It is, is it?
So let me get this straight. The Iraq war is officially over.
Just like that.
Did someone simply walk around one last time to make sure the oven was turned off and the iron was unplugged, tilted the blinds, turned on the porch light, slammed the door and cranked the dead bolt?
I guess so.
Apparently, it was that easy. At a cost of nine years, nearly 4,500 American and 100,000 Iraqi lives and a trillion dollars, the world's largest and most expensive fork exposed its tines and on Friday signaled that this thing is done, done and done.
Make no mistake, however—we're leaving a lot of parting gifts to this fragile mishmash of tribal alliances, including an embassy larger than anything this side of the Dugger's house.
Still unaccounted for are $6.6 billion earmarked for Iraqi reconstruction projects and one billion dollars in missing tractor trailers, machine guns and rocket propelled grenades provided to local security forces.
Such a comforting statistic.
For all of the soldiers and families who've finally gotten an opportunity to put this nightmare behind them, Friday was a landmark day, and wouldn't you have thought our print media would concur? I definitely believed as much.
But here's the front page of the Detroit Free Press (end of war article framed in green):
And one of my local papers, The Tacoma News Tribune:
When the Japanese surrendered, ending World War II, it received this treatment in the New York Times:
And another of my neighborhood publications, The Seattle Post-Intelligencer:
Judging from the prominence of first two headlines, the end of hostilities in Iraq barely justified the front page.
How do you feel about that?
Granted, Iraq wasn't a popular undertaking from the get-go. America was more polarized over the decision to engage in these actions than any era since Vietnam, and after having two anti-war signs stolen out of my front yard in liberal West Seattle, I experienced little difficulty in drawing such a conclusion.
Many of us believed that our President and his cronies were selling us a bill of goods, fabricating evidence to associate Saddam Hussein with the organization responsible for September 11. Heeding the warning of Republican President Dwight D. Eisenhower, a lot of us felt that America's current military industrial complex was fabricating evidence in order to profit from a nation's patriotism, paranoia...and ignorance.
So many American lives were wagered to safeguard and install Pizza Huts and Baskin Robbins, Subways and Burger Kings. KBR, a former Halliburton division, supplied $20 billion dollars in food, fuel and housing.
I wonder what KBR's gross margin was on a Double Whopper or foot long Meatball with pepper jack and no onions.
Here's what sticks in my craw, and I'll try to be concise, here:
Our troops, at minimum, deserved a headline with the day's largest typeface, preferably thirty-six point Futura Bold. Many participated in two, three or even four tours over there, and by God, they warrant a large freaking announcement in the freaking newspaper.
America needs to care, but it seems like nobody really does. This war has been predominantly fought on the backs of working class and poor kids who are looking for a way out of their situations. People took to the streets during Vietnam because they or their child risked being drafted into a hellish situation, and now it just doesn't hit home for a lot of us since we don't have many dogs in the this fight.
I know we're all busy right now with holiday preparations, but please, do me a favor.
Wherever you are, take five minutes. I'm not asking you to stand up or look around or do anything. Just take five minutes and think about what a lot of people have been doing for the past ten years, and what many are still doing in distant, hostile lands.
Then think about what we can do to bring more of them home.
Showing posts with label Iraq War. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Iraq War. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
March 12: A Profile in Courage.
The words "bravery," "courage" and "sacrifice" tend to get thrown around a little too loosely in our society.
But not in this man's case.
Today marks the eighty-first anniversary of Mohandas Gandhi's 241-mile march to the sea in protest of Britain's salt monopoly in India. Back then, before the Brits had introduced the world to John, Paul, George, Ringo, William and Harry, they made a nice name for themselves exploiting those who didn't live in towns ending in "-rshire" or "-ngton" or "-tford."
Not only did the English control the salt trade, a staple in the Indian economy, but they also imposed oppressive salt taxes on the population.
Enter Mohandas, that bald ball of fury. Beginning his journey with seventy-eight followers, he paused to address large crowds along the way to Dandi, a sea town where his end game was to defy the British prohibition against extracting salt from sea water. By the time Gandhi had wrapped up his trek, he'd accumulated a few more friends than even Dorothy on her weekend getaway to Oz.
Tens of thousands of people trailed behind him.
Civil disobedience takes more courage then just about anything I can imagine. These people have not only stood up to authority and intentionally broken laws, but they've risked, and often lost, their lives.
Most of us aren't willing to gamble to those extremes, but many aren't afraid to spend a few sleepless nights on the cold marble floors of the Wisconsin capitol building. Some may not possess the fortitude to subject their bodies to the fire hoses of 1960s Alabama, but they're game to solicit some signatures on a rainy Sunday afternoon in front of Safeway.
More than anyone, I can learn from my own advice. In 2003, when George W. Bush stood in the Iraq War's on-deck circle, I dragged my eight-year-old daughter to a massive protest march through downtown Seattle. I really wanted her to experience our democracy at work, and felt pretty self-satisfied, even though it's hardly dangerous to join thousands of like-minded citizens of liberal Seattle for a nice afternoon walk with some signs.
That's why it's so hard to imaging really laying it out there. Don't get me wrong; I've been a protester.
When Starbucks CEO, Howard Schultz, decided to kill professional basketball in Seattle by selling the SuperSonics to an ownership group from Oklahoma City, I rebelled by boycotting Starbucks delicious molasses cookies and any drink larger than a grande.
I've sent back subs for being a meatball short.
I've yelled at more referees on television than you can imagine, and I've even booed a few umpires right there at the park...you know, if I'm sitting really far away.
When my "No Iraq War" sign was stolen out of our yard, I promptly headed back to the Unitarian Church for a new one, and re-planted it defiantly, this time in the back yard.
Seriously, my heart holds a special compartment for the Gandhis, the Martin Luther Kings, the Egyptian citizens, the Libyan rebels and everyone else who lays it all on the line.
I can only hope to attain a fraction of their courage.
But not in this man's case.
Today marks the eighty-first anniversary of Mohandas Gandhi's 241-mile march to the sea in protest of Britain's salt monopoly in India. Back then, before the Brits had introduced the world to John, Paul, George, Ringo, William and Harry, they made a nice name for themselves exploiting those who didn't live in towns ending in "-rshire" or "-ngton" or "-tford."
Not only did the English control the salt trade, a staple in the Indian economy, but they also imposed oppressive salt taxes on the population.
Enter Mohandas, that bald ball of fury. Beginning his journey with seventy-eight followers, he paused to address large crowds along the way to Dandi, a sea town where his end game was to defy the British prohibition against extracting salt from sea water. By the time Gandhi had wrapped up his trek, he'd accumulated a few more friends than even Dorothy on her weekend getaway to Oz.
Tens of thousands of people trailed behind him.
Civil disobedience takes more courage then just about anything I can imagine. These people have not only stood up to authority and intentionally broken laws, but they've risked, and often lost, their lives.
Most of us aren't willing to gamble to those extremes, but many aren't afraid to spend a few sleepless nights on the cold marble floors of the Wisconsin capitol building. Some may not possess the fortitude to subject their bodies to the fire hoses of 1960s Alabama, but they're game to solicit some signatures on a rainy Sunday afternoon in front of Safeway.
More than anyone, I can learn from my own advice. In 2003, when George W. Bush stood in the Iraq War's on-deck circle, I dragged my eight-year-old daughter to a massive protest march through downtown Seattle. I really wanted her to experience our democracy at work, and felt pretty self-satisfied, even though it's hardly dangerous to join thousands of like-minded citizens of liberal Seattle for a nice afternoon walk with some signs.
That's why it's so hard to imaging really laying it out there. Don't get me wrong; I've been a protester.
When Starbucks CEO, Howard Schultz, decided to kill professional basketball in Seattle by selling the SuperSonics to an ownership group from Oklahoma City, I rebelled by boycotting Starbucks delicious molasses cookies and any drink larger than a grande.
I've sent back subs for being a meatball short.
I've yelled at more referees on television than you can imagine, and I've even booed a few umpires right there at the park...you know, if I'm sitting really far away.
When my "No Iraq War" sign was stolen out of our yard, I promptly headed back to the Unitarian Church for a new one, and re-planted it defiantly, this time in the back yard.
Seriously, my heart holds a special compartment for the Gandhis, the Martin Luther Kings, the Egyptian citizens, the Libyan rebels and everyone else who lays it all on the line.
I can only hope to attain a fraction of their courage.
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