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June 14, 2003 If I possessed even the slightest bit of foresight, I would have done two things differently within the past 18 months: I would never have paid money to see “The Transporter” (truly awful) and I would have invested in companies that produce orange cones, concrete barriers, and snappy uniforms. Not that I know of any such companies off-hand, as that would make for an unusual product line, but it would have been worth investigating. Why this investor’s epiphany? I’ve come to the conclusion that, aside from the cloak-and-dagger stuff we don’t hear about, the items mentioned above are more or less the first line of defense in the war on terror. Let me explain. For those of you who have never been to the Trenton train station (and I’m assuming that’s most of you), it’s pretty much what you might expect: something in between Grand Central or 30th Street Station and oh, say, a bus stop. In short, not exactly a prime target for terrorists. But you’d think it was the Jefferson Memorial. The pick-up area of the station is littered with orange cones and concrete barriers (undoubtedly to protect the high-profile “Hardee’s” inside the station from a suicidal truck bomber). These impressive fortifications render it nearly impossible to get more than five or six cars in queue to receive passengers. The whole mess is exacerbated by a 24-hour police presence that prevents you from idling for more than thirty seconds. Anything more than that and you get the hard stare that says, “Move along!” Now, believe me: I understand the need for new security measures, including ones that are purely for show, in the post-9/11 world. I just wish they weren’t so overblown (like a mid-size train station getting the same treatment as DC monuments), perfunctory, or, in many cases reactionary. Let’s turn to the perfunctory. Just last month, I had to pick up a friend at the Philadelphia airport. Before I could get into the short-term parking area, I had to allow my car to be inspected. This entailed popping the trunk and getting out so that the security guards could give my car a cursory once-over. Now, the lot’s security that day consisted of two perfectly pleasant, elderly people: one man, one woman. We chit chatted for a bit and I, having passed the inspection with flying colors, went on my merry way. All in all, it was a relatively painless process. It was also extremely superficial, bordering on worthless. Honestly, what are two semi-retirees hoping to find? A round “ACME” bomb with the fuse lit sitting on my passenger seat? Perhaps a big bundle of sticks labeled “TNT” in the trunk, complete with one of those egg timers ticking down to zero? Again, these were perfectly nice folks, but a patch that reads “SECURITY” does not instantly render its bearer a capable executor of such duties. I’d be surprised if those security guards, dutiful as they may be, could thwart any but the most inept - or sleepy - of terrorists. And now to the reactionary: remember Richard Reid? He was that appallingly homely fellow who tried to blow up a passenger jet with a sneaker full of explosives. What happened a week after that? Every Kenneth Cole and Rockport that went through a metal detector was suddenly under suspicion. If a terrorist tried to sneak a plush toy stuffed with gunpowder on board a plane, you can bet that your daughter’s Tigger doll would be subject to summary decapitation for an internal exam (or at least an extra hard stare to let the toy know that the guards mean business). It’s as if we’re playing some warped game of “Simon Says,” with the terrorists calling out the commands. Again, I know that things had to change after 9/11 and that, to a certain extent, just the extra security presence can make a difference. However, the practical - perhaps even cynical - side kicks in every now and then and I have to ask myself what the real value is in some of these measures. Ideally, inconvenience should come with a purpose: simply putting up a maze of cones and barriers won’t exactly deter a terrorist with a mission; they will, however, make it difficult to pick up passengers. Which, oddly enough, is where a real version of the character from “The Transporter” could come in handy. It’s still an awful movie, but he was a pretty nifty driver. ------------ About Matthew Bastian: Recovering socialist, part-time drummer, long-suffering Brewers fan, and all-around beach hound, Mr. Bastian lives in central New Jersey. Email Matthew Bastian: mbastian19@hotmail.com Comment on this column in the forum. ------------ |
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