Thoughts on the State of War

            We have traded our World War II veterans for Korean War veterans for Vietnam vets for Afghanistan/Iraq vets, but still the question of war remains.  The issues of the impact of these wars on the people who fight in them, the physical and emotional toil that these wars have had on these men and women and their families, still remain and very little progress has been made on how to handle these things.  People put ribbons on their cars and stickers that profess support, but when concerns are actually brought up, people turn a blind eye.  When a homeless man who has lost his limbs or his sanity or both approaches us, we turn away and pretend not to see him.  When a woman lies dying of cancer in a bed with only her husband to weep over her withering form, the rest of us discuss how evil, however it is defined at the time, must be eliminated from the world.  But nothing is done.  No help is provided.  These people still suffer from the actions of a nation, the decisions of a few, while the rest of us support those decisions blindly and without question.  And if we question?  Our love of God and country are attacked, as if either would support the blind slaughter of innocent strangers or the harmful effects on those that would sacrifice for their beliefs.  As we stand on the brink of yet another war, one which pits the citizens of a nation against their ruler, one which the people use guns against the horrors of bombs and chemical weapons, the true cost of war crosses my mind. 

            I am reminded of my own first experience with war.  I am no soldier; I never have been, and I probably never will be.  I will likely never face the life and death situations which so many of my fellow countrymen do unless I am attacked on the safe streets of my own home town.  But I remember when this nation went to war against Iraq for the first time.  I was a child, in my first year of high school when the bombs were first dropped, when the missiles streaked across the night sky like streamers at a celebration, like fireworks remembering the birth of a nation.  But they did not carry the joy of those moments; instead, they carried the horror of death that I understood even then.  I remember the fear that gripped me as I watched the news broadcast that I had abhorred up until that moment, dreading the boring hourly broadcasts that my parents insisted on watching that kept me from my preferred cartoons or sitcoms that were popular that year.  I remember wondering if it was the end, the total destruction of life as I knew it.  In a way, it was.  It was the end of my innocence as war, which all of the adults that I knew were aware of, crept into my mind.  Not the war that came in cartoons or movies, but real war starring people that I did not know, whose special effects were the real thing.  I remember standing in the hallway as the missiles flew through the air at cities, lighting them up in spectacular colors and explosions.  I remember seeing the same scene in night vision, the green making the events more visible and more terrifying.  I remember going to church later, and finding out that one of those stars in the unfolding drama was a person I knew, his wife left behind with only her grief to comfort her.  She never was able to say goodbye, to kiss her husband one last time, to make love to him or yell at him or hold his hand or complain about shopping for clothes or games or cars or appliances.  It was only her, and I was aware of that.

            My second experience with war came much later.  I was an adult, having finished high school and a matching number of years in college.  I had learned much in that time.  I had learned the events of the past, I had learned how to craft sentences, I had learned how to edit and shape the written word, and I had learned how to tell a story.  I had learned the closeness of friends and the betrayal of lovers.  I had learned how to hide who I was and how to enjoy who I was.  But I had forgotten about the horrors of war, the first terrifying moment of war as seen on television.  I was reminded by the violent attacks in New York City, watching as planes were flown into three buildings and a field.  I was stunned, shocked, reverted back to the child watching horrific events on television.  But I was older, and I had to hide my fear so that I could comfort others around me.  The day was spent dividing my attention between those that needed me, explaining the unknowable, and keeping up with the constant stream of information that said nothing new.  This day, as before, ended in the same church as before where I was finally able to relieve the fear and sadness and anger that had burned inside me since nine o’clock, the time that I was reminded of the horrors of war.

            I have spent the next eleven years debating the conflicts that we have become involved in.  My anger has changed from those who attacked my country to those in this country who have attacked another.  I have debated, listened, yelled, been humbled, forgotten, and been enraged by the war that has not ended.  I have seen people I love go to war, joining the conflict between nations that was begun by the actions of a few.  I have seen atrocities committed by both sides in the name of what is right.  And I am forced to ask, what is right?

            A new conflict is about to break out, as it always is.  Another war in which our family and friends and ourselves will become embroiled in.  Why?  Why must people die, why must destruction occur, why must pain be inflicted just so it can start again?  I know we have to respond, but why is there anything to respond to?  I know that they are responding to something else, but why is there anything to respond to?  The questions are endless, but the answers seem quite limited, and none of them are satisfactory or lasting.  It is easy to think of the anger, the need to lash out in retaliation or to protect or to anticipate.  But sometimes people forget about the young boy who watches the bombs on television, dreading what the future holds.  They forget about the newly crowned adult who has to balance his own emotions against the emotions of those around him.  They forget about the homeless man who has lost everything he ever had, including himself.  They forget about the woman who is dying of cancer and is about to lose her life.