The monsters are due on Maple Street

One of the oddest phenomena to be observed in the media extravaganzas passing themselves off as political conventions this year was a kind of nostalgia shown for 9/11.

In the autumn of 2001, 3,000 people had died terribly in an attack on our own soil; their remains were still being unearthed amidst smoking ruins; a major icon of our culture had been destroyed; the stock market was in catastrophic decline and the economy was in recession. But adversity had cemented us for a little while into a people united by our grief, our moral outrage, and our love of country. In this mood of rare national unity we were inspired to acts of courage and generosity that were truly admirable and which, accordingly, made it easy for us to admire one another.

Compared to the bitterly vicious partisanship of the current year, it is no wonder that those few months of sustained shock now seem to have been a golden age. In the autumn of 2001, the terrible attacks of 9/11 united us; now, they are used either as a prop to display moral superiority or as a tool to brand our opponents as cowardly, or worse, unpatriotic.

But the truth is this: now, as then, we are all determined that everything possible be done to prevent similar attacks in the future. The only disagreement between us is as to the best means for achieving that. And that is a rational difference, one that can be discussed in light of verifiable facts and in a spirit of good will, not the kind of conflict of interest that defies reasonable settlement.

Nevertheless, increasingly, this nation seems to be dividing itself into two factions each of which views the other as not only mistaken, but treacherous. We live in an era of paranoia, suspicion and rage. This development is as dismaying to those who wish this country well as it must be satisfying to those who hate us enough to fly airplanes into our buildings.

In the classic “Twilight Zone” episode “The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street,” an idyllic American suburb, replete with lawn-mowing dads and kids playing hopscotch, experiences a sudden and inexplicable power outage. Word goes out that aliens have landed, that they can disguise themselves to look just like humans, and that they may be right there on Maple Street. Fear is followed by mistrust; mistrust by anger; anger by violence. As the residents of Maple Street finish each other off, the camera pans back to a hill overlooking the street, where two figures stand next to the door of their spaceship surveying the carnage.

“Understand the procedure now?” one asks. “Throw them into darkness for a few hours and then watch the pattern unfold.” The aliens have invaded, all right. Just not quite the way everybody expected.

The loss of the Twin Towers made scarcely a dent in the wealth of this country. Even the human loss, as the days surrounding the event so eloquently displayed, could not subdue our spirit. But with the intolerance, hatred, suspicion and anger to which we have since succumbed we have indeed been thrown into darkness, and if we do not take care, a pattern may unfold that could vanquish us here at home despite all the battles our armies win abroad. That would be a sorry monument to raise to those who lost their lives on 9/11. We owe it to them, and ourselves, to restore civility and reason to our conversation on terrorism, and to recognize that the great national heart that showed itself on 9/11 is not mine, or yours, but ours.

Dr. Punnybone

A Bout Face