Whatever the procedures are for the military tribunals, our system will be more fair than the system of bin Laden and the Taliban. That is for certain. The prisoners that we capture will be given a heck of a lot better chance in court than those citizens of ours who were in the World Trade Center or in the Pentagon were given by Mr. bin Laden.

— President George W. Bush, 12/28/2001

The U.S.A., like God or something, ought to be a big enough idea to accommodate each of our visions of it. You and I probably don't agree about it. Nor Ralph Nader and I. Nor Ashcroft and I. Etcetera.

Experiencing the 9/11 attacks and all that's happened since hasn't kindled a new kind of patriotism in me. I was actually pretty patriotic already. Though my grief and anger about the attacks continue to ache, I'm aching most as a New Yorker, not as an American (nor as an alarmed liberal, nor as a Jew, though those are both there).

And even then, in the speechless dread when I stare at the hole in the sky over downtown, or notice how the streets are dyed lighter by remnants of death-dust ground into asphalt, concrete and limestone, even then I'm not interested in the pins and the ribbons and the hats and the new uses of the word "hero." I've nodded appreciatively at a few firemen, and even softened my wariness toward a couple of cops, but I don't have a lot to say to those guys. It would feel too much like a performance.

However, this happened to me a few weeks ago... I was leaving work and walking east. I passed the fire station a block from my office just as the red door was sliding up and the engine was edging out over the sidewalk, partway into 18th Street. A couple of the guys were up front in the cab. The rest paced behind, waiting for the firetruck to clear the doors so they could climb aboard. The rear of the engine made it halfway along the sidewalk toward the curb—all of this happened right as I was coming alongside the station—and the guys hustled onto the running boards and into the back of the cab. Yellow jackets, the big boots, one or two bringing axes onto the truck.

They hustled in and as the last fireman pulled a back door shut, another leaned up in his seat and rapped the inside ceiling with his fist, telling the driver they were ready to pull out. It all happened in less than 15 seconds, and the fire engine honked once, wheeled to the right, and rode away. And seeing them head out to do it again, for the next and next time, with all the wilted flowers and wrinkled pictures from schoolkids still pasted to the bricks of the firehouse I got a chill. Not a chill of dread. More like a thrill, of recognition that I was witnessing serious business that felt more fateful after so many guys have died than it would have before. And a chill of admiration, I think. Honestly I did feel a little like a sap—but also like I was participating in something, even as a 10-second bystander.

On the 7th, we started bombing in Afghanistan. I think most practical people felt this was inevitable. But I also think the military acted too soon. In the week leading up to the bombing, Taliban leaders in Afghanistan had been shifting their position, I assume in response to growing diplomatic pressures and the increased military presence. It may not have needed to go this far. Then the president made a "second chance" offer, which I think confirmed that the U.S. was still hoping to use force as a persuader, not as a long-term strategy. Of course, the problem with pressuring a group as hard-line as the Taliban leaders is that they can't appear to capitulate. So by beginning action, we in effect commited to decimating the Taliban.

While the U.S. may have overplayed its hand, Osama bin Laden really messed up. Did you see his video message? He sounded like a psychopath, like a villain in a Bond movie. (My Dad's actually made the comparison on 9/11 that bin Laden really is like an Ian Fleming arch-villain, a murderous rogue billionaire.) If he wanted to keep the mystique of a cause-driven rebel, he shouldn't have come out with such a blatantly murderous message. Who's going to support that except the people who already agreed? Stupid.

Once a Frank Rich skeptic, I have been impressed with most of what he's said since the president took office. This week he wrote about the troubling call by Condoleezza Rice asking TV executives to limit the exposure of Osama bin Laden video, saying:

...there is much we don't know about what [the] admini-stration is up to, and its determination to keep us in the dark and to stifle any criticism makes the minimal amount of dissent more alarming than reassuring. (NYT, 10/12/01)

Many friends of mine have expressed alarm at how circumspect and cooperative the left has been as the rhetoric of war and the extension of the government's war powers have escalated. I was hopeful that the relative compliance of people like Tom Daschle and Dick Gephardt was temporary, founded in calculated global diplomacy and shrewd political prudence. But when the White House starts enlisting the TV networks in "patriotic" limitations to their reporting, I think things have gone too far and we all need to speak up. You can help, simply by reminding anyone who uses unity-talk as an excuse for silence that the last stop on that train is Taliban headquarters.

Several days ago I took a taxi across the Brooklyn Bridge, which would have been jarring enough on its own, and my driver was Arabic. I looked over for the license posted on the partition and saw that it wasn't there. "Where's your license?" I asked. He reached behind his head and fiddled with the slot mounted in the partition. He slid the license out and replaced it, facing front. He had turned it around and hidden his name and picture. His first name was Hussain. This was less than two weeks after the attacks, so I figured he was trying to keep people from giving him a hard time.

"People do not understand, I've been in this country eleven years," he said. When we stopped, I asked his name as he handed me the change. "Oh, no, no ...!" he demurred, waving me away.

"You're Hussain?" I asked again, not sure he'd understood what I'd meant. I grabbed his hand, shook it, and introduced myself.

"Okay, okay," he said, understanding and dismissing me with a nervous smile.

Esther related this story from the 11th that she heard secondhand:

A guy who worked in the south tower was having an affair with his secretary. They got together somewhere before work that morning. He had turned off his cell phone and knew nothing about the attacks until after 10, when they got up and got ready to go in late.

There were about eight messages, mostly from his wife. Frantic pleas to call her immediately. He called right then and reached her. "Thank God you're alright!" she shouted. "Do you have any idea what's going on!?!"

"Honey, I'm fine ..." he said.

"Where are you?!"

"Everything's okay, really," he continued. "I'm sitting right here at my desk."

... things didn't go well from there.

JM, 10/14/2001

A colleague from France wrote a few days ago:

... french people are very choked by the outrage and feel very close to the american people. A lot of courage for you.

And a reporter I know who's been down at the site of the destruction said:

... it is, without question, the worst thing i've ever seen.

At the bank the other day, the teller gave me my receipt and, instead of "nice," said "Have a safe day."

Last night I was watching CNN and a woman calling in suggested that Muslim Americans be set up in "safehouses" for their own protection. "They'll be safer," she said, "and so will we." The anchorwoman pointed out that this was what the U.S. did with Japanese Americans in the 40s and it hadn't worked out so well. She added "You can't just round up everybody."

JM, 9/20/2001