
First came the warnings. Then panic. Then confusion. Then, inevitably, the duct-tape jokes. As Americans read out last week8217;s 8216;8216;code orange8217;8217; warning, the country8217;s mood veered from traumatised to tongue-in-cheek.
The atmosphere was grim: New Yorkers stocked up batteries and water, while Washingtonians sealed off 8216;8216;safe rooms8217;8217; with duct tape and plastic sheets. But from cozier locales, the responses ran to the derisive. 8216;8216;Did MacGyver come up with the idea?8217;8217; said Jay Leno, referring to ABC hero who never went anywhere sans Swiss army knife and a roll of adhesive.
On their spoof 8216;8216;Department of Homeland Security8217;8217; website, Jim Berg and Tim Nyberg, aka the Duct Tape Guys, debated whether the kitchen or bathroom should be the safe room. 8216;8216;If you have to hold it for three days, you8217;re gonna be in a world of pain!8217;8217; wrote Tim. Since the 9/11 attacks, many politicians and commentators have invoked Cold War analogies to characterise America8217;s 8216;8216;war on terrorism,8217;8217; in terms of foreign policy and civil defence 8212; or, as it8217;s now called, homeland security.
Like the Cold War battle, this war is seen as a protracted engagement against an adversary intent on destroying the American way of life. While today8217;s Homeland Security policy promotes the government8217;s power to prevent terrorist attacks, Civil Defence in 8217;50s and 8217;60s was a citizens movement, involving participation in military preparedness in case of a nuclear attack: heeding air-raid sirens, practicing orderly evacuations, diving under classroom desks, volunteering for emergency duties, building family shelters in basements and back yards. LATWP