There's a terrible sense of dread filtering across America at the moment and it's not simply because of the continuing fear of terrorism and the fact that the nation is at war. It's more frightening than that. It grows out of the suspicion that we all may be passengers in a vehicle that has made a radically wrong turn and is barreling along a dark road, with its headlights off and with someone behind the wheel who may not know how to drive.
<http://www.nytimes.com/2004/05/24/opinion/24HERB.html?hp> =========================================================== (Presaged in 1989 (or maybe earlier) by Gerry Reith who was painting a much more radical metaphor. Note the title.)
The Roots of Modern Terror You are among the many passengers of a large bus careening wildly down a twisted mountain road. The bus is being driven by a drunk who is half blind. He and those near the front are also suffering from some sort of intoxication from gaseous emissions. They are also drinking. It is night; not even the moon is out to provide lighting. The main lights of the bus are broken from near-brushes with the steadily deteriorating old guardrails that are the only thing between the bus and a 2500 foot plunge off a sheer face cliff. The bus is traveling at a truly high rate of speed, etc. Evidently the brakes are out. Only the screams of watchful passengers have kept the sleeping driver from crashing. Within the last few minutes more than four times the bus has had a near miss, headed straight forward into a sharp turn. It is raining and the roads are slick. You originally got into the bus to obtain protection from the elements. This was long ago; so long that you don’t remember. Way back when, some wise guy started the bus, and began driving. The drivers have been changed several times, but no matter what, they all speed up; they frequently promise to slow down some; and they all drink heavily from seemingly bottomless flasks stored near the front. Most of the passengers sit, mute, staring off into space, rolling pout of their seats and not getting back into them. They seem paralyzed. Those that still seem conscious are divided. Most of them believe the bus is headed somewhere. So do the drivers. But others know that there never was any particular destination in mind. A while back you and some others found a map, inside something called a “history book,” and on the map was a picture of a road. The map has clear markings that day “Dead End.” In fact, it is a deader end than most; the map indicates that the road ends in an abrupt, unmarked precipice. Some of the passengers want to get out but the windows and doors are welded shut. When they go up front to talk with the driver or his supporters near the front, who are also drunk, they are forcibly pushed back. Shouts have one result: the driver speeds up, and slumps over the wheel more frequently. Some of the passengers think that everyone should be quiet and enjoy the ride. Others are positively certain the driver should speed up. Still more don’t even think the bus is moving. Once in a while a passenger goes berserk, doing great physical harm to those around him in attempt to go and seize the wheel. According to the map, you are not far from the end of the road. Most of the people who are told this become immediately agitated and call for new drivers. They then attempt to go and take the wheel, which causes the present driver to swerve and screech around in an even more chaotic way. You just want to stop the bus and get out, but you cannot. To no one else has it occurred to stop the bus. And it seems those in favor of speeding up are gaining the upper hand; they are driven by the idea that if they get there faster everything will be okay.
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