Pennies of War

The Iraq War has always functioned as bloody wishing well. You throw Americans down the hole in exchange for a wish: a fervent wish for a region transformed, and a country rebirthed, and a legacy untarnished. If it doesn't work, do it again. American lives continue to be the cold commerce of foreign policy failures, the spent loose change of patriotism.

I would like now to sing the praises of a now-surged Iraq. Let us give thanks for the progress of the last year, for it has come at a price. Since the surge first began to be implemented as policy, on January 11th of this year, that price has been an additional 749 American lives. We will talk about the other dead some other time: let us focus for the moment on those 749 American troops that have given up all their tomorrows, all their lazy Sundays and lunches in the sunshine, all their romances and children and fervent desires, all their freedoms, in exchange for another lunge towards the fading hopes of an Iraq transformed. They have given their lives not in an attempt at victory, but for something more subtle: a bold attempt at maintaining the status quo just long enough for a hidden victory to emerge from wherever it has squirreled itself away.

Seven hundred forty nine more Americans have given their honor to the President, so that he may clothe himself in it, and walk with the assured gravity of a leader. They have given their dignity to the wartime pundits that have themselves been wounded by unflinching and meanspirited and taunting realities, these last long years, and must learn to stand once again with pride to speak their newest pronouncements to the waiting nation. They have given up their own courage to Democratic leaders who badly need it, in order to shield themselves from the rhetorical and electoral arrows that may fall around them if they were to speak up to prevent still more months of still more wounded, and dying, and dead. They have given their integrity and honesty to Republican congressmen and senators who, on this one last September, have reached what they themselves marked months ago as earnest decision point, the predetermined month when checks would be rebalanced, and their own duties reasserted. The troops we have lost had ample portions of all of these things, and do not need any of them anymore. They have given them back to their country just as they have given themselves back to the earth.

So let us honor the fallen. While the generals calculate their numbers, while the pundits are punditing, while the Congress congresses, while our President is Presidenting, let us take a moment to honor the dead, and what they have given us.

Before the surge, Iraq was a country with a barely functioning government teetering forever between thin promises of progress and its own ever-imminent collapse. Sectarianism, violence, corruption and private militias riddled the nation, leaving the nominal Iraqi government with haphazard and tenuous charge of even their own capital city, and little influence in the rest of the nation. But we had realized it was the fault of the Iraqi government itself, and a brand new leadership had been put in place, one that brought with it the new promise of less sectarianism, violence, corruption, and perhaps fewer private militias.

Now that the surge has been put into place, Iraq is a country with a barely functioning government teetering between thin promises of progress and imminent collapse, a government so wounded by sectarianism, violence, corruption and private militias that it has only haphazard and tenuous charge of their own capital city, and little influence in the rest of the nation. But we know now that it is the fault of that particular government, and that what we must do now is install new leadership: one that brings with it new promises of less sectarianism, violence, corruption, and less reliance on private militias.

These are the metrics of progress. In exchange for 749 American lives, we now have been blessed with the prospect of repeating the process anew.

So we dedicate this new progress to the parents of those troops killed during the surge. You have given your own children to the needs of the nation: truly, there is no possible way others could give anything worth even a tenth of that price. You have looked into the eyes of your own sons and daughters one last time, and lost them to the abyss. The years will pass without them: they will never grow older. They will never feel love again, or pain. You will never again celebrate joy with them, or console them in their sadness. You have given of yourself for this surge more than any wartime pundit: may your tears imbue you with as much dignity.

Before the surge, the Iraqi forces that we have worked so hard to form were dysfunctional at best, and fatally crippled tools of militias and warlords at worst. They were incapable of fighting without U.S. assistance, and riddled with corruption and sectarianism. But there was the promise of progress, of a new Iraqi force purged of such influences, if only given time.

Now that the surge has been put into place, the Iraqi forces that we have worked so hard to form are dysfunctional at best, and fatally crippled tools of militias and warlords at worst. They are incapable of fighting without U.S. assistance, and riddled with corruption and sectarianism. There are discussions of disbanding the police force entirely and starting over, so badly compromised are their ranks. But we know now what went wrong before, when we disbanded the Iraqi army to start over, when we trained a new army, and when we gave them weapons and ammunition, only to see many of them flee from combat, disappearing back into the countryside. When they became a tool of the various political factions of the country, a tool to be directed or withheld according to complex machinations of those that would advantage themselves from one decision or the other. We have now learned from our mistakes and can now take on the task of building and training Iraqi forces, even if we must start over by disbanding the current forces and beginning anew. And so there is the promise of progress, of a new Iraqi force purged of such influences, if only given time.

These are the metrics of progress. In exchange for 749 American lives, we have now been blessed with the opportunity to start again.

So we dedicate this new and hard-won progress to the brothers and sisters of those troops killed during the surge. Those younger, and those older; those that fought bitterly with their now-lost siblings, and those that became true compatriots in each others' grandest adventures, and those that had childhoods filled with both. The end of new memories, of rainy days spent indoors, and sunny days spent out, of posters and birthdays and school buses and graduations and weddings: you have given from your own family in order to support your country. You have given of yourself for this surge more than any troubled Democratic legislator; may the scars of your loss fill you with, if nothing else, a cold and metallic and armored courage, a courage that will not bend in the face of attack or adversity: a courage to do right.

Before the surge, there were not enough American troops to stabilize the country. The troops could take any ground, and could battle any enemy, but their numbers were insufficient to hold that ground, and to root out those entrenched enemies. Regions pacified would revert to militia or sectarian or insurgent rule soon after American forces left, and Iraqis that collaborated with the Americans subsequently punished; with each American assertion of power, the cycle would begin anew. The number of troops needed to maintain order and put down a counterinsurgency was far beyond those already in country, but no other replacements could be had: the military was stretched via stop loss and extensions of deployments, moves that analysts began to warn were seriously jeopardizing military capabilities and readiness.

Now that the surge has been put into place, there are not enough American troops to stabilize the country. Our forces can take any ground, and battle any enemy, but their numbers are insufficient to hold that ground, or root out those enemies. The military has had to abandon some regions in order to focus on others: regions left unpacified revert to local rule or anarchy. The number of troops needed to maintain order and put down the counterinsurgency is far more than those already in country, but no other replacements can be had: the military has currently been stretched so thin, in both men and equipment, that analysts warn current operations in Iraq cannot be maintained for longer than perhaps another six months. But on the other hand, new military strategies for holding certain specified areas and not holding the others have resulted in the currently held areas remaining currently held. We have not won, but neither have we lost, and each passing month in which we have not lost is a reckoning delayed.

These are the metrics of progress. In exchange for 749 American lives, we have now been blessed with the opportunity to push our troops still further, and to tautly stretch our military even more, edging ever closer to the breaking points in service of a barely functioning status quo.

So we dedicate this new and inexplicable progress to the friends of our troops that have fallen during the surge. Best friends, drinking friends, childhood friends, girlfriends and boyfriends, fiancés and fiancées: all those that have touched the now-stilled lives of these ordinary souls now honored, and all those that have been touched by them. Plans have been scattered like dust, now that there will be no homecoming. There is nothing to be done about the loss; there is nothing left but to move on. But in giving up the voice now made silent, the laugh now rendered mute, you have given from your life more than any Republican congressman or senator: may an empty chair beside you act always as reminder to live your life with honesty, and to never put off your own acts of integrity until a promised tomorrow which, if caught askew by a single blinding, bloody supernova of a moment, may never come.

Yes, before the surge, Iraq was a country teetering on anarchy, a country in which sectarian and ethnic violence was rampant and getting worse. Sectarian murders were so commonplace as to be uncountable, many civilian victims tortured before their deaths.

Now that that surge has been put into place, Iraq is no more a country in which sectarian and ethnic violence is rampant and getting worse, because we have redefined what sectarian and ethnic means. Now the steadily increasing numbers of dead Iraqis are just dead, and we honor the summertime murdered by no longer counting their corpses among the numbers that matter.

These are the metrics of progress.

So we dedicate this most final progress, the progress of the counted and uncounted dead, the progress of the changing spreadsheet and unchanging blood, to the children of our fallen. Those that will never see their parent again, and will grow up with an empty place inside. Those that visit their parent's gravesite to grieve, and those for whom a father or mother is an unknown, or the faintest of childhood memories, a mother or father that exists only as a photograph. Those that will never have the moments when, full of fury or tears, a single sentence can act as salve. Those that will never again see the familiar face at the back of the auditorium, or at the edge of the playing field, or leaning over a small bed.

You have given of yourself for this surge more than anyone else. You have given of yourself more than any pundit, or congressman, or senator, or president. May you grow up to always walk proudly, and with as much honor.

We ask courage of our troops, but we do not ask it of our leaders. We ask honesty and integrity of them, but do not ask it of those that judge whether more lives should or should not be spent. In death we give them dignity, but we give it for free to all those advocated the plans and battles that cost their lives. We honor them for their sacrifices, and use their sacrifices to elevate the leaders that demanded it of them. Sending American troops off to die is patriotic: working out the reasons why is not. Sending American troops off to die is a sign of strength and wisdom: taking the measure of what they died for is not. Sending the next American to his grave will be a sign of steadfast resolve: bringing the next American home before his death, a mark of failure. These are the new moral benchmarks by which we judge preemptive war. These are the metrics by which quagmire scrapes for honor of its own.

We are here in service to a simple idea: that attacking those that attacked us was not enough. That it was time instead to remake a region in neoconservative image, based on neoconservative plans by neoconservative strategists. It did not work; the plans did not match the thing built. From the first months, all fell apart, and the only remaining plan was to reassemble the shattered pieces into anything that would, however tenuously, stay upright.

The post-surge Iraq War will end as it began: as bloody wishing well. You throw Americans down the hole in exchange for a wish: a fervent wish for a region transformed, and a country rebirthed, and a legacy untarnished. If it doesn't work, do it again. And again. And again. American lives continue to be the cold commerce of foreign policy failures, the spent loose change of patriotism.

So a heartfelt thank you to the pennies of war: we dedicate these months of progress in your honor. Someday there will be a memorial dedicated to your sacrifice, your names etched in cold granite as final repayment for what you have given. An American president will lay a wreath, and a band will play, and the exit strategy for all concerned will be to walk to their cars and drive away. It will be a perfectly executed exit strategy, and the sad afternoon will not have given itself in vain.