Nearly two days after the horrific suicide attacks on civilian workers in New York and Washington,' wrote Seumas Milne, 'it has become painfully clear that most Americans simply don't get it... Shock, rage and grief there has been aplenty. But any glimmer of recognition of why people might have been driven to carry out such atrocities, sacrificing their own lives in the process - or why the United States is hated with such bitterness, not only in Arab and Muslim countries, but across the developing world - seems almost entirely absent.'

One doesn't need to work for a newspaper - though it probably helps - to realise that Milne was underselling his own speed of analytical thought. To get his piece published on the 13th meant that he would have needed to have completed it by around 6pm or 7pm on the 12th. Allowing for its considered tone, which must have been the product of several hours of sober reflection, it would be fair to assume that he would have begun writing it, at the latest, at around 2pm. In other words, at about 9am New York time. That left the Americans a whole 24 hours to absorb the shock, deal with the grief and then move on to some cold, hard self-criticism. And they flunked it.

And the rest of the article is heartbreaking in that Britain seems to be reinventing the wheel that the urban citizens in the US painfully constructed in the 1970s: the idea that being endlessly forbearing and understanding about criminals and bullies does not produce justice; rather a refusal to judge, and to judge harshly when necessary, encourages injustice toward the most vulnerable and tears asunder any fabric of communal responsibility. Anthony describes a scene reminiscent of the horrible murder of Kitty Genovese in 1964:

Richard Whelan was stabbed to death on a bus in north London. . . . A young man on the top deck of the number 43 had been throwing chips at other passengers. Reports said several passengers left the top deck to avoid a confrontation. But Whelan, a 28-year-old from my old neighbourhood of Kentish Town, and his girlfriend stayed, along with a number of other passengers, and Whelan asked the chip-thrower to stop throwing chips at his girlfriend. The chip-thrower took umbrage and attacked Whelan. According to a witness account published shortly afterwards, Whelan's girlfriend shouted out: 'Oh my God, what's going on?' The answer was that the chip-thrower, a 20-year-old by the name of Anthony Leon Joseph, had taken out a knife and thrust it into Whelan's heart. He then left the bus. Again, slowly, smiling, in no rush. No one pursued him or shouted after him. The community did not act.

The murder took place just a few weeks after the 7 July bombings, when most commuters were still very nervous about travelling on public transport, still restively aware of potential danger. In those weeks there had been plenty of time to think about what to do in life-and-death moments, how to come together to combat murderous aggression. Certainly Whelan would have had opportunity to think about such matters, as his close friend Ciaran Cassidy had been murdered by one of the Islamist bombs on 7 July. There was also the 21 July failed bombing campaign, when all of the perpetrators were able to escape from packed tube trains. Some brave individuals gave chase, but the vast majority of passengers ran away.

Only a couple of passengers came to Whelan's aid. Most left the bus, and a mere five bothered to give a statement to the police that evening. As Whelan bled to death, male onlookers refused to give up their jackets to cover the shivering and sweating man. Apparently they didn't want to get blood on their clothes.

Reading parts 2 and 3, I am struck by how badly the UK needs a Rudy Giuliani. And Anthony's need to deflate himself in the face of immense provocation reminds me of abused spouses apologizing for defending themselves. His home is burgled three times and his car stolen. His stepdaughter is beaten up by gangs. And throughout his recounting his reasonable tone of voice never falters. Remind you of yourself circa 1978?

Finally, he wades into a violent girl gang slashing its victim's face with a broken bottle, and rescues her (a dangerous achievement in politically-correct Britain, where the police lay low and victims who defend themselves are derided and sometimes arrested themselves).

. . . .As I tried to comfort the girl, she was surrounded by several helpers. These people were spectators a few seconds before but now that the attackers had gone they snapped into loud Samaritan mode, shouting at each other and me to stand back as they led the girl into the off-licence. Where had these caring voices been before when the teenager was undergoing a lifetime's disfigurement? . . . . Anger began to rise in me. I noticed one stationary onlooker with a smile on his face, a sort of amused smirk. He was standing no more than five yards away, a well-built, reasonably fit-looking man in his mid-thirties. . . .

'What's so funny?' I asked him. 'She's a young girl. How could you stand by and watch that happen to her?'

'Don't have a go at me, you pompous prick,' he replied, full of belated aggression. 'Why should I get involved? It had nothing to do with me.'

On reflection I probably did seem like a pompous prick, possibly because I was acting like a pompous prick. There I was, the have-a-go hero, admonishing harmless strangers for their inaction. . . . I'm sure self-righteous indignation animated my every gesture. For I was saying in so many words: 'Why couldn't you be more butch and fearless, like me?' No wonder I was put in my place. And yet I meant it.

I guess this is the stereotypical British diffidence, but for God's sake! You rescue a 16 year old girl from a vicious attack, a flaming asshole defiantly defends his selfishness and deliberate isolation, you rightfully upbraid him not only for his attitude but more so for his inaction . . . and you agree with him that you were a pompous prick?

You have to read all three parts - it's full of this kind of guilty equivocating. Kudos to Anthony for bravely describing his journey, but if he has such a long way to go before he is unashamed to denounce the bully and the bystander, and unapologetic about standing up for the vulnerable and defenseless, think how much farther the rest of his mates have to go to even tolerate what he has to say. For example, this is apparently what the average British liberal thinks of a civic association which in the US is innocuous even to urban Blue Staters:

We may hear a great deal about 'empowering communities' but few self-respecting liberals would want to spell out what that power should actually mean. Even a scheme as tame as Neighbourhood Watch, in which residents report suspicious activity to the police, runs counter to progressive thought. In the liberal imagination it brings to mind small-minded snoopers and busybody curtain-twitchers, insufferable suburbanites hostile to strangers and young people. Among sophisticated people it enjoys the image of a sort of petit bourgeois Stasi.

Oh brother. Thus a once-proud and civil culture is brainwashed into disavowing the best of its heritage. It used to be that New York was known for its crime and London was the city where one could walk the streets at night.

I had a mild disagreement a few months ago with someone who thought our values of individual rights and rule of law are so deeply embedded in our society that I was needlessly fretting about losing them. My argument was that the shift in values is creeping and insidious and one cannot afford to be sanguine about it. Eternal vigilance, as they say, is the price of liberty. (It was only a mild disagreement because we were at a dinner and the conversation was ranging far and wide and I agree with this person about most things and I decided not to get into it. But it's something I feel very strongly about.)

Exhibit A: Great Britain.