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There is a curious connection between terror and spectacle. Death is not the sole objective of an assault; terrorists often consider visibility more important. And terror always opts for the most dominant medium of the day. Maximum theatricality coupled with maximum focus. Anarchists in the nineteenth century had a penchant for theatres, operas, parades and similar public festivals as platforms for their acts. The terror of the nineteen-sixties and seventies differed, exhibiting a decided affinity with film. Kidnappings and hi-jackings weren’t just one of Hollywood’s favourite themes, they even had a filmic structure - a clear plot, distinct protagonists and a well-aimed build-up from tension to a predictable climax. The locations (airports, embassies, innocent suburban homes) were carefully chosen and even the unavoidable end possessed a marked cinematographic force. However crude it might sound, the murder or suicide of Baader-Meinhof leaders in the Stammheim Prison has all the trappings of a fascinating thriller. This impression was far from coincidental, nor reconstructed after the event; members of groups like the Baader-Meinhof saw themselves with a filmic eye. The exhibition in Berlin includes a piece by Franz Ackermann who reproduces the group’s plans James Bond-style, complete with a car that transforms into a helicopter to free the comrades from prison.8

The terror of our own day takes a gamble on another medium. No matter how much the images of the burning Twin Towers remind us of disaster movies, the visual language spoken is that of television. The sudden unpredictability of the attacks, the lack of logical development  and the abrupt and chaotic end are all typical of the structural difference between TV and other media. In contrast to film, TV does not employ suspense – no progressive unfolding of plot – just the surprise, the abrupt and unexpected that disrupts the course of events. This factor is the reason why television always needs to be live everywhere because it’s the only way to capture the surprise of the moment. The unanticipated, from soaps to America’s Funniest Home videos and from reality programmes to the news is the essence of TV language. The medium takes enormous pains to maintain the double illusion of presence and unpredictability because this will keep us glued to the screen. Of course, this language is primarily rhetorical: the coincidence is often tightly directed, the surprise almost always skilfully stage-managed and the live recording often months old. All these elements make TV the ideal medium for the modern terrorist. Immediate, world wide attention catapults the attack to an unprecedented level of visibility. But for the terrorist, this demands enormous planning and stage direction; the attack has to be as sudden as it is surprising but, at the same time, should occur on camera. In that regard, the incidents of 11 September testify to phenomenal directing. The first aircraft succeeded in focusing attention on the buildings so that the impact of the second plane would be followed throughout the world.
Television and terrorism keep each other in balance. They share an interest in vigilance and presence.  Terrorists can attack anywhere, compelling constant alertness everywhere, which in turn heightens terrorists’ guarantee of visibility. This is how terror and its counter response provoke a world-embracing television gaze that maintains a constant watchful eye on its environs. We, the viewers, have an ever more pressing need for the screen: it is our eyes and ears and safeguards us from setting foot in places where terror could strike. This powerlessness and dependency feeds the fantasy of all-powerful media. The attack on our consciousness mainly derives its effect from the all-powerful fantasy that media and terror unite to uphold.