One of the problems in dealing with public perception of the Iraq War is not so much the distance time puts between people and past events, but more the constant stream of disinformation and spin from supporters of the war, most notably from within the administration--the constant drumbeat of false hope of victory, and the savage attacks against protesters, characterizing them as cut-and-run cowards who will "lose" the war. With the razzle-dazzle of White House PR, it's easy to lose sight of what is really going on and what really matters.
But perhaps more than anything else, the inability to internalize what is happening keeps people from seeing the obviously correct path. War casualties are just statistics which pale in the shadow of buzzwords and hype; responsibility for past errors and the knowledge that they will likely happen again fade quickly in the noise of current events. Since it is hard to keep all of what has happened in focus and perspective, I thought it would be helpful to create a situational analogy for what has happened, what is happening, and what will probably happen.
Imagine that you and your spouse have four children, and want to go out for the night. The only person available to housesit and babysit for the evening is a local guy named George. He's a rich kid, well-connected, and known to be less than perfect, to put it lightly, but you and your harried spouse really want to get away for an evening, and the only way you can do that is to use George. So against your better judgment, you leave him in charge and go for a night out. You even call George a few times from the restaurant, and he insists that everything is just fine, there's nothing to worry about. Wanting to believe that, you accept what he says and leave things in his hands.
A few hours later, as you are returning home, you see flames rising into the sky. You pull into view of your house, and see that it is in the process of burning to the ground. Fire pours out the broken windows, and it is clear that even if the fire department arrived immediately with all hands, it would be too late. You cannot see your children at first, but George is standing out there on the front lawn with a bullhorn. You dash out of your car, run up to George, and ask him what happened.
"Damned cockroaches were in the kitchen," he replies.
"What?"
"Yeah," he replies casually, pointing at the house. "At least I thought they were. I heard something in there. So I tried to flame them out. You know, can of hair spray and a lighter, aim under the fridge, scare 'em out. Didn't work, and then the place somehow caught on fire."
You are almost too shocked to wonder at his stupidity. "Where's the fire department?"
"Oh, I didn't call them," George retorts scornfully. "They're irrelevant. A buncha pussies, y'know. And they probably woulda' just taken credit for everything."
Suddenly you go cold inside. "George... Where are the children?!?"
George points to something near the doorway, a smoking heap. Recognizing the clothing, you realize to your horror that it was your youngest child. The George raises the bullhorn to his mouth and shouts, "Hey! It's worse in the living room! Get in there!" Your horror intensifies when you see movement inside the house, and realize that George left all three of your other kids in the house to fight the fire, using nothing more than small fire extinguishers and glasses of water to throw on the spreading flames. You can tell that the kids are doing their best to fight the fire.
"You're using our kids to fight the fire?!?"
George shrugs. "Hey, you fight the fire with the kids that ya' got."
"Get them out of there!!" you scream.
George looks at you disdainfully. "What are you talking about?" he snaps back. "The house will burn down! You want to let that happen? Especially when he's just arriving?" George motions to a reporter who has just reached the scene.
"Our youngest is dead, you asshole!!"
"And you want his death to mean nothing? You want to make 'im die in vain? Your other kids have got to finish the job! After all, I don't want to look like a failure here."
"Those are our kids inside!!"
George snorts derisively. Just then, two of your neighbors' kids run up--and you realize that they are carrying a few pails of sand.
"Great!" George says, "Now get in there! If you guys go in, we're sure to beat this thing!" George then looks back at the reporter, and with a smirk, drawls, "I call this a 'Surge'!"
There's really no question about what you should do. You stop the neighbors' kids, grab the bullhorn, and yell for your kids to get out. They do; and although one of your kids miraculously got through the ordeal without harm, the two others who survived suffer from various degrees of burns and smoke inhalation. The house continues to burn. As you get them out on the lawn, you see that George is busily talking up the reporter, telling his own version of events. You hear snippets: "They put me in charge, approved everything... I had this thing beat... They didn't have the guts to see it through, they just let it burn... I had a plan, and they had nothing better instead."
And you realize that you do bear responsibility. You did leave things in his hands, allowing the pressure of the moment to persuade you to do something you knew was irresponsible and wrong. You were absent when your judgment was needed most, and you took action too late.
All of this, of course, does not absolve George; he was a callously stubborn idiot who burned down the house, killed your child and endangered the others with foolish abandon while he stood safely aside.
Even worse, you know that because of his connections, and because the reporter works for a friend of his daddy's, George is not only going to get off scot free, but most of the town will believe his bullshit about how he was the hero and you made the house burn down. They'll probably even give him a medal of freedom or something. And though many of your neighbors will know who burned the house down, they'll still hold against you what they rightfully should--that you left him in charge and let things get out of control.
Still, when you realized your mistake, even though it was far too late, you did the right thing. Not that there was much of a choice, really.
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That, I feel, is pretty much where we stand as a nation. Because of Bush's catastrophic mismanagement, Iraq is burning out of control and there is no helping it. You can feel badly about having given Bush the chance to do what he did, and you can spend all day going over the facts of Bush's responsibility for each failure, even though you know the media will not play it that way, not with Bush and his allies feeding their constant spin and lies.
But all of that is of lesser importance. What is important is that our kids are out there, bravely fighting a fire that can no longer be put out, and they will keep fighting with all they've got until you have the guts to call them back, even though you will likely suffer in a different way for it.
There really is no choice. You can ether pull them out and salvage their lives and well-being though the house burns down, or you can stand there and watch them fight until the house burns down around them anyway. The worst thing you could do, however, is to listen to the asshole with a bullhorn.
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This post is a version of my blog post for today in The Blog from Another Dimension.