[Infowarrior] - The New Shape Of Fear

[Richard Forno]

The New Shape Of Fear
At the Airport, Toiletries Take On Diabolical Meaning

By DeNeen L. Brown
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, August 11, 2006; C01
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/08/10/AR2006081001
666_pf.html
Whoever thought it would come to this, when the evils of humanity could be
squeezed into a tube of toothpaste?

Squeezed into ordinary, everyday items so benign and necessary that common
people would not have thought them potential containers of evil.

Like, really?

Bottles of shampoo? Suntan lotion? Hand cream? Hair gel? Clear vessels of
spring water?

Dumped like potential tools of criminals at airport security terminals,
prohibited from being smuggled in carry-on luggage.

Clear containers of suspicion: insulin without a patient's name? Throw it
away. Breast milk without the baby? Throw it out. What evil man would carry
a bottle of baby formula without a baby?

W.H. Auden wrote: "Evil is unspectacular and always human / And shares our
bed and eats at our own table."

What happens when the ordinary becomes extraordinary, becomes suspicious?
What happens when a woman -- or man, perhaps Johnny Depp -- can no longer be
trusted carrying a tube of mascara onto a plane? What happens when the
unsuspected, tiny products on grocery shelves -- chocolate syrup, jars of
jam, grape juice -- gnaw away at security and, thereby, sanity in a world
where colors became threats? Where orange no longer means happiness but
"High Risk of Terrorist Attacks?"

At Reagan National Airport, men in black uniforms are standing at the end of
moving sidewalks passing out hastily made fliers: "By Order of the
Department of Homeland Security Transportation Security Administration --
PASSENGERS MAY NOT HAVE LIQUIDS OR GELS OF ANY SIZE AT THE SCREENING
CHECKPOINT OR IN THE CABIN OF THE AIRCRAFT. . . . Beverages purchased in the
sterile area must be consumed before boarding the aircraft."

And you think maybe nowhere is safe -- except "the sterile area" -- but you
wonder where that is and would they let you go there if you were really in
need of a "sterile" place for your own sanity?

Again we are back here, in the lap of terror. But cast into a different
dimension of terror, into the hall of ordinary things. Threatened by
toothpaste, running out of trust and overtaken by skepticism.

"Now, I have that fear when I leave the house in the morning, I never know
whether I will come back," says Homa Saghafi, who lives in Fairfax County.
"I wonder whether you can still put jelly on sandwiches. Isn't that gel? On
the plane, they will give you a drink, but you can't be trusted to take it
on."

And you wonder about all those people who down bottles of water and gulp
their coffee because it would be insane to dump a $5 cup. Don't they become
the crazy, jittery ones high on caffeine? And you think of all the waste
piling up, produced by people who don't have time to pour liquids into their
bodies before they get through security, and you wonder about lines in
airplanes for those tiny bathrooms with folding doors and signs admonishing
the user to wipe the sink as a courtesy for the next passenger.

You walk by emergency boxes that look like old-fashioned telephone booths,
but they are lit up from inside with red glowing lights: "Press for Help."
You would like to press the button but you are not sure what you would say
if somebody answered. Perhaps you would pose the question: What is safe
anymore? Where is safety? Can't we just all get along? Will my bottle of
Prell kill me?

You are in search of the "sterile area."

You encounter a sign that you are unsure how to read. It is like a relic
found on an anthropological dig, a sign of how people once lived long ago.
Except the sign is still standing in the lobby of Terminal B. You wonder
whether anybody else notices the irony. The sign with a large photo of a
steaming cup of coffee says simply: "High Octane."

You pass by other signs warning of prohibited items, guns, flammable or
explosive materials such as fireworks or lighters, sharp objects, such as
knives or pointed scissors, tools such as hammers or screwdrivers, clublike
items such as billy clubs, baseball bats and golf clubs, disabling chemicals
such as Mace.

No one has yet added toothpaste.

Another sign that makes you wonder about the age and innocence of the copy
writer poses this question: "Exactly Zero percent of passenger jets can be
fueled by wind, solar or nuclear energy. So what's the alternative?" The
sign is signed "Chevron, Human energy."

It is human energy that we have become so afraid of. No computer can match
it. No machine can stop its brilliance. Only another human mind could come
up with the scenario of assembling bombs on airplanes with liquid hidden in
toothpaste.

Then you encounter Matt Davenport, 41, of Boston. A staff sergeant in the
Air Force. He is sitting with Roger Hardy, 36, a former specialist in the
Army. And they are drinking coffee outside the security gate. And they are
not alarmed by this latest security threat. They have no problem with
officials confiscating toothpaste.

"I think they are doing their jobs," Davenport says. "If the public has a
problem with it, take a bus."

"It's not the toothpaste," Hardy adds, "it's what can be in the toothpaste."

They say because of their military experience they have a more profound
understanding of the dangers that elude us.

"More than the general public who are out doing their every day-to-day life.
They are not involved in daily confrontations with bad guys," Davenport
says. "We are aware of certain things that ordinary people don't talk
about."

"Good security," Hardy adds, "is not necessarily convenient."

They are on their way home to Boston. They have not yet gone through their
carry-on bags to dump the toothpaste. But they seem unafraid.

"It's part of life," Hardy says. "It's always there. You don't wake up and
say, 'Oh, my God, something bad will happen today.' You just live knowing
it's there."

"The threat will always be there," Davenport says. "It's been here long
before 9/11. It's been around forever. "

"A lot of people don't like Americans when you go overseas," Hardy says.

And you think as you stand there, this is what those Americans mean when
they say, "They serve, so you don't have to." And you thank them for their
service. Because their knowledge seems to make you feel a bit more secure.
But you have one more question for them, since they are waiting. "Does this
mean, then, that man is inherently good or inherently evil?"

Because you really want to know. Because the tubes of toothpaste and bottles
of shampoo have you thinking evil thoughts.

"I think good," Davenport says. "For every whack job, nut case, zealot,
there are people who just want to live their lives."

So you walk away a bit more secure. Still, you are looking for that sterile
place just in case that orange thing is real.

And you notice there is so little chaos here, now hours after the news from
England broke. And you think how quickly people adapt to threat. The lines
are snaking with a certain order. The trash cans are filled with full water
bottles and coffee cups and bottles of lotion.

And you think about the power of things. And you wander into As Kindred
Spirits, a store with pretty things, and you begin to wonder whether pretty
things, too, will soon be banned. Like this shiny metal box that is
inscribed with the words: "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly."
And: "No act of kindness no matter how small is wasted."

Just then, Laurie Lemmons, who is on her way to Atlanta, asks the clerk:
"Ma'am, would we be able to take this stuff on the airplane today?"

"It's metal," the clerk replies. "I think so."

Behind the counter hangs a wooden piece of art on which words are painted:
"They came to sit and dangle their feet off the edge of the world, and after
a while they forgot everything but the good and true things they would do
someday."
© 2006 The Washington Post Company