C’est la guerre

Three years ago today, we huddled on my bed staring blankly at the television borrowed just for the event.

It was after we all got out of class, dark crisp air around us, and we watched equipment our tax money had paid for killing people we didn’t know on the other side of the world. We listened to Mr Bush make a speech, and I shushed the derisive jeers so that I could hear his choice of language, and consider what he was telling us.

We talked about where we were during the First Gulf War, and as missiles streaked across the screen in plays of green light, we remembered watching that war televised too, the oil fields burning. We sat up all night watching, and people drifted in and out of my house in a state of shock.

Three years ago, we realized that we had been thrust irrevocably into a new world, although we didn’t know that ahead lay gruesome pictures on the front page of the paper, that almost 3,00 American soldiers would be dead three years later, that journalists would be kidnapped, tortured, and murdered. We didn’t know that coalition forces would suffer with ours, that other countries would experience rioting and arson, that this was the new face of misery. We didn’t know that the approval ratings for the government would continue to slip and slip and yet the war would still be waged.

In the last three years, I have been to many protests against the war, although I will not be attending one today. In the last three years, my world has been shaped in new, interesting, and ultimately tragic ways.

How much longer is this war going to continue? How much longer shall we let it continue?