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Living in a Fear Factory 10.25.01 | When I’m sitting at my desk in downtown San Francisco, and I hear a siren pierce the air, I admit that I jump. Last week, I saw the lights of a plane flying low over the small town where I live. I immediately ran out onto my deck to investigate, as if I could ” what? Stop an attack? I think I’ve read one too many reports about grounded crop dusters. Recently I’ve noticed more people are becoming scared. Talking through our problems is a very American trait, accentuated by the rise of TV talk shows, talk radio and self-help sections in bookstores. So maybe that’s why mere acquaintances have told me about not being able to sleep at night, or admit they’re taking a close look at their surroundings whenever they venture into public spaces. One guy said he doesn’t want his wife going into any of San Francisco’s office complexes higher than 50 stories. So many competing emotions are being tapped, the resulting anxiety can be overwhelming. The media doesn’t want us to panic, but consistently cues ominous music for ‘the latest developments’ — breathless reports that only rehash anything revealed within the last 24 hours. Government officials try to allay fears, but talk of ordering up smallpox vaccines and leak images of destruction. Most of corporate America, already reeling from the dot-com bust, now blames Sept. 11 for its woes, as the economic declines continues. Maybe it’s the anthrax mania and our lack of knowledge as to who is sending it and where it’s going to end up next that’s keeping us on edge. Perhaps the nightly bombings, civilian deaths and reported chaos at Afghanistan’s borders make us fear for innocent victims. Six weeks after the initial attacks, the macho bravado and chest-thumping-we’ll-get-them bluster is slowly fading. The question “What next?” goes unanswered, so the search for solace goes on. Returning to church has helped some; others have become 24-hour news converts, absorbing every possible moment of war coverage on television and the Internet. Unlike Maureen Dowd, who confronted her fears of a smallpox outbreak by talking with Sen. John McCain (she shares her conversation here), I relate to the war by talking to my wife, parents, in-laws and co-workers. We’re regular people — no special access to vaccines or bodyguards, no one to look after our health and safety. While Dowd worries about who’s running the show in Washington, people I know are having nightmares. The fact that we live so close to San Francisco, and I travel across the Golden Gate Bridge every day for work, scares the heck out of my wife. She’s a teacher, and she recently found out that in the event of an emergency, she and the rest of the faculty have to remain at the school until all the children are picked up — for up to three days. We sat down the other day and tried to figure out how we would meet in such an emergency if the bridges linking the Bay were destroyed. The rush to get out of San Francisco will make it nearly impossible. Personally, I fear for my younger brother, who joined the Air Force because he couldn’t quite figure out what to do and was seduced into thinking he would ’see the world.” He just got back from a three-month stint in Saudi Arabia. He received the anthrax vaccination, even though it scared the hell out of him; he’s heard all the rumors about how the vaccine made people sick. Now he’s sitting in North Dakota, waiting to see what will happen next. He and his friends were partying in the streets of New Orleans at Mardi Gras, when they were stationed in Mississippi; now they attend church services every weekend. In Northern California, flags and other signs of patriotism are everywhere, from boutique windows in Chinatown to construction sites bearing handmade banners saluting New York’s fire and police departments. Still, I get the feeling our optimism is waning. Even though the West Coast seems isolated from New York and the events back east, most people think it’s merely a matter of time before anthrax or something else hits here. What I see when I walk around the city isn’t encouraging: postal workers are shaken; police check ’suspicious’ cars parked along busy downtown streets; guards stand watch at the double-gated garage entrance to the 48-story Transamerica Building, perhaps the city’s most recognizable building. I don’t think a tank could get through. I’ve heard that some workers on the upper floors of the Transamerica Building have hundreds of feet of rope under their desks, just in case. To be honest, I’m conflicted about how (or whether) to prepare for What’s Next. On one level, I think buying gas masks, hoarding Cipro, or measuring rope is extremely irrational. But I also recognize these small steps help people deal with fear that they don’t fully comprehend. I want to remain rational about the possibility of terrorism, but is it wise to apply rationality to irrational acts? One thing I got from Dowd’s discussion with McCain is that it’s OK to be scared. The senator told Dowd about his experiences as a war prisoner, “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid. Every time I heard the guard’s key chain rattle when he came to my cell at an odd hour, I felt fear, but it didn’t incapacitate me.” What I fear most, when it comes right down to it, is that there will be a bloody ground war and more terrorist strikes on public spaces. I know — my fears are both huge and common. And there’s little I can do about them. I consider myself a pretty hard-nosed guy and rational thinker, but I’m struggling to find answers that make sense while also suppressing the urge to run for cover every time I hear a car alarm or police siren. I suppose, however, that I should feel somewhat better: President Bush says he doesn’t have anthrax. Bob Batchelor is a writer and historian based in San Rafael, Calif. He is the author of The 1900s, a book about the intersection of popular culture and history in the first decade of the 20th century (Greenwood, 2002).
Here’s a collection of editorial cartoons about Halloween and the war on terror. |
