|
Cliff's
Terrorism
Diaries
Friday,
January
4,
2002—Ground
Zero
Plus
115
Attack
Of
The
Computer
Terrorism
Virus--A
Lesson
In
Vigilance
by
Cliff
McKenzie
Editor,
New
York
City
Combat
Correspondent
News
Terrorism
attacks
unexpectedly,
in
a
variety
of
disguises.
I
engaged
hand-to-hand
combat
with
Computer
Terrorism
yesterday
when
my
Norton
computer
anti-virus
program
wrapped
its
viscous
tentacles
around
my
computer’s
throat
and
started
to
strangle
it
to
death.
My
business--my
life--is
writing
and
publishing
Anti-Terrorism
stories
on
the
web.
Like
any
publisher,
when
your
ability
to
“print”
the
news
of
the
day
is
held
hostage,
you
tremble
and
shudder
for
fear
your
mission
in
life
has
been
emasculated.
I
felt
like
a
pack
of
Terrorists
had
marched
into
my
office
and
stuck
guns
at
the
heads
of
my
children,
making
me
watch
as
they
choked
the
life
from
them
before
my
eyes.
The
day
started
out
perfectly.
I
wrote
and
published
the
Daily
Terrorism
Dairy.
But
then,
out
of
the
blue,
calm
sky
of
the
morning—a
Terrorist
jet
slammed
into
my
computer’s
Twin
Towers.
The
computer
froze
as
I
was
exiting
a
program,
and
when
I
tried
to
restart
it,
all
I
received
was
a
message
threatening
disaster.
It
read:
“Error:
NAV
Auto-Protect
is
unable
to
start!”
I
sat
in
a
dazed,
bewildered
state,
staring
blankly
at
the
screen
as
one
might
a
ransom
note
scrawled
in
childish
handwriting.
My
eyes
focused
on
the
exclamation
point
behind
the
word
“start!”
I
had
a
sinking
feeling
this
was
it—the
ultimate
disaster—I
was
going
to
lose
my
hard
drive
and
all
the
information
on
it.
It
would
be
a
true
disaster—a
senseless
loss
of
vital
information
and
treasured
files
I
had
created
over
the
years.
I
saw
it
all
going
up
in
smoke,
as
I
had
felt
when
I
was
at
Ground
Zero
on
September
11th
when
the
Twin
Towers
collapsed
before
my
eyes,
and
the
fear
of
death
swirled
around
me.
My
computer
is
my
child—a
loved
one.
Inside
it
sleeps
the
progeny
of
my
thoughts,
brought
to
life
in
stories
and
articles
and
commentaries
from
the
deepest
marrow
of
my
being.
Each
file
is
its
own
individual,
unique
from
the
others,
but
genetically
linked
as
brothers
and
sisters
to
the
same
DNA
strain.
I
try
to
breathe
life
into
my
words,
to
give
them
stand-alone
character.
To
lose
them
would
parallel
the
loss
of
any
loved
and
cherished
child
of
the
mind.
The
feeling
of
loss
was
exacerbated
by
my
lack
of
vigilance.
I
felt
like
the
father
who
neglects
the
safety
of
his
children
and
they
are
injured
as
a
result.
I
had
not
backed
up
my
data.
My
“children
of
thought,”
my
“creations
of
the
mind,”
were
naked,
alone,
frightened
and
trapped
inside
the
computer
lock
out.
I
was
sure
I
could
hear
them
crying
to
me—“Daddy,
help
us!
Help
us!”
Worse
than
my
own
loss,
was
the
trust
my
wife
had
placed
in
me
to
guard
her
words,
her
thoughts,
her
stories,
her
photos.
She
authors
the
Sarah
Wisdom
stories—precious
stories
about
her
conversations
and
experiences
with
our
grandchildren,
Sarah,3,
and
Matt,
5.
She
is
the
Grandmother
of
Vigilance,
sharing
with
children
ways
to
deal
with
various
forms
of
Terrorism
that
challenge
a
child’s
vulnerability.
By
not
backing
up
the
information,
I
exposed
her
treasured
thoughts
to
unnecessary
destruction.
“It
will
be
okay,”
she
reassured
me
as
she
paced
around
the
living
room,
trying
not
to
add
to
my
own
frustration.
“It
will
be
okay.”
I
thought
about
how
I
pound
and
hammer
others
to
become
Parents
of
Vigilance,
Grandparents
of
Vigilance,
Citizens
of
Vigilance.
I
thought
about
how
I
promote
their
need
to
vow
to
protect
their
children
from
Terrorism
both
from
without
and
within.
And,
how
I
shout
out
the
need
for
courage,
conviction
and
action
to
thwart
fear,
intimidation
and
complacency.
Now,
I
was
at
the
end
of
my
own
whipping
stick.
I
had
become
complacent
about
backing
up
my
data
and
my
wife’s.
I
assumed
I
was
invincible,
and
let
myself
believe
Computer
Terrorism
couldn’t
attack
me—or,
by
the
time
it
did,
I
would
be
prepared.
My
complacency
cost
me
dearly.
I
sat
in
front
of
the
frozen
screen,
desperately
trying
to
fix
the
problem,
trying
to
save
my
trapped
“children
of
the
mind”
inside
its
frame
from
a
brutal
death
of
being
erased
forever
from
the
face
of
the
earth.
Fear
and
intimidation
swooped
over
me.
I
trembled.
My
hands
began
to
sweat.
My
mouth
went
dry
as
the
hours
passed,
and
the
lock-down
continued
despite
all
efforts
to
break
through
and
start
up
the
computer
and
save
the
files.
I
could
hear
my
wife’s
stories
and
articles
and
photos
wailing:
“Mommy?….Mommy?….Mommy?”
I
began
to
think
I
was
a
hypocrite
for
shouting
“Semper
Vigilantes”—Always
Vigilant—to
others,
yet
being
neglectful
myself.
I
left
the
borders
to
my
own
computer
home
unguarded.
I
became
a
Parent
of
Complacency,
not
one
of
Vigilance.
I
abandoned
the
security
of
my
“computer
children”
and
my
wife’s.
How
easy
it
would
have
been
to
back
up
the
data,
I
thought.
How
easy?
Each
day,
had
I
been
vigilant,
I
could
have
simply
pressed
a
key
to
save
the
vital
information,
but
I
hadn’t.
I
didn’t
even
have
a
back-up
program
installed.
My
house
was
unguarded.
There
were
no
Sentinels
of
Vigilance
looking
out
for
me—or
so
I
thought.
I
had
a
moment
where
I
felt
like
crying—a
big,
265
pound
former
Vietnam
Vet
with
over
a
hundred
combat
missions—reduced
to
quivering
Jell-o,
ashamed
at
his
own
neglect.
“Error:
NAV
Auto-Protect
is
unable
to
start!”
–was
like
a
bomb
inside
my
computer,
ticking,
waiting
to
explode
and
erase
from
history
all
that
I
had
written.
It
was
the
“evil
one
incarnate”
about
to
eviscerate
a
vital
part
of
my
life.
The
Terror
was
real.
I
felt
an
empty
hole
in
my
soul.
My
heart
raced.
All
I
could
see
was
the
loss
of
thousands
of
loved
ones—my
stories—my
thoughts—my
research—my
pictures.
I
tried
a
number
of
things
to
restore
the
computer.
Each
one
failed.
I
began
to
feel
like
the
fireman
and
police
and
emergency
workers
rushing
into
the
burning
Twin
Towers,
knowing
it
was
about
to
collapse,
and
feeling
helpless.
Inside
my
computer
was
the
mission
of
my
life—my
loved
ones—crying
to
get
out.
Flashes
of
files
and
background
information
and
pictures
danced
before
my
mind
as
I
grew
more
and
more
impatient
and
fearful
I
would
never
rescue
them.
I
fought
the
battle
alone
for
five
straight
hours.
I
engaged
in
hand-to-hand
combat
with
the
Error
Message.
I
was
worn,
beaten.
I
was
sure
I
would
lose
it
all—the
data—the
work.
I
took
a
breath
and
got
a
cup
of
coffee.
I
wanted
to
stop
and
think
without
panic.
What
could
I
do?
Finally,
a
light
bulb
went
on.
After
I
had
e-mailed
a
number
of
my
computer
friends
in
desperation,
I
realized
that
Microsoft
might
help.
I
searched
wildly
for
their
number,
called,
and
finally
got
hold
a
technical
support
person—a
woman
named
Cathy
from
Utah.
For
the
next
three
hours
on
the
phone,
we
worked
through
the
bowels
of
my
computer.
I
followed
her
instructions,
deleting
hundreds
and
hundreds
of
Norton
files
in
my
registry.
It
seemed
there
was
no
end
to
them.
“Some
customers
say
Norton
Anti-Virus
is
like
a
virus
itself—it
just
keeps
growing,”
she
said
as
I
repeatedly
punched
the
sequence
“F-3”--“Delete”--“Enter”
eradicating
every
Norton
file
that
had
squirmed
and
wiggled
its
way
into
almost
every
file
in
my
computer’s
registry.
The
computer’s
registry,
I
understand,
is
the
key
to
its
operation.
If
something
is
foul
with
it,
the
entire
system
is
in
jeopardy.
To
get
to
the
files
within,
I
was
deep
inside
the
cerebral
cortex
of
my
computer—deeper
than
I
had
ever
been.
As
I
worked
farther
into
the
files
to
delete
everything
related
to
Norton,
I
thought
of
Osama
bin
Laden’s
Terrorist
cells.
The
Norton
anti-virus
seemed
to
find
its
way
into
every
nook
and
cranny
of
my
computer’s
brain.
Thousands
of
files
were
opened
in
search
of
the
last
Norton
file.
My
ear
ached
where
I
held
the
phone.
My
fingers
were
numbed
from
punching
the
delete
button.
I
kept
thinking
how
finding
Terrorists
was
like
extracting
an
anti-virus
from
the
guts
of
a
terrorized
computer.
It
seemed
every
possible
hiding
place
held
some
fragment
of
the
Norton
program.
I
felt
like
I
was
squishing
ants—no
sooner
did
I
delete
one
file,
than
another
popped
up,
and
another,
and
another.
“We’ve
got
to
clean
it
all
out,”
Cathy
said
in
her
calm,
relaxed
manner.
“Be
patient,”
she
urged.
 |
I
was
tired
and
frustrated,
but
there
was
a
ray
of
hope.
She
was
the
confident
one.
I
was
shell-shocked;
simply
following
orders.
Finally,
the
last
Norton
file
was
found.
But
the
battle
had
only
begun.
For
the
next
forty-five
minutes,
I
was
busy
closing
up
each
file
I
had
opened,
surgically
healing
the
wounds
I
created
in
my
“search-and-destroy”
mission
for
the
last
lingering
Norton
Terrorist
cell.
As
I
mopped
up
the
battle
scene,
I
thought
about
America’s
role
in
seeking
and
destroying
the
Terrorists.
It
was
one
thing
to
wreak
destruction
on
a
land,
and
another
to
rebuild
it.
Yet,
for
the
system
to
work,
both
sides
of
the
coin
had
to
be
addressed—the
destruction
of
the
“evil
ones”
and
the
“restructuring
of
the
good.”
I
wasn’t
sure
which
was
the
most
work—hunting
down
the
anti-virus
virus—or
repairing
the
damage
so
it
wouldn’t
happen
again.
Both
seemed
equal
in
effort.
Finally,
I
closed
the
last
file
in
the
registry.
I
held
my
breath
as
we
restarted
the
computer.
Would
the
screen
show
success?
Or,
would
failure
appear?
Would
we
get
bin
Laden
and
all
his
henchmen,
or
did
we
miss
something
and
new
attacks
would
occur?
I
was
elated
when
the
screen
appeared
in
a
normal
state.
I
thought
war
was
won.
But
I
forgot
about
the
“mop
up”
operation.
In
Vietnam,
after
we
surged
through
the
enemy
lines
and
claimed
victory,
we
always
scoured
the
battlefield
for
those
“enemies”
who
tried
to
slip
away,
or
booby
traps
they
left
as
little
reminders
that
victory
was
never
complete
until
the
last
flame
was
snuffed.
Cathy
and
I
began
a
final
sweep—our
Computer
Terrorism
mop-up
operation—to
see
if
we
had
missed
anything.
We
found
foxholes
of
recalcitrant
Norton
Terrorists
hiding
here
and
there
and
expunged
them
one
by
one
until
my
“find
file”
registered
we
enjoyed
“final
victory.”
Now,
the
true
test
was
about
to
occur.
We
restarted
the
computer
and
I
held
my
breath.
Would
it
work?
Had
we
missed
a
single
Terrorist?
Was
there
one
straggling
cancer
cell
left
that
would
multiply
and
recreate
Computer
Hell?
It
worked.
We
were
victorious.
I
sighed
relief
and
profusely
thanked
Cathy
for
her
patience.
We
had
become
allies
over
the
past
three
hours.
Vigilance,
I
thought,
is
Terrorism’s
greatest
enemy;
Complacency,
it’s
greatest
ally.
How
easy,
I
pondered,
it
is
to
fall
into
a
state
of
complacency.
And,
how
quickly
and
suddenly
the
Terror
occurred.
Just
before
the
“computer
attack”
I
had
been
happy
and
carefree.
Now,
I
was
scarred
and
worn--totally
exhausted.
I
had
learned
some
great
lessons
from
the
experience.
One,
I
respected
the
hunt
for
bin
Laden
more
than
ever.
I
realized
the
effort
to
find
him
and
his
allies
in
the
caves
and
crevices
of
an
ancient
land
were
not
as
simple
as
they
seemed.
There
were
many
hiding
places
for
my
Computer
Anti-virus
virus,
and
I
assumed
countless
ones
for
bin
Laden
and
his
crew.
If
it
was
anything
like
searching
for
the
last
cell
of
the
Norton
Terrorist
on
my
computer,
I
saluted
the
effort
to
find
him.
Secondly,
I
realized
I
had
been
negligent.
My
vigilance
over
my
computer
was
lax.
I
hadn’t
backed
up
the
information.
If
I
lost
it—it
was
my
fault.
Now,
I
had
a
choice.
I
could
go
on
with
my
life
and
pretend
it
wouldn’t
happen
again—assume
the
“I’m
Invincible
Again”
posture,
or,
I
could
become
a
Parent
of
Computer
Vigilance—and
vow
to
remind
myself
daily
to
protect
my
“children”—my
files,
my
photos,
my
thoughts
and
my
stories.
I
also
had
another
obligation
I
had
forgotten.
And
that
was
to
protect
my
wife’s
writings,
her
stories,
her
photos.
I
not
only
had
to
be
a
Parent
of
Vigilance,
but
also
assume
a
Sentinel
of
Vigilance
attitude—that
I
was
responsible
for
another’s
treasured
children.
The
last
lesson
I
learned
was
there
were
people
in
this
world
who
could
help
me
keep
vigilant—people
like
Cathy—Sentinels
of
Computer
Vigilance.
If
I
was
smart,
I
would
stay
close
to
them.
I
would
respect
them.
I
would
listen
to
their
messages.
I
would
post
their
phone
number
on
my
computer.
I
wouldn’t
hesitate
to
call
if
I
needed
help
so
I
didn’t
spin
into
circles
and
perhaps
make
a
bad
situation
worse.
I
related
the
Cathy’s
of
the
computer
world
to
the
tragedy
on
the
Second
Tuesday
of
September.
September
11th
created
thousands
of
Sentinels
of
Vigilance.
The
hundreds
of
mothers,
fathers,
grandparents,
uncles,
aunts,
cousins,
brothers
and
sisters
and
loved
ones
who
died
that
day,
formed
one
body
to
remind
us
to
“never
forget
Terrorism
can
strike
anytime,
anywhere.”
I
had
written
many
articles
about
them
forming
one
Voice,
one
vigilant
body
standing
over
us,
watching—warning
us
to
stay
vigilant
in
our
daily
lives
against
terrorism.
Now,
I
saw
the
value
of
that
message
in
a
small
but
crucial
part
of
my
life.
Terrorism
had
attacked
my
computer
unexpectedly.
I
knew
it
could
happen
again.
Would
I
be
ready
for
the
next
attack?
Yes,
I
thought.
Yes,
I
would
be
if
I
vowed
to
“never
forget”
by
becoming
a
“Sentinel
of
Computer
Vigilance.”
Go
To Daily Diary, January 3--Teaching Children Anti-Terrorism
Tactics
©2001
- 2004, VigilanceVoice.com, All rights reserved - a ((HYYPE))
design
|
