famous photo was. It became a bit of an obsession for some. Initially, a reporter thought it was Norberto Hernandez, a pastry chef at Windows on the World. His family was shown the photo. It caused a massive rift because of the religious stigma some associated with the act of falling. They didn't want it to be him.
Later, the search shifted to Jonathan Briley. He worked at the same restaurant. He was a sound engineer. His brother, Timothy, recognized his clothes—the orange undershirt Jonathan often wore under his uniform. But even then, we can't be 100% sure.
That’s the thing about these photos. They are often blurry. They are distant. They capture a person in a moment where their identity is being stripped away by the sheer scale of the event. Maybe it’s better that we don't know for sure. It makes the man in the photo a representative for everyone who was trapped above the impact zones. He becomes every man.
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The technical reality of the images
Photographers like Richard Drew, David Surowiecki, and others didn't set out to take "morbid" photos. They were doing their jobs. Drew was at a fashion show when he got the call. He went from shooting models to shooting the end of the world.
He used a 200mm lens. He was blocks away. In the sequence of photos he took of the Falling Man, the man is actually tumbling. He isn't always in that perfect, graceful vertical line. It was just one frame—one tiny fraction of a second—where he looked like he was in control of his descent.
Dealing with the trauma of the witnesses
If looking at the photos is hard, imagine being there. People on the ground, like firemen and police officers, have talked about the "thud" sounds. It’s a sound that many veterans of that day say they can never unhear. It was constant.
Dan Potter, a firefighter, described it as a sound that didn't make sense to his brain at first. He thought it was debris. When he realized it was people, the psychological weight of the day changed. This is why the 9 11 photos of jumpers are so heavily guarded in the 9/11 Memorial & Museum today. They are there—they aren't erased—but they are kept in a specific area that requires you to consciously decide to look. They aren't just plastered on the walls for everyone to see. There’s a respect there. A recognition that this is the absolute limit of what a person can witness.
The global perspective
Interestingly, the way these photos were handled in Europe was totally different. While the US media largely self-censored, newspapers in London, Paris, and Berlin kept publishing them. They saw it as an essential part of the "unvarnished" truth.
There's a philosophical debate here. Do we protect the feelings of the living, or do we honor the reality of the dead? Most photojournalists lean toward the latter. They argue that if you don't show the people who fell, you are sanitizing a massacre. You're making it about buildings and planes instead of about flesh and blood.
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What the photos teach us now
Looking at 9 11 photos of jumpers in 2026 feels different than it did in 2001. We live in a world where everyone has a camera. If 9/11 happened today, there would be thousands of high-definition videos of these moments on social media within seconds. We wouldn't be able to "opt out" of seeing it.
The photos remind us of the sheer desperation of those trapped in the North Tower. Because the South Tower was hit lower and collapsed faster, fewer people fell from there. Most of the photos come from the North Tower, where people were trapped for over 100 minutes above the 92nd floor. All the stairwells were blocked. There was no way down.
When you see those photos, you're seeing the reality of being trapped. It forces us to confront the "why" of the day. It’s not a political statement. It’s a human one.
How to approach this history
If you are researching this or looking at these archives, it’s important to do it with a certain level of intention. It shouldn't be about voyeurism.
- Acknowledge the context: These individuals were in an unsurvivable situation.
- Respect the families: Many families still find these images deeply traumatic and prefer to focus on the lives lived rather than the final seconds.
- Look for the stories: Behind every photo is a name. Even if we don't know the name of the "Falling Man," we know the names of those who were missing from Windows on the World, Cantor Fitzgerald, and Marsh & McLennan.
- Understand the impact on first responders: The people who had to see this in person suffered high rates of PTSD. The photos are a window into their trauma as well.
The legacy of the 9 11 photos of jumpers isn't just about the horror. It’s about the truth of what was stolen that day. It’s the most difficult evidence we have of the crime committed.
To truly understand 9/11, you have to understand the choices people were forced to make. You have to look at the windows. It’s uncomfortable. It should be. The moment we become "okay" with looking at these photos is the moment we’ve lost our empathy. Keep that empathy. Use it to remember the people, not just the towers.
Moving forward, the best way to honor this history is to visit the National September 11 Memorial & Museum’s digital archives or read the documented oral histories of the survivors and first responders. Engaging with the primary sources ensures the narrative stays focused on the human experience rather than sensationalism. For those specifically researching the photographic history, Richard Drew’s interviews with the Associated Press offer the most direct insight into the ethics of capturing those moments.