Tell me a Lie
21/03/07 14:06
We are
a nation of lies told mainly to ourselves. And we
tell them for the typical reasons people tell lies
to themselves. We tell the lies because we are too
weak and too cowardly to acknowledge the truth.
Richard Cohen of the Washington Post, an
establishment pundit if there ever was one,
finally placed the truth in a
paper of record: Over 3200 men
and women have been killed in Iraq. He
acknowledged that their lives were wasted. They
did not die for a noble cause. They did not die
for America's glory or to safeguard her
citizens, no matter what the particular soldier
personally believed. They died for other men's
hubris and ignorance--nothing more. They did not
perform a Christian sacrifice so that the rest
of us could live free. They were sacrificed--and
continue to be sacrificed-- so that other men
would not be embarrassed by having to admit
their arrogance and ignorance --so that they
would not have to acknowledge that from their
seats of power, they wasted so many lives.
Until recently, it has been verboten to say that soldiers' lives were wasted. It was illogically read as an attack on the soldiers--as if they themselves had lied and thrust themselves ill-equipped, ill-trained, without an endgame, into that Iraqi meatgrinder. It was said that it was unkind to the soldier's family to have to know that their child's life was wasted. I can't even imagine how unkind, how vicious that must be. But I believe in the truth, and if that truth hurts, it should. It should hurt like hell and every other parent who has not had their child's life wasted should have to watch others endure the unbearable and be forced to imagine themselves in the same ungodly position. Only then will it end. Only then will it not happen again.
We lie to keep ourselves clean. We lie to spare ourselves complicity in the waste of all those lives. We lie because the waste doesn't matter as much as we know it should. We read the daily death stats and they don't even elicit a shrug anymore, do they? It's "them." They volunteered. What does that have to do with me? Then we exploit the parents of the dead as we stick cameras in their faces so they can reinforce the lie and tell us all that they are proud that their child died saving us all--saying what they have to say to spare themselves the impotent rage that is the alternative. I don't personally know anyone with a child in Iraq. I may have overheard the checkout woman at the grocery store mention something to a co-worker about her son being home on leave, but I'm not going to pull a Friedman and pretend she's a bosom pal. We are strangers and there's no way I can imagine the nightmares that shake her, that choke her awake at night. Through the lie, I am spared the knowledge that lives are being wasted in my name. The lie spares me complicity. I am a busy man. I work hard. I deserve my sleep at night.
Until recently, it has been verboten to say that soldiers' lives were wasted. It was illogically read as an attack on the soldiers--as if they themselves had lied and thrust themselves ill-equipped, ill-trained, without an endgame, into that Iraqi meatgrinder. It was said that it was unkind to the soldier's family to have to know that their child's life was wasted. I can't even imagine how unkind, how vicious that must be. But I believe in the truth, and if that truth hurts, it should. It should hurt like hell and every other parent who has not had their child's life wasted should have to watch others endure the unbearable and be forced to imagine themselves in the same ungodly position. Only then will it end. Only then will it not happen again.
We lie to keep ourselves clean. We lie to spare ourselves complicity in the waste of all those lives. We lie because the waste doesn't matter as much as we know it should. We read the daily death stats and they don't even elicit a shrug anymore, do they? It's "them." They volunteered. What does that have to do with me? Then we exploit the parents of the dead as we stick cameras in their faces so they can reinforce the lie and tell us all that they are proud that their child died saving us all--saying what they have to say to spare themselves the impotent rage that is the alternative. I don't personally know anyone with a child in Iraq. I may have overheard the checkout woman at the grocery store mention something to a co-worker about her son being home on leave, but I'm not going to pull a Friedman and pretend she's a bosom pal. We are strangers and there's no way I can imagine the nightmares that shake her, that choke her awake at night. Through the lie, I am spared the knowledge that lives are being wasted in my name. The lie spares me complicity. I am a busy man. I work hard. I deserve my sleep at night.