If, God forbid, the government of Jamaica or Holland blew up Cuttings Wharf or the dock at Lake Hennessey, would you expect to read about it in the Register?

What if Department of Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff contacted the Register newsroom and told us reporting the attacks would pose a security risk and that publishing the information could lead to public panic?

Which would be the right thing to do: Suppress the information in an effort to serve the national interest, or reveal it to residents who expect us to cover every important event in Napa County?

My question is ridiculous and hypothetical, thank goodness, but not by as much as you might think.

My knowledge of World War II was expanded in significant and surprising ways in the last couple of days, as I conducted what was intended to be modest research into the War in the Pacific. What I stumbled upon raised pointed questions about the role of the press, the evolving expectations of the American public and the sometimes uneasy frontier where patriotism meets journalism.

I managed to make it through the California public school system from kindergarten to university without learning that the Japanese shelled an oil refinery and pier north of Santa Barbara in February 1942; that the so-called Battle of Los Angeles, when our boys fired anti-aircraft shells at was believed to be invading enemy aircraft, took place that same month; or that later in 1942 Japanese pilots tried (twice) to start raging and resource-depleting forest fires by dropping incendiary devices on an Oregon mountain top.

In the grand scheme of the Second World War, or even the grinding and gruesome War in the Pacific, these were minor incidents.

A few of the accounts I read this week noted that contemporaneous news accounts of these mainland incidents and others were suppressed.

Presumably, fear and suspicion were running high enough on the West Coast that authorities wanted to keep things cool. Further, as subsequent wars and war coverage have proven, domestic depiction of United States military setbacks are highly controversial.

Media coverage of Vietnam, for example, is either blamed for causing domestic dissent and strategic shifts that undermined the national interest, or is credited for helping to end a dark chapter in our history by bringing the reality of war home to the public.

Those opposing views of the media are still getting vigorous workouts today, as journalists track military efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan and the policy debates swirling around the War on Terror.

So if the government of Mali occupies Mount Veeder, what is the Register to do?

The newsman in me says we are obligated to deal it out straight at the Register and tell readers what is going on without fear or favor. If it happens here, we should write about it.

It is daunting, and thought-provoking, to consider that similar people at similar jobs made very different decisions not that long ago.