Compassion, but not support for the troops

In the days preceding the American attack on Iraq, was there any slogan more contradictory than the one being offered up by many proponents of peace, to the effect that, while they are against the war, they will support the troops if it comes to war?

In short, the motto seemed to be, “I am against the war. But if we go to war, I’m for it.”

The cheerful – not even grudging – willingness to “support the troops” is assumed to be the one item of common ground between doves and hawks. There is an undercurrent of presumption that, while we may have our differences over White House policy vis-?-vis Iraq, deep down we are united by a common bond of affection for our soldiers, sailors and marines, no matter what they may find themselves mired in, no matter what ill-conceived wheel they put their shoulders to.

So deep is the presumption that when push comes to shove all Americans (make that “ALL”) will experience a common flush of war fever, that to suggest otherwise is to risk derision, accusations of sedition, and even bodily harm.

I experienced this myself recently when confronted with a college student who identified himself as a “Young Republican” (if one can imagine someone so ossified as so tender an age).

When I mentioned, in the course of civil debate, that I was against an unprovoked attack on Iraq, he nodded sagely, with hand to hairless chin, and then drew the conclusion designed to allow us to part on good terms: “But you will support the troops, won’t you?” When I told him “No” he turned religious on me and broke the third commandment. If I hadn’t left the scene he would have broken the sixth.

It is important for me to be clear on this point. Before our troops had, in the words of Secretary Rumsfeld, “put boots on the ground” in Iraq, it was my sincere hope that not a one of them would get hurt.

There have already been a small number of casualties, and I hope this is the last of them. I would rather not see even a flesh wound or, for that matter, a skinned knee or serious sunburn. I want each and every one of the remaining troops to return to the land of E. pluribus unum the picture of health, welcomed by family and friends, ready to pick up where they left off.

However, I do not support them in their mission because I think it is an immoral one, inimical to the idea of America as a peace-seeker rather than a warmonger. I cannot bear the thought of them being sent, as is said, “into harm’s way” by a president who not only has not been to war, but is whittling away at veterans’ benefits even as he directs his young warriors to put their fragile lives on the line.

I do not support the troops, but I feel compassion for them. I have read and watched the interviews with these people, and few of them have been able to articulate what they are fighting for in Iraq.

The usual reply runs along the lines of, “I’m here to follow orders,” or “This is payback for 911” (in which no Iraqis were involved). Of course, such easy rationales pave the way for all kinds of mayhem: if they are willing to make unprovoked war, then all bets are off and we will all need to get religion in addition to our duct tape and plastic sheeting.

I am convinced that, of all the hundreds of thousands of service people deployed so President Bush can recoup his poppy’s honor, there must somewhere be one, just one, who has refused duty on the basis of his or her conscience.

There must be one who has said, “I will defend my country against attack, but where, in this case, is the attack?” It is inconceivable that every single service member is of a mind. Certainly there must be a free thinker among the lot.

Certainly there must be one sailor or soldier reading Jefferson. Or Ghandi. Or listening to the pleas of his mother.

But perhaps all this is moot. The play has already been written right down to the joyous postscript when the soldier-saints come marching home again via Bangor International Airport, where the public, having roused themselves from post-pizza torpor, or the allures of The Bachelorette, line the walkways, their tears flowing like the waters of Babylon for the troops who fought for … for …

Now, what is it they were fighting for?

Robert Klose writes essays for The Christian Science Monitor and The Times Record. He teaches at University College of Bangor.