In this week of sad news that defies comprehension, one story stands out. Not a lengthy, vividly written description of the indescribable, but a short, bland list.

It was a list sent out over the news wire early Wednesday of the men and women aboard those doomed airliners who managed to telephone loved ones on the ground during the last moments of their lives. Limited by the scant information available at that early time, the list was no more than a few inches in length, it contained little more than the names of the husbands and wives, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers who held these final conversations. It was heartbreaking.

The heartbreak was magnified by the lack of detail. By leaving so much to the imagination, this short, bland list forced all of us who are fortunate enough to have loved ones to wonder what we would say and how we would act in such awful circumstances. Similarly, we need not know exactly what those passengers on the plane that went down in Pennsylvania did to wrestle death to the ground before it could claim more lives to stand in awe of their bravery. As we see the pictures of heroic New York City emergency workers digging through the rubble they know buries some 300 of their comrades, we need no commentators to tell us to be astonished at how their sense of duty overrides their grief.

From this sadness beyond measure and this courage without limit will come, we are told, profound change. Things will never be the same. Human history will be divided between those events that occurred before Sept. 11, 2001, and those that occurred after. The political map of the world will be drawn in only two colors – those nations committed to the war against terrorism, those that support it.

For now, there is change. Washington, D.C., long a city of squabbling Republicans and Democrats, now is filled with statesmen and women, standing shoulder to shoulder in unity of purpose, marching in step to the drumbeat of war. The public is told it will have to make sacrifices for this war – tightened security at airports, longer waits, more inconveniences, perhaps higher fares.

Is that all? This attack was the 21st century Pearl Harbor; the coming 21st century war – against a monstrous enemy that is evasive, that has no home country to defend and nothing to lose – will be long, bloody and very difficult. As those in uniform 60 years ago gave their lives in battle, the American public made their own extraordinary sacrifices, gladly accepting drastic changes in daily life for many years to bring about victory. We can accomplish the same thing today merely by putting up with more hassles in air travel? Hardly.

One of the dozens of letters this newspaper received Wednesday, the day after that terrible day, made this point: We know that the international terrorism network and the thuggish quasi-governmental Taliban in Afghanistan that harbors Osama bin Laden are funded substantially by the profits derived from the illegal drug trade. Will Americans, the largest consumers of illegal drugs in the world, be willing to give up this “harmless” indulgence in the interest of drying up terrorism’s money supply?

At first, this seemed a stretch. Later that afternoon, the larger point about sacrifice, about true change, became more clear. One of the many foreign-policy experts we’ve seen on television this week was asked why, given bin Laden’s long and heinous rap sheet (the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, the USS Cole attack, the U.S. embassy bombings in Africa, to name but a few of his crimes), have not the United States and other developed nations declared war before now?

The answer was, of course, oil. The tentacles of the terrorism network, this expert explained, wrap around the government of virtually every oil-producing nation in the Mideast and Asia. To get tough with those shaky governments, to demand that they deny terrorists places from which to operate or banks to funnel their money through, might well have set off political upheaval that could have pinched off the oil supply and driven up prices. Instead, we settled for vague, anti-terrorism comments, unkept promises and cheap gas.

Shortly afterward, one of the few news stories of the day not about terrorism came across the wire. It was from the automotive press, a gushing piece touting the 2002 model of a popular muscle car – an incredible 400-plus horsepower, an amazing zero-to-60 in 3.9 seconds, a pathetic 17 highway miles per gallon. As we go to war, and if we have to tell oil-producing countries that if they’re not with us, they’re against us, will those on the home front be willing to take a bit longer to get to 60? Will we accept higher gas prices as part of the cost of freedom and security? Will the choice between buying a fuel-efficient car and a gas-guzzler be the choice between being a patriot and a traitor?

Another reader made the observation that, while drug money may fund terrorism and our thirst for oil may shield it, terrorism persists because of resentment – as long as Americans continue to buy clothing made in Third World sweatshops, drink gourmet coffee picked by impoverished peasants or eat chocolate that began with Ivory Coast slavery, they won’t have to look any further than the closet or cupboard to find the source of that resentment. If that $50 designer shirt contains 50 cents in labor, chances are it was made in a country in which Osama bin Laden has an active terrorist cell. Will we demand better conduct by the manufacturers that use Third World labor, will we even pay more for their products, to deny bin Laden his recruits and his popular support?

There no doubt will be many other changes – real, inconvenient, even painful, sacrifices – that will have to be made if the scourge of terrorism is to be eliminated now and for all time. Call it war or a unified action by civilization to save itself from madness, it will be difficult. Just how difficult no one say, but the depth of the sadness we feel and the height of the courage we’ve seen ought to be a good indication.

Bruce Kyle is the assistant editorial page editor for the Bangor Daily News.