This hour of 60 Minutes opens with the long-running work to identify 9/11 victims’ remains — a promise made by the New York City Office of the Chief Medical Examiner that has continued for nearly a quarter century. More than 1,000 families still wait for word. The identification effort has been the largest and most difficult forensic investigation in U.S. history: remains were exposed to jet fuel, diesel, mold, bacteria, sunlight, chemicals, insects, heat and fire, repeatedly degrading DNA. Still, the city’s medical examiner persisted.
When the towers fell, Dr. Charles Hirsch led the initial effort, sending teams to preserve evidence and collect remains. Later, anthropologists sifted millions of tons of debris. In 2006 bone fragments on the Deutsche Bank building roof spurred renewed searches; anthropologist Bradley Adams and a team washed 18,000 tons of excavation material, recovering thousands of new fragments. In total, some 21,905 World Trade Center remains were catalogued and entered into the Disaster Manhattan (DM) files.
Dr. Jason Graham, the current chief medical examiner, says of the 2,753 homicide victims, approximately 60% have been identified and 40% remain without identified remains — about 1,103 victims. The work continues. Mark Desire, the last original member of the original 9/11 medical examiner’s team and now assistant director of Forensic Biology, describes how new technologies have enabled breakthroughs: cryogenic grinding with liquid nitrogen to better access cells inside bone, chemical amplification of DNA, and persistent retesting of fragments, some tested 10–15 times before a match was made.
Two recent identifications are told through families. John Niven, a 44‑year‑old insurance executive who worked in the South Tower, was identified when bone fragments from the site finally matched a cheek swab taken from his infant son 22 years earlier. Ellen Niven, who had remarried and raised other children, was stunned when police arrived with the news while she was decorating a Christmas tree — a shock and a reopening of grief for a door she had thought long closed. Her son Jack, 24, felt the identification as a revelation that people had been working all that time to find pieces of his father.
Andrea “Andy” Haberman, 25, was another recent identification. Her parents, Gordon and Kathy, drove to Manhattan in the days after the attacks and searched hospitals and morgues for answers. They never stopped looking. Some families ask the medical examiner not to inform them if remains are identified, preferring to let grief soften with time; others, like the Habermans, want every revelation. Dr. Jennifer Odien, the medical examiner’s World Trade Center anthropologist, becomes an informal counselor and chronicler for families, adding new identifications to each victim’s DM folder. Each folder inventories remains, from ribs to vertebrae, and estimates how much of a body has been recovered. Families can choose to take remains into private custody or leave them with the medical examiner while the identification effort continues.
The repository for human remains is stored in what used to be the North Tower basement and is now hidden adjacent to the National September 11 Memorial Museum. Families have access to a private Family Reflection Room that looks through a window into rows of dark wooden cabinets holding remains — a private national shrine. For those who find identification, the moment is a mix of grief and closure. For those still searching, the work continues: samples are tested weekly with advanced technology, and the lab insists, “If there’s DNA, we’re going to find it.”
The broadcast then turns to “Aussiewood” — why so many Australian actors, writers, directors and designers have succeeded in Hollywood. The story traces that export of talent to institutions, culture and training back home. One catalyst is NIDA (National Institute of Dramatic Art), often likened to Juilliard — intensely selective (only about a 2% acceptance rate) and focused on practical, rigorous training: classical work, experimental theater and accent work that prepares actors to pivot between stages and screens worldwide. Notable NIDA alumni include Baz Luhrmann, who transformed a student ballroom piece into the film Strictly Ballroom, and actors such as Sarah Snook, who trained there and credits NIDA with an attitude of making things happen rather than waiting for permission.
Interviews with actors and creatives — Sarah Snook among them — emphasize a distinct Australian approach: skill, confidence, courage and a lack of diva behavior. Actors often train across theater, TV and film and return to stage work to stretch themselves. Aussies are noted as “anti-divas” who take work seriously but not themselves. Filmmaker Baz Luhrmann points to a culture of devising and creating — an “Australian attitude” of throwing yourself off the cliff and flying — and credits NIDA and institutions like the Sydney Theatre Company and the steady grind of soap operas for creating resilient performers. The result, the report argues, is disproportionate global success: Nicole Kidman, Hugh Jackman, Cate Blanchett, Margot Robbie, Chris Hemsworth and many others trace part of their craft roots to Australia’s training and culture.
Finally, the program travels to Bhutan, a tiny Himalayan kingdom celebrated for prioritizing Gross National Happiness over Gross National Product. The country’s unique Buddhist culture, traditional architecture, free education and health care, and policies such as keeping at least 60% forest cover have drawn global attention. But modern pressures are changing Bhutan. After the pandemic, many young Bhutanese left for better-paying jobs abroad, often in Australia, and now about 9% of the population has emigrated, mostly young professionals. The loss is an existential crisis: if talented young people depart, who will lead Bhutan’s future?
The king and government have responded with an ambitious plan: the Gelephu Mindfulness City, a new southern city designed to attract business, create jobs and keep young Bhutanese at home while preserving cultural and environmental values. The king selected Danish architect Bjarke Ingels to craft a vision that balances nature and development. Ingels proposes neighborhoods between rivers, public buildings that double as bridges and temples, and a colorful, walkable dam with stairs integrated into its design. The city would have wildlife corridors to protect elephants and tigers and emphasize local materials and low-rise development, and it would be phased over two decades.
Gelephu aims to offer a legal and economic framework favorable to tech firms, including abundant hydroelectric power and a Singapore-modeled legal system to attract investment. The government hopes to lure back diaspora Bhutanese with prosperous, well-paying, value-aligned opportunities. The king framed it as asking the nation to help: in one national address he asked the people to “help me,” and many responded positively, choosing to stay and commit to building Bhutan’s future. The project is large, costly and risky, but it embodies Bhutan’s attempt to blend ancient tradition, environmental stewardship and modern economic life — a test to see whether a country that prioritizes happiness can offer its citizens both prosperity and preserved identity.