Unlike Stonehenge, however, the movement and reason for the giant boulders carry no hint of mystery. The concrete blocks are Jersey barriers--barricades against errant vehicles. Each of the blocks weighs 2,000 pounds, and moving them requires not just human effort but also a forklift. The dates of their realignment coincide with changes in the Homeland Security Alert System, from yellow to orange and back again in a four-month period.
When the federal government devised the Homeland Security Alert System in March 2002, that system wasn't exactly geared to forklifts and Jersey barriers in Tulsa--a city without military bases, nuclear power plants or even a major league sports team that could arouse international attention. But every time the terror level changed, the ramifications of the system became clear: more intensive workloads for local governments large and small across the country.
As a result, experts within and outside of state and local governments are starting to question the design and implementation of a terror alert system that places the whole country under one general warning, draining resources from cash-strapped cities in the process. One recent survey from the U.S. Conference of Mayors estimates that an orange alert costs cities a total of $70 million per week. "It's stupid," says Jamie Metzl, senior fellow and coordinator for homeland security programs at the Council on Foreign Relations. "It doesn't make sense to say that because there's a threat against the U.S. Embassy in Riyadh, people need to take special precautions in Wichita."
THE BIRTH OF A SYSTEM
The terror alert structure evolved from the circumstances shortly after September 11, 2001, when the government issued a series of oblique warnings recommending a higher state of vigilance. Those disorganized warnings were roundly criticized for alarming the public and confusing local government agencies.In March 2002, U.S. Department of Homeland Security Secretary Tom Ridge released the national terror alert system, one of his most significant policy initiatives to date. The system was modeled after several existing warning systems, most closely mirroring the Defense Department's "threatcon" program, which uses four levels, from Alpha to Delta, to determine security protocols. The terror alert system was cosmetically different, in that it contained five levels represented by the colors green, blue, yellow, orange and red in ascending order of security threat. As a way to communicate with state and local authorities, the federal government would set the threat level accordingly.
Since the terror-alert system was unveiled, the country has pretty much hovered on yellow, with yellow being upped to orange four times. The first was shortly before the one-year anniversary of 9/11. It went up again in February of 2003, prompting runs on duct tape and plastic sheeting. Preceding the invasion of Iraq in March, the level was raised to orange a third time and was elevated to orange once again in May after bombings in Saudi Arabia and Morocco.
Although the color codes are less alarming than the earlier vague warnings, they are not much more instructive. For the most part, the alerts have not been accompanied by any specific information about the nature of the threat. "It's gotten to the point now where people wonder, how non-specific is it this time?" says Frank Navarrete, Arizona's homeland security director. In early June, Navarrete made national headlines when he suggested that Arizona might not comply with the next orange alert--a statement he now says was taken out of context.
In addition to the lack of specifics, the unilateral nature of the system makes it less effective than it could be. Although the color- code system was modeled on threatcon, it differs from it in two important ways. First, threatcon is very centralized procedurally, spelling out exactly what must be done under each alert level. Second, threatcon is often applied to specific locations--not just one broad alert. If threatcon were administered like the terror alert system, with only one level at a time and with every base making up its own procedures, it might not be nearly as effective.
It is those differences from threatcon that make experts question the value of the homeland security alert system. "What you have to do is recognize some basic facts: Terrorist threats directed at South Dakota are not at the same level as threats that are directed at Washington, D.C.," says Jack Williams, a law professor at Georgia State University who specializes in risk assessment. "Because it is a nationwide system, it could cause over-preparedness in some areas and under- preparedness in others."
In early June, Ridge acknowledged that states and cities were frustrated with the system, saying that in the future, his agency would try to issue alerts more targeted toward a geographic region or a particular industry. However, Ridge did not announce any timetable for the changes, nor did he say that the system itself would change; he just hoped that better intelligence could make it more effective.
Obviously, intelligence officials would prefer to get a tip that a plot is focused on, say, Seattle on Tuesday, rather than to just hear rumblings that al Qaeda may attack somewhere, sometime soon. Of course, that isn't easy. The nature of intelligence gathering is the collection of vague "chatter." But in the absence of specific information, Metzl and Williams argue that the overly general alerts do more harm than good.
That said, cities still prefer to have the system than not have it-- on the theory that it's better to be kept in the loop about international intelligence, especially after being shut out of sensitive information in the past. As Baltimore Mayor Martin O'Malley puts it, "I'd rather know what they know than not know." But implementation is another story, and most opinions about the system itself from city leaders are greatly overshadowed by funding concerns.
REACTING TO ORANGE
Technically, states and localities do not have to follow the federal alert system. (This option does not apply to facilities under federal jurisdiction, such as nuclear power plants and airports, which must follow specific procedures when the levels change.) The Department of Homeland Security calls the color codes recommendations but implies that it would prefer compliance. "No one has to do anything," says Gordon Johndroe, a spokesman for the department. "That's their decision and their own risk."The federal government also provides no standards for what state and local governments should do at each alert level, leaving the specific procedures up to each individual jurisdiction. But each time the federal government moves the alert up a notch, almost every state and local government reacts. "When they go to a national alert, they have a valid reason for doing so," says Tulsa Mayor Bill LaFortune. "If they go to orange, we have to do our duty."
Exactly what that is differs from city to city. Generally, cities aim to ramp up security at strategic targets without unnecessarily alarming or burdening the public. In Tulsa, when an orange alert is declared, the city's emergency management director will spend a few hours contacting "the usuals," such as the National Guard, the fire department and the county sheriff, to make sure that lines of communication are clear. Dozens of other small measures will go into effect: A guard will be employed at the City Hall parking garage; one fireman will stay with a fire truck out on call at all times; auxiliary entrances at water treatment facilities will be closed off. The city also coordinates with private businesses, helping them increase security at oil refineries or in the Williams Center--Tulsa's tallest building and a nearly exact half-scale replica of one of the World Trade Center towers.
The steps involved when there's an orange alert aren't particularly dramatic, but they do add up--particularly in increased overtime for first responders. Although Tulsa hasn't calculated its increased costs from Code Orange, many other cities have. According to the U.S. Conference of Mayors survey, Baltimore spends $300,000 per week; Columbus, Ohio, $160,000; and Miami, $130,000--on top of their other homeland security costs.
In January 2002, President Bush told a delegation of several hundred mayors gathered at the White House that first responders would be getting $3.5 billion in federal assistance for homeland security. Unfortunately for the mayors, Congress approved far less than that-- and then delayed actually appropriating the money.
In February, the National League of Cities held a press conference noting that due to budget constraints, many cities were actually laying off first responders. A report from the Council on Foreign Relations in late June said that the United States is "drastically underfunding local emergency responders," and criticized the current funding level of almost $1 billion. The money from the federal government would apply to all aspects of emergency preparedness--not just Code Orange preparation. But it is Code Orange that strikes a chord with cities, because many feel pressured to spend extra money to respond to it. "We don't mind maintaining the first responders year- round," says Baltimore's O'Malley. "But when we have to over-deploy in obedience to different states of alerts, it's only appropriate that the federal government should help us."
It took the war in Iraq to finally get money flowing from the federal government. As part of the supplemental budget for the war, Congress appropriated $2.3 billion for first responders. Of that money, $700 million went directly to about 30 cities chosen through a formula heavily weighted toward population density. Cleveland and Buffalo received money, for example; Las Vegas and Atlanta did not. But the manner in which the remainder of that money was distributed has incensed many municipal officials: Instead of going directly to the cities, $1.5 billion is being filtered through the states, which can keep 20 percent of the money for overhead costs. Phoenix officials have been vocal in pointing out that of the $28 million given to Arizona, their city has received only $1.2 million.
"The fear for a mayor is that the money will not go where it's most needed, that it might get caught up in politics," says Tulsa's LaFortune. "You have so many legislators vying for what they might perceive as something they are entitled to." The issue of funding is of particular concern in Tulsa, which had not received any money as of late June but is reacting to Code Orange with the same intensity as many of the cities that did. Because of its history of devastating floods, the city has developed one of the most sophisticated emergency management programs in the country. And so when it comes to terrorism, the city's attitude is to react now and ask questions later. "As a local government, we cannot afford not to prepare for the low- probability, high-consequence events," says Dennis Beyer, chair of the technical advisory group for Tulsa's homeland security task force. "There are too many lives at stake."
Homeland security experts question whether temporary security spikes are the best way for cities to spend their money. From communications equipment to training courses, emergency preparedness encompasses a lot more than just surveillance. "When we've put out a national change in threat estimates, there's a lot of pressure on cities to do something, and we end up with a lot of cosmetic action," says Metzl, of the Council on Foreign Relations. "We have a fixed amount of resources and the resources that go into responding to the increased threat level are being wasted in relation to how they might be used."
DOING LESS
In contrast to Tulsa, many other cities are dealing with the financial demands of Code Orange by scaling back their preparations, a phenomenon that the Washington Post dubbed "orange fatigue." Even in Washington, D.C., police officers worked 8-hour shifts for the most recent Code Orange alert, instead of the 12-hour shifts they worked for previous alerts. Part of the difference in response to different orange alerts is also that cities are starting to distinguish between the severity of different alerts. Because the color-coded system has thus far utilized only the two levels of yellow and orange, cities are drawing distinctions between the "burnt orange" of the alert during the Iraq war and the "pale orange" of the most recent alert.In Charlotte, North Carolina, city officials have a completely different take. For three of the four national Code Oranges, Charlotte chose not to participate, instead staying at what Mecklenburg County's homeland security director, Wynn Mabry, calls "dark yellow."
It's not that Mabry, a former surgeon with the Air Force, doesn't take terrorism seriously. On September 11, 2001, he was living in the United Arab Emirates, and he moved back to the United States shortly afterward because of concern for his family's security. Nonetheless, he has chosen to take the Department of Homeland Security at their word when they say that there is no mandate to follow the alerts. In his opinion, a reaction to an orange alert is justified only when there is intelligence that a threat is directed against the Charlotte region. Within those parameters, the city chose to go to Code Orange one time--during the Iraq War. Even then, Mabry says, the change in alert level was motivated by concern about demonstrations by war protestors--not an international terrorist threat.
The reaction is almost diametrically opposed to that of Tulsa, a city with which Charlotte has much in common. It, too, is a medium-sized city that has been recognized for innovation in emergency preparedness. For example, Charlotte recently implemented a computer system that automatically monitors schools and day care centers for absenteeism. If it finds unusual patterns, it will search hospital logs to determine if a disease epidemic has begun. The city--home to the nation's second-largest banking industry and two nuclear power plants within 25 miles--also has a nationally recognized program called ALERT, which focuses on collaboration among medical specialists.
Given those cutting-edge programs, Mabry doesn't think that a temporary security increase will provide a genuine improvement in public safety. He sees a crucial distinction between preparedness in general and participation in Code Orange. And although he does appreciate the dollars that the city, cash-strapped as others are, has saved by not going to orange alert, penny pinching is not his motivation. "Whether we had the money, that wasn't the driving decision maker," Mabry says. "If our citizens were at risk, we would go to orange whether we could afford to or not."
RISK ASSESSMENT
The notion of risk is behind much of the confusion over Code Orange: It is up to each individual city to judge for itself what steps are necessary to increase security. When the alert is general, that becomes a difficult question, one that requires drawing some sort of line between cities that need to expend tremendous resources to prepare against terrorism and cities that don't. For example, should a city invest in a new communication system so that different jurisdictions and different agencies can communicate during an emergency? Obviously, Washington, D.C., should, but how about Tulsa, or Charlotte or Green Bay, Wisconsin? And, when the federal government issues a blanket alert without specific information, which cities should assume that it applies to them?Currently, most cities jump when the feds issue an orange alert. City officials see themselves as guardians of their citizens and are loathe to omit any measure that might suggest that they are putting their citizens in harm's way. "I've got to let the public know that we've done everything we could have," says LaFortune. "It gives them the most peace of mind."
To some, this attitude constitutes a waste of resources. "Sometimes it feels good to witness action" says Metzl. "It doesn't need to be meaningful." But the issue is complicated. After all, no city is truly safe from terrorism. At minimum, every one has a water supply and a few government buildings to protect. And it isn't always the most likely targets that get attacked. Oklahoma City certainly wouldn't have been on anyone's list of target cities. Yet, 168 people died in the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in 1995, a fact that is certainly not lost on the cities that are not currently viewed as most at risk. "The fact that domestic terror occurred in Oklahoma City points to the fact that it can occur anywhere in the country," says LaFortune. "We need to be just as vigilant."
Cities also point out another reason for complying with the orange alerts: deterrence. Even if putting a few more Jersey barriers in place doesn't have a substantial effect on the state of preparedness, it may convey an image that the city is on top of things. Beyer, who also serves as Tulsa's fire chief for HAZMAT and technical rescue, was called to Oklahoma City in 1995 to search through rubble--a day he says gave him a new mission in life. For him, deterrence is a key reason for complying with the alerts. "The terrorists might decide Tulsa's just not worth the effort," he says. "You don't know how many you prevent."
Furthermore, small cities are leery of becoming targets purely for lack of preparation. They don't want to fall through the cracks. "Terrorists have said in the past in their target selection, why would we take on a lion when there's so many sheep to kill?" says Mabry. "If the top 10 cities become the terrorists' lions, we don't want to become the sheep."
