Survivalism goes mainstream.
Americans haven't thought this much about surviving the "unthinkable" since the Kennedy administration. In the early 80s, when Reagan officials told the country to prepare for "winnable nuclear war," America just stared back, dumbfounded, then quietly returned to pissing its collective pants. Until recently, the only people seriously contemplating living through a major attack were game-playing RAND nerds and backwoods Minutemen with homemade Geiger counters.
But just as plaid flannel emerged from Washington-state trailer parks to take over the cover of SPIN, survivalism has moved out of the Montana underground and into our national discourse on terrorism, one that increasingly stresses that the public be ready when-not if-terrorists strike with weapons of mass destruction. Up and down the eastern seaboard, owning a gas mask and a home water purification plant have become socially acceptable, and their possession won't get you branded a freak the way it would have, say, two years ago. Luckily, a lot of New Yorkers already have the camo pants and the combat boots, so the Cipro and potassium iodide fads are dovetailing nicely.
Of the post-9/11 spate of survival guides, the best-marketed so far is last year's When Every Moment Counts: What You Need to Know About Bioterrorism from the Senate's Only Doctor, by Bill Frist. After the anthrax scares, there was a hard demand for reliable information on the subject, and that book filled a niche and sold well. As a ranking member of the Senate Subcommittee on Public Health, however, Frist has done little for the nation's collapsing public health infrastructure, and the irony of a shill for the managed-care industry writing this book is rich.
Irony then turned to black comedy last month when the U.S. Dept. of Homeland Security unveiled its perky new preparedness website, ready.gov, which offers pastel illustrations of the state's funkiest new duck-and-cover moves. A feeding frenzy ensued as bloggers raced to satirize the site's bizarre clip art, in which faceless cartoon citizens in various states of terror victimhood react responsibly to crisis.
Both fans and critics of ready.gov are now encouraged to check out Capt. Dick Couch's new softcover companion volume, released this month by Basic Books. The U.S. Armed Forces Nuclear, Biological and Chemical Survival Manual is a digest of the official text used by the U.S. Military, as adapted for civilian use by Captain Couch, a retired CIA case officer and former Navy SEAL who now writes spy novels and fly fishes in the sparkling streams of central Idaho.
For those seeking a snappy guide to possible scenarios involving the broad spectrum of weapons of mass destruction, the technical side of the book is useful and easy to read. And unlike Frist, the senate's only millionaire M.D., the author actually knows what he's talking about. Couch begins with a common- sense argument for arming ourselves with basic knowledge, which he says will both decrease fear and increase the chances of surviving an attack. In the process of arming civilian-warriors with the facts, Couch offers up tidbits ranging from idiotic ("[Terrorists] are people who don't understand us or like us") to unnecessary ("The M272 chemical agent kit is designed to detect and identify, via colorimetric reaction, hazardous levels of nerve agents"). But mostly the book is a straightforward description of various weapons-how to respond to them and how to treat their effects.
Many of the book's recommendations have the canned, forehead-slapping obviousness of 1950s civil defense newsreels-"In a rural area or open country, you have to get something between you and the [nuclear] blast"-but other tips can be neatly tucked into the good-to-know category. For example, a little swab of petroleum jelly under the eyelids will help neutralize most nerve agents. And remember: Once you see or sense the flash of a nuclear blast, get away from the windows; the blast wave is on its way.
Most people aren't going to be carrying emergency essentials around with them when the weasel pops, and Couch urges his fellow Americans to have key items prepared in one place and ready to go. To help encourage people, Couch has given these packs nifty names, such as the Family Disaster Supplies Kit and the Family Car Getaway Kit. These nightmare scenario picnic baskets should include things like canned food, water, cash, batteries and prescription medicine. For post-attack recreation, the captain recommends a Gameboy and the Bible.
Most of the products in the Manual are generic, but some items and suppliers are mentioned by brand-Artificial Tears and the M40 gas mask, among others-and this is troubling, as it reminds readers of the profiteering at the heart of the burgeoning terror industry, from the Pentagon to the local pharmacy. Just as the war on terror is red meat for certain government contractors, so has it meant big business for the commercial purveyors of survival accessories. Although Couch's tone is not hysterical, and his intentions feel honest enough-reducing anxiety, informing-he nonetheless echoes the more dubious scaremongers by calling vicious attacks inevitable and urging Americans to put their full faith in the Bush administration to take care of the "big picture."
And this is where the book becomes more a part of the problem than the solution. Rather than telling citizens to become involved and aware of America's role in the world, the author recommends that we merely keep an eye on the neighbors and focus on being "the eyes and ears of law enforcement and on the lookout for suspicious people or activities." There is, he writes, "little [else] that you can do."
When Couch makes his East Coast media appearances next week to push his book, he may be surprised to find that millions fail to share his blind trust in the current executive branch. In central Idaho, Bush may be viewed as a brave leader with the country's best interests at heart, but elsewhere he is increasingly seen as the puppet of reckless neocons whose policies are hastening future attacks. The threat of terrorism is certainly real enough to warrant public education, of which this book is a legitimate part, but for Couch to tell urbanites to buy his survival guide, make a few other recommended purchases and then sit back and trust the government to take care of the rest-well, no disrespect to the captain, but fuck that.