THE DAY THE TOWERS FELL

Some weeks, it’s hard to know what to write about. Some weeks are so devoid of interesting news that I sit and stare at the blank computer screen. Others are so crammed with lunacy that my biggest problem is deciding which pompous ass to stick the needle into next.

This week, of course, is different. There’s only one story. And I’m sorry if you were expecting something funny, because I haven’t been laughing much since last Tuesday.

The question of the Sixties was "where were you when you heard that Kennedy had been shot?" The question for the early 21^st century will be "where were you when you heard about the world Trade Center and the Pentagon?"

I now think I have a feel for the way people must have felt when they heard about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. September 11, 2001 is my generation’s very own day which will "live in infamy."

One major difference, of course, is that those who lived through the Pearl Harbor attack didn’t have to watch it played out on CNN. They didn’t have to watch the USS Arizona sink in front of them, then see it replayed.

There are images that will stick with me forever. The second airplane plowing into the World Trade Center, shown over and over again, viewed from all conceivable angles as if it was the winning touchdown of a football game. People jumping out of high windows, choosing to fall to their deaths rather than burn. Those huge towers, the triumph of American engineering prowess, collapsing and tumbling to the ground, one after the other. The eerily detached analysis by structural engineers on ABC detailing why the buildings fell exactly as they did. The Pentagon, symbol of America’s military might, crumbled and burning out of control.

There were also moments that made me glad I live in this country. The moment when I heard that the hospitals were jammed with people trying to donate their blood to help the injured. The steadily growing suspicion that the plane that went into a field in Pennsylvania may have been deliberately crashed by its passengers so it, too, wouldn’t be used as a flying bomb.

Then there were the moments of rage. Like you probably did, I felt a flash of anger when I saw Palestinians dancing and celebrating in the streets of the West Bank at the news. I confess, for a moment there, I felt like saying, "Screw these people. Tell the Israelis to let the tanks roll. Wipe ‘em out." But then it occurred to me that for every rag-headed Mideastern redneck firing his gun into the air, there may very well have been five ordinary Joe Palestinians gathered around their TV’s or radios going "How could someone DO such a thing?" "I hope to Allah it wasn’t one of ours," and/or "oh, no, we’re gonna get blamed for this."

On that topic, I would have liked to see something in President Bush’s speech to the effect that, "Let’s not take this anger out on every Muslim or person of Arab lineage. We made that mistake right after Pearl Harbor, and a lot of loyal Americans suffered needlessly. Let’s not make the same mistake again." He didn’t say it, but I will.

One thing I don’t get is the constant references by some people about "bringing these killers to justice." This wasn’t a bank robbery or an assassination. President Bush got it right, even if he did take a whole day to do it. This was an act of war. When we find out conclusively who did this, we don’t need to cuff them and read them their rights. We need to wipe them from the face of the earth. Once we have identified the enemy—conclusively—we need to destroy it.

I know I keep returning to the Pearl Harbor analogy. But I can’t help but think of Yamamoto Isoroku, the brilliant Japanese Admiral who, despite his clearly expressed misgivings, obeyed his Emperor and planned the audacious attack on the U.S. Pacific Fleet. After the attack succeeded beyond even Yamamoto’s wildest imaginings, one of his eager young officers, bubbling over with enthusiasm, congratulated the Admiral on his "great victory." Yamamoto, who had studied in the U.S, and who knew its people, looked at the young officer grimly and told him "all we have done is awaken a sleeping giant, and fill it with the desire for vengeance."

A year and a half later, Yamamoto was dead. America, having used its genius (and some of the earliest versions of the modern computer) to crack the Japanese codes, sent a flight of fighters to intercept his plane and shoot him out of the sky. Two years later, Japan lay in ruins. That’s the way to win a war.

Note to the perpetrators: we’re wide awake now. You, on the other hand, better be sleeping with one eye open.

COPYRIGHT 2001 BY JERRY D. RHOADES, JR