Tell the Truth
There have been so many repetitive and therefore pointless articles about the Iraq War written this year that a curious reader has to search for an essay on the subject that makes any sense. Conservative pundits regularly provide roundups of "good news" out of Baghdad, but they're often written with an almost desperate spin, even if some of the facts are true and not reported by Democratic organs like The New York Times and Washington Post. The barrage from the left-wing is, at least to me, even more mind-numbing, a collection of mantras and clichés that don't really go beyond "Bush's misadventure," "Speak truth to power," "No blood for oil," lampooning his "Mission Accomplished" appearance and of course the most frequent cry of "Bush lied" because no WMD were found.
The war's follow-through after Saddam's ouster has been terribly flawed, but the cause was correct. I don't understand the naiveté of anti-war protesters (the few that are out there) and the media, thinking that had Bush flushed out the Taliban in Afghanistan and called it a day that Saddam, smelling opportunity, wouldn't have been a threat. Gone from memory is the fact that the Iraqi dictator paid the families of Palestinians to send their young men on suicide bombings against the Israelis.
Andersen dared to claim that Iraq is not Vietnam redux, a view that might get him excommunicated by media high priests Lewis Lapham and Graydon Carter.
Noting that a Google search yielded twice as many hits for Iraq and "quagmire" than Vietnam and the same word, Andersen gives a history lesson for those born after 1980 as well as the aging journalists-letting their freak flags fly-commenting on or covering the war. He writes: "But are we really headed for another Vietnam, with all that implies? I don't think so. (And Saddam wasn't another Hitler, either.) [He might have added that Bush also isn't another Hitler, but maybe that was edited out.] It's commonplace that '9/11 changed everything,' but Vietnam transformed America-our foreign policy, our politics, our culture-by at least an order of magnitude greater than we've experienced so far in this struggle. Call it grotesque baby-boomer one-upmanship if you want, but U2 and Coldplay aren't the Beatles, Beck and Josh Ritter aren't Dylan, and Iraq isn't Vietnam. (And Zarqawi was no Ho Chi Minh.)"
I doubt Andersen was trying to be mean, but he does concede a few parallels, saying, "Now, as then, we have Seymour Hersh chronicling the demonic breakdowns of command, and Neil Young releasing antiwar songs." Hersh, of course, is now a batty old man who weaves elaborate war conspiracies for The New Yorker, and Young's tepid Living With War sounds like a nursery rhyme compared to his urgent 1970 song "Ohio."
In this modern age of instant communication from the Internet, cell phones, far too much television and daily polls on the state of Bush, Iraq and "lesser" issues, such as the strong economy, there's little real outrage about the war. As Andersen writes, it's the apathy today that separates the two eras. Sure, when pollsters ask Americans now if invading Iraq was a mistake, often a majority replies in the affirmative. But despite the claim by NBC's Tim Russert that November's midterms will be about "Iraq, Iraq, Iraq," it's far more likely voters will concentrate on local issues like taxes, schools, the price of gasoline and corruption.
It's an obvious point, but bears repeating again and again to the "doves" (although that word is never used, given its connotations of Democrats being soft on domestic security), that the main reason for the "apathy" is the absence of a draft. Suppose Bush re-instated conscription, as Rep. Charlie Rangel desires. The entire political and cultural landscape would change, and colleges once again would be the scene of sit-ins and latter-day Mark Rudds imploring fellow students to march on Washington. Just as older citizens vote with their wallets, young adults would vote with their bodies.
Andersen's jibe that Coldplay and Beck are insignificant compared to Dylan and the Beatles is correct, of course, but don't tell that to The Nation's insulated braintrust. A May 15 editorial, "Songs of Protest," bellowed joy to the world; the political pop tune is back! In the form of Pearl Jam, Bruce Springsteen's "rollicking" album of Pete Seeger songs, Moby, Michael Stipe and that irrepressible band of rebel gals the Dixie Chicks.
This glass-is-half-full edit inspired a hilarious letter in the July 3 issue from Mark Riley, of Lawrenceville, GA. "Did you really refer to the musicians as 'courageous'?? Oh, you mean because they wrote pop lyrics criticizing the President and/or the war? Boy, that is courageous-no one else would dare to do that. And they did this in America? In America! Are you sure? And they got away with it? It's a miracle they survived to collect their gawdy royalties? Well, I'm inspired by these courageous troubadours of yours. I feel like doing something equally courageous. I think I'll go to the grocery, buy sixteen items and stand in the express checkout line? I'll let you know how it goes, if I survive to tell about it."
By the way, last weekend it was hard to escape the media's predictable stories about Paul McCartney, who released "When I'm Sixty-Four" 39 years ago, and the irony that he's finally reached that age. Sam Roberts, in the June 17 Times, was the most egregious of the lot, mainly because he turned to the gone-to-mush Gail Sheehy, 68, to interpret the meaning of this milestone. Roberts writes that Sheehy (and sorry, Sam, if your story was intentionally silly) "is still guiding readers through life's passages." Sheehy didn't disappoint: She say that sexagenarians "may believe in yesterday, but they also can't stop thinking about tomorrow." Hey, that's a plug for her mate Hillary Clinton!
Sheehy's real gem was left for the conclusion: "The new 64, is more like 84."
Everyone who's 50 or older and feels physically the same as at 30, please raise your hands?
I thought so.