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http://www.iht.com/cgi-bin/generic.cgi?template=articleprint.tmplh&ArticleId=74687




Copyright © 2002 The International Herald Tribune | www.iht.com

Cost-effective terror: a van and 13 bullets

Brian Knowlton International Herald Tribune


Thursday, October 24, 2002


For millions in U.S. capital, a siege of fear

WASHINGTON It has been three weeks now since the first shot was fired - and 3 million
people are still ducking and holding their collective breath.

People in the Washington area have now grown accustomed to pumping gas in a crouch, or
at a station sheltered from view (and from a sniper's scope) by a huge tarpaulin; to
fearfully scanning tree-lined stretches as they drive along increasingly deserted 
roads; to
walking in what would have seemed a bizarre zigzag fashion through a shopping center
parking lot.

Normally bustling movie theaters are nearly empty in the evenings, as are many shops 
and
restaurants. Every white van has become suspect - and white vans, people now realize, 
are
absolutely everywhere.

People turn on their televisions first thing in the morning to learn, from breathless
announcers who seem to talk of nothing else, whether yet another innocent has died in
their midst.

They then calculate grimly how yet another huge - and probably fruitless - manhunt will
affect their morning commute. Or else they simply call in sick and stay in the one 
place they
feel safe: at home, with the shades drawn.

Political parties are worrying about low voter turnout when midterm elections are held 
Nov.
5 and have encouraged people to file absentee ballots. The governor of Maryland is
considering mobilizing the National Guard for the polls.

After the first burst of shootings in Maryland, some people in affluent northern 
Virginia
congratulated themselves on their good sense for living there; then the sniper suddenly
invaded their territory and chopped off that complacency. Every few days comes a 
televised
briefing by a new sheriff, as the shootings migrate north, then east, then south, then 
back
north again, from state to state, county to county. The message seems clear: No one is
immune; no one can relax.

Chief Charles Moose of the Montgomery County police, whose reassurances at frequent
televised news conferences seem to ring more hollow as the days go on, summed it up:
The shooter, or shooters, he said, have "shown a clear willingness and ability to kill 
people
of all ages, all races, all genders, all professions, different times, different days 
in different
locations."

It is surely worst for parents, especially after the police released a chilling 
warning left at
the site of a recent shooting: "Your children are not safe anywhere, at any time." 
Schools
canceled classes in Richmond, the capital of Virginia, after the warning.

In Maryland, where schools remained open despite the shooting of a 13-year-old - he had
been kicked off his school bus for the offense of eating candy, and so his aunt had 
just
driven him to his middle school - many have been keeping their children home, or 
fearfully
accompanying them to school.

There they are kept locked in through the day in classrooms with drawn blinds. They are
allowed out only under escort. They call this Code Blue. Code Black would better 
convey the
mood.

At least one family, in a move reminiscent of besieged Londoners in World War II, has 
sent
a child to live with relatives in Baltimore, 40 miles (64 kilometers) away.

But there are no German buzz-bombs crashing into the area, no Luftwaffe bombers
swarming overhead.

Whatever the motives of those responsible, the 13 sniper shootings to date - leaving 10
dead and three wounded - amount to one of the most cost-effective acts of terrorism 
ever.

Each shooting, the police say, involved a single shot. Thirteen bullets, at 20 cents 
each. For
$2.60, a sniper (some reports suggest that two people may be involved, but the common
parlance refers to one) has succeeded in terrorizing, locking down and chilling the 
economy
of a region of more than 3 million people.

The economic impact has spread in many ways. A dry cleaner near the site of one of the
early shootings, in the Maryland suburb of Kensington, just north of Washington, said 
her
business was down by 60 percent. Other businesses report lesser declines.

Are people overreacting?

One angry high school father took out an advertisement in The Washington Post to
denounce the cancellation of the homecoming dance at the elite Sidwell Friends School 
in
northwest Washington - Chelsea Clinton's alma mater. He called the decision a show of
paranoia and bad judgment.

Psychiatrists say their patients are especially perturbed; one reported the 
institutionalization
of one person as a direct result of sniper fears. There has been a rise in purchases 
of flak
vests.

More people have died in "traditional" shootings than in sniper attacks since Oct. 2, 
when
the awful series began, The Washington Post reported.

But the randomness, the invisibility of the sniper, his chilling willingness to aim at 
a child, a
retiree, a man mowing a lawn as a favor, a woman on a bench, people going about day-to-
day errands - all this has left every person in a huge area feeling as if a target had 
been
pinned to their backs, in an unreachable place.

If any silver lining has emerged, it has been forged by the same sense of equality: 
that all
are equally targeted by some evil Other.

The family of one shooting victim gave the man's van to the surviving husband of 
another,
who needed one for his work. At a victim's funeral, 12 candles were lit - symbolizing 
all the
victims at that point. Flowers pile up at shooting scenes. Money has poured into funds 
set
up for each of the growing number of dead and wounded.

"We are seeing a real determination, resolve and even strength in the members of the
community," said Doug Duncan, Montgomery County's executive, who often appears with
Chief Moose, leader of the investigation.

Wednesday, a day after a 35-year-old commuter-bus driver was killed as he prepared his
vehicle for the day's work, large numbers of off-duty drivers appeared at the bus 
depot,
Duncan said.

"We're not co-workers, we're family," Duncan quoted them as saying. They were there "to
drive buses, to work, to do what needs to be done." They said, "We're getting through 
this
together."

 Copyright © 2002 The International Herald Tribune

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