Nobody dared. Not The Times, not the Post, the Journal, the Monitor, Newsweek, Time, nor even those knights in shining armor on 60 Minutes. There were no ten-part series, no teams of scrappy reporters, no Jack Andersons, no Murrows, no Deep Throats, Woodwards or Bernsteins. The media as one took the government at its word. At most, an occasional doubting article buried on page six below the fold was offered as a sop to fairness. But the writer who wished to "explain," "debunk," "shred" the doubts -- and in the most sneering terms possible -- found a receptive market for his work.
Once more with feeling: 9-11 was anything but an inside job. It was a national effort.
The true touch of genius, it seems to me, was The Word -- the one selected to ensure the success of the legend, the one flung to every corner of the earth even as the buildings burned. This aspect has gone largely unnoticed by the 9-11 truth movement. What word? Let me quote from my novel Mockery. Here is a conversation between the narrator -- Sam Walker -- who is investigating a gamed presidential election, and the director of a public relations firm, whose name is Laura Prestini.
"The press needs us more than we need them. Surprised? It's true. They need"--Laura's perfect fingernails popped up from the armrests and scratched quotation marks in the air--"the story. That's how they pay their mortgages. Like I always say: the goal of PR is to put the frame."