THERE'S URBAN TERRORISM, TOO

I was in Savannah, Ga., when the death planes struck and our nation cringed
and the world changed. But even in a changed world, I had an interview to
conduct on an unrelated story, so I met Isaac Martin at the Hyatt, where I
was staying. He stepped into the lobby, looked around, looked up and asked
whether we could adjourn to a neighboring park to talk instead.

To him, the Hyatt was just another building that could crumble. If
terrorists could hit the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, then why not
the Hyatt?

There was no deductive reasoning in this - first they hit the heart of
America's financial center, then the symbol of U.S. military might, then a
riverside hotel in Georgia? But Martin's point wasn't about logic, because
logic had been abandoned. "Everybody's not going to be themselves today,"
he concluded.

I keep recalling this image of a rugged man with strong hands and plenty of
nerve feeling vulnerable standing in a hotel lobby about 800 miles from
what people had taken to calling "ground zero." Vulnerability, ironically,
is what brought Americans together - the sense that terrorism could strike
any of us any time, anywhere.

But the more enduring truth is that many of our citizens feel vulnerable
every day of their lives, right in their own neighborhoods. It's a
condition that gets little attention from us as a society.

"Yeah, we've got some home-grown terrorists, and they're terrorizing
communities day and night," said Winston Robinson, commander of the 7th
Police District in southeast Washington, D.C. "These guys are ruining lives."

Ruining lives means selling drugs, killing over drugs, spraying bullets,
compelling neighbors to take refuge indoors, forcing them to alter their
daily routines out of fear. Somewhere, each night, in every major American
city, this is the reality. It's a shame. And it's a deeper shame to see
what some of the young dudes in these neighborhoods are becoming.

"We've got some problems with some of our young people, their view of their
self-worth, what's going to happen to their lives tomorrow," said Robinson.
"You talk to them on the corner and they'll tell you, yeah, it's a
possibility that they'll get killed being out there, but they're willing to
take that risk to achieve the goals they've set for themselves."

And what are these goals? To have wads of cash in their pockets, a sweet
ride, designer clothes, sparkling jewelry - bling-bling - and a good time
at the clubs.

International terrorists, who fight with suicide jets and car bombs,
obviously have more ambitious - and more sinister - goals. You can overdraw
the analogy between sophisticated international terrorists and local
hoodlums, but Robinson's plea is this: "Some of the same thoughts that are
going into the strategy to fight international terrorism need to go into
fighting our national threat."

He's talking about using an all-out approach on our streets, everything
from providing more resources to combat drugs at their source to building
movie theaters and grocery stores in neighborhoods without anchors.

Minnie Green, 75, a retired government worker, has lived in the Petworth
neighborhood of northwest Washington all her life. It used to be so bad in
her community, she said, that you couldn't leave your house.

Twelve years ago, neighbors started a citizens' patrol, which Green leads.
They call themselves the Wise-Up Orange Hatters after the bright hats that
signal their arrival when they take to the streets two evenings a week. The
drug dealers see them and shout: "Here come the coneheads."

The orange hatters have logged their share of victories; emboldened by the
spirit of Americans rallying in the wake of the terrorist attacks, they
marched into the heart of the drug dealers' territory recently and just
stood in that one treacherous block, refusing to be intimidated. The
dealers scattered.

Not long ago, a man getting off a bus was ambushed by two thugs, robbed,
beaten; his teeth were knocked out; his nose was bloodied. The orange
hatters weren't out that night. Green still feels awful about that. "A lot
of these guys don't care," she said. There's no feeling for humanity, no
regard for human life."

This is how most Americans feel about the terrorists. No feeling for
humanity, no regard for human life.

It has bonded us in a way that no other episode in memory has. All of a
sudden, strangers are hugging each other, restaurants are offering free
food, flag makers are working overtime to keep up with the demand. Most of
us have never witnessed such an outpouring of empathy.

At times like these, it's worth noting that there are people who must deal
with forces that scare them every day of their lives, right in their own
neighborhoods. They, too, are deserving of our empathy, and much, much more.