It's difficult to appreciate the magnitude of self-censorship in the American media until you're exposed to how the foreign press reports on a given conflict. Watching the news here in Greece has helped to put things into perspective.
Here, and in nations across the globe, America's dirty little secret is exposed for the entire world to see. It's a difficult transition to make, the one from filtered news dolled up in blazing graphics and theme music to this unadulterated version of reality pouring into television sets around the globe. The anchor will usually preface the segment with a warning ("the images you are about see are disturbing, but we feel we have to show them to you"), and before your heart has a chance to tell your mind to look away, you're looking at Iraq. The camera pans the street. It's strewn with debris, not flowers. The blackened skeleton of some family car is in the foreground. There's a screaming woman on her knees, slapping her hands on the ground (the puddle of blood she's in, the reporter kindly reminds us, is that of her son). And suddenly, you feel that all-too familiar feeling as your eyes begin to sting and tear up for the death of a stranger.
Of course, it's not just the death of this particular Iraqi, this stranger that affects us so. It is the death of thousands who preceded him that weigh like a million anvils on our conscience, and it's the inevitable death of thousands more that make the shame rise so quickly to our cheeks when we're confronted with the consequences of our action (or inaction, as it may be).
Unlike the conflict that has dominated the news for the last month, the war in Iraq, as the President has promised, is a long war. As such, there are no urgent peace deals being brokered in the White House or Paris. There's no steady stream of reports from Baghdad with flashy news banners declaring this to be a "DEVELOPING STORY". No, for Iraq, the story has already developed. Iraq's story began in shock and awe and has ended in silent indifference. Flashier wars have taken center stage. Election season is upon us. And Iraq has receded into the shadows of our global consciousness, out of sight, out of mind.
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About 1,228 people were killed in the 34-day conflict in Lebanon. Compare that to the
3,500 Iraqis that died n July. Or to the nearly 18,000 died in the first seven months of this year.
Chris Shays has promised to hold hearings in a month on Iraq. In a month, of course, because with Iraq (and for Republicans specifically) there exists the luxury of time. There is no real public pressure to stop the bloodshed. There are no international press conferences. There are no heated questions from the press about when and where and how will this conflict come to an end. No, in Iraq, there is always time. Time to wait for the Iraqi government to get its shit together, time to wait for the militias to disarm, time to wait for the seeds of democracy to grow (and grow they will, after all, they are being watered by the blood of heroes).
So while Iraqis are dying by the thousands each month, while our government hems and haws and pencils in tentative hearings, and while more Americans die in a civil war they shouldn't be fighting, while we, bold and beautiful America, chose to wait the situation out, the rest of the international community follows our lead.
The President preaches patience, not urgent action. And so, we see consequence of American intervention: Iraq, once touched by the hand of American pre-emption, has contracted a type of international leprosy. Nations cringe away from dealing with the deteriorating situation there. It is America's Iraq, governed by Powell's Pottery Barn Rule. And since America is content with standing in quicksand, there's no need for the world to stretch out its hands.
We knew going in that invading Iraq would open up a Pandora's box. That prophesy of bombs and blood is playing itself out on the evening news every day. But as I watch the daily bloodshed, uncensored, raw, and unrelenting, I can't help but remember what else escaped from Pandora's box--Hope. It's difficult to hold onto hope for a peaceful Iraq when it seems the world has flinched and turned its eye away from the daily horror there. But there is always--there must always--be hope. There must be a revival of urgency, a call to arms and action, and a recognition that this war--like any war in any nation--must finally come to an end.