Mark Seddon: A message President Bush should heed, from small-town New Jersey
'The students were alert, questioning and deeply sceptical about Bush's war aims
Picture Burnley or Blackburn, former textile towns down on their luck, and you have the 90,000-strong, rust belt town of Paterson, New Jersey, one hour by car from New York City. In the town's industrial heyday it was home to the Colt revolver factory, the Singer sewing-machine works, and because of its proximity to the Great Falls, the second largest on the East Coast, a plethora of spinning mills.
In recent years, the town has bobbed back from the brink, reinvigorated by an influx of immigrants from Turkey, Yemen, Bangladesh and Colombia, the disused textile mills now hum to a new beat of small businesses. 11 September changed all that. Early investigations by the FBI revealed that the town's Arab neighbourhood had played home to some of the terrorists who launched the attack on the World Trade Centre.
The anthrax sent to NBC's Tom Brokaw emanated from another Arab district, in nearby Trenton. The largely conservative, working-class citizens of Paterson were alarmed to find their town suddenly in the spotlight. In common with New Yorkers they have festooned lampposts and car aerials with the Stars and Stripes to demonstrate their patriotism in these nervous times.
Jittery Paterson tuned in with the rest of America to CNN's rolling news magazine programme America Strikes Back, to take in its commentary from retired generals and hazy footage of firework displays over Kabul. The town should stand shoulder-to-shoulder with President Bush in his war against terrorism, but scratch the surface, particularly at the town's university, and an altogether different picture begins to emerge.
This is not a radical campus; many of the 10,000 or so students have to work anything between 20 and 40 hours a week to pay their fees. Professor John Mason, who heads the political sciences department, admits that while his faculty – fairly unusually – "describes itself as 44 per cent liberal", most of the students "are moderately conservative Republicans like their moderately conservative Catholic families".
In recent years – at John Mason's invitation – I have lectured to many of his students. Often tired, but always courteous, they have given the impression of waiting for the bell. Last week, however, they were alert, questioning – and deeply sceptical about their President's war aims. Many were deeply critical of their media's coverage of the Afghanistan bombing campaign.
"We are not being told the truth", said Nicole, 19. And from Solly; "How does our news reporting compare with yours? Terrorism can only be beaten when we realise that lots of people blame us, especially the Palestinians," According to Mike, 21: "There will only be more retaliation now that we are bombing Afghanistan. And why are we not being prepared for these anthrax attacks? We are all very scared." One of the few voices raised in support of the bombing campaign came from a faculty member, Marty. Yet on the way up from New York he had volunteered Gibbons Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire as a warning text to Americans who once believed that their country was impervious to the conflict in the outside world.
Students from the American politics class had been asked to fill in a questionnaire entitled "Thinking Through Political Conflict and Terror". Their answers were even more revealing. From a generation whose security was shattered by the 11 September attacks and which now fears military call-up, they were asked to recount their greatest fears. "Mass hysteria, more bio-weapons released on Americans and more hijackings," wrote Nicole. From Cally, 20: "That there will be another world war and I will lose someone close to me due to war or terrorism". "Being drafted, and rebels attacking in the US anywhere," volunteered Don.
"I'll have a future," Adam ventured bravely, "but it will be one of war. Innocent people are dying because of my government's misdirected actions. I don't believe that we have control of the situation." Stephanie wanted to know how much danger she and her family now face: "Is there any possibility that the United States can be bombed again? And I want to know what the government and military really think is going to happen if bin Laden is captured? Do they honestly think that this crap is just going to stop?" "How the hell did we, and the CIA let it happen?" asked scrappy Warren.
Any pretence of old-style deference went out the window when students were asked to imagine that they were speaking directly to the President. They were told to say "just what is it that you want to". Kaz, 21, took a hard-line – an exception to the rule. "I don't think everyone in Afghanistan likes bin Laden, so eventually somebody will give up his position, possibly someone close to him. Bomb Afghanistan until they give up."
More questions than answers came from Jeremiah: "Why is everyone so scared? Why are all Muslims suspects and harassed? Why does Bush feel he can intervene in Afghanistan? Why can't people realise that the US government caused the terrorist action in New York because of its foreign policy? We paid bin Laden to give him military training".
"What is the government going to do to stop the spread of anthrax?" asked Nora. "We will have to be more cautious because we might end up as one of the destroyed countries." And for Stephanie, a more direct approach: "I want to ask him [Mr Bush] how many civilians really died in Afghanistan and what he is going to do to prevent any civilians from dying. I want to be there to read his eyes while he is answering these questions. I want to see how scared he looks."
As yet, there is no campus protest movement, although some of the students agreed to have another "brown bag lunch" session to discuss the crisis. But these are early days. In 1912, Paterson's textile workers struck under the banner of the "Wobblies" – the syndicalist International Workers of the World union. Today, light years away from the collectivism of that earlier era, the fairly typical students of a fairly typical Middle American town are not wrapping themselves in the Stars and Stripes.
The writer is the editor of 'Tribune'
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