Terrorism brings out the worst in people. Naturally, I don’t mean the terrorists themselves. They are a sub-group of humans whose view of their fellow man is even more difficult to define or understand than that of serial killers (terrorists who work one victim at a time).

No, I mean the people who see career opportunities in societal misfortune. What a strange gang they are. It was playwright John Mortimer who pointed out that the legal system would be absolutely nowhere, my dear, without criminals and I take his point. A police chief’s job is to convince the populace that crime is on the rise so that he can have huge staff increases, bigger bullets and totally cool helicopters that fly by night and can see into your bedroom. He needs criminals.

Usually chiefs can be put off by statisticians who point out how the crime numbers have been fondled and punched more than a ball of bread dough. We had a police chief like that in Toronto recently. They’ve put him in charge of terrorism and now he sees terrorists everywhere. He needs them. I’m not saying they may not be somewhere, but they’re not nibbling on my toes as I write this.

But the worst — and funniest — case of terrorism salesmanship is an American named Ty Fairman who came to Canada this week to lecture us on how to change our way of life to fight terrorists whose greatest desire “is to change our way of life,” he says, which I call self-defeating, but it flows for Ty.

At first, I was going to make fun of Ty’s name, but it turns out his real name is Tyrine, so I’ll call him Mr. Fairman. His advice to Canadian city-dwellers is to be vigilant on the subway. “Everyone has to become their own law enforcement,” he advises. But weren’t you raised being told that? Don’t put firecrackers in mailboxes, don’t egg people’s houses, don’t lick someone else’s lollipop.

I suspect Mr. Fairman means something else, i.e. everyone has to become everyone else’s law enforcement, especially on the subway. In this, we are as one. When I am on the subway, I am everyone’s litter collector, which maddens my husband. “You don’t know where it’s been,” he says agitatedly. I take grave exception to this remark, which I used to use on the children when they were little. They are out of the house and I am a grownup, I say. From there, the debate balloons.

Stay alert on the subway, Mr. Fairman advises, not understanding that everyone’s dearest wish is to dive into an I-am-not-on-the-subway trance. “Try not to fall asleep,” he advises. And then he drops his biggest clanger. Can we read on the subway? “I wouldn’t support it.”

This doesn’t surprise me. When you read Mr. Fairman’s website and attendant literature on his speech in Toronto, it becomes apparent that Mr. Fairman is not only Agent Jack Bauer, fighting all things nasty, but he is illiterate in the sense of being incomprehensible.

“This session is aimed at altering your general thought process when implementing national security and corporate investigative and intelligence techniques. Attendees will be challenged to think above and beyond their own perceptions and taught to embrace a mindset that will allow them to deter possible threats more efficiently and effectively.”

In other words, he wants to teach security types to think about terrorism in a more inventive way.

Have you ever read a paragraph more in need of parsing?

He wants us upright, eyes peeled for dodgy fellow passengers. What he doesn’t grasp is that on a subway, everyone looks dodgy, including me. If people aren’t drooling or talking to themselves about hateful co-workers, they’re doing something disgusting with their nose (perhaps practising for when they buy a car). I was horrified to read that the possible bomber on the London bus kept scrabbling inside his bag anxiously. I spend entire subway rides doing that.

My stream of consciousness: Where are sunglasses oh god left at bank machine, they’ll be stolen which is what I deserve for buying Chanel as de-gloomer, it’s hemp glasses from now on, lord my pen is dripping, never mind I’ll manage my to-do list with lip liner, hmmm, talk to Knopf, why not like book title Biter of Cattle, lawn sprinkler with pressure stopcock device NOT GARDENA Biotherm eye cream, here is One Hundred Years of Solitude, must I read Marquez, what have I done with my life once so fresh so full of promise. . ..

And the man wants me to notice possible terrorists. Think outside the box, as he suggests. So I should look out for normals, average types. And then do what? Halt the train for a jumpy white guy in a windbreaker and man-sandals?

George W. Bush’s war on terror has increased terrorism throughout the world, most recently in London. Had the man read a history book or a good foreign newspaper — not on a subway, of course — it might all have been avoided.

As for Tony Blair, who essentially echoed Mr. Bush and said, “Bring it on,” he hasn’t been on the London subway since that time he decided to chat casually with “working-class” voters. Bad idea. The footage of him trying to strike up a conversation with a beautiful, terrified young woman who, not recognizing him, thought she was being stalked by a man with mad, staring eyes and snaggle teeth was one of the funniest things ever seen on the BBC.

We don’t need the American terrorism hard sell here. What we need is stalwart U.S. Democrats shouting at their senators and congressmen to find their spine. Instead, we’ve got a guy named Ty telling us to stop reading.

I say pick up a book. The Quiet American, by Graham Greene, would be a good start.