I wrote this piece prior to the start of the U.S. war with Iraq, and it was published in my Asheville Citizen-Times column on August 31, 2002. Change a few names, and I believe it fits our current situation.

When the rich wage war it’s the poor who die.
–Jean-Paul Sartre

Indeed, I think that people want peace so much that one of these days governments had better get out of their way and let them have it.
–President Dwight D. Eisenhower

Having failed to capture Osama bin Laden as promised, President Bush has revived a tried-and-true boogeyman—Saddam Hussein, the mother of all despots. Yet does it really matter who the “bad guy” is? We’ve stockpiled a lot of bombs and missiles; we’ve declared war without end; we’ve got to attack somebody.

When Bush orders our troops into Iraq (according to some sources this has already begun on a limited scale), do you think that his children or any of the other Bush clan will be among the first wave of troops? Do you think that any of the presidential advisers who are cheering loudest for war will have a child whose life will be at risk? And what about the kids or grandkids of our senators and representatives in Congress? Many of these folks seem to be perfectly willing to send our offspring into battle. If their progeny were at risk, however, I suspect they’d be a bit more judicious.

If Bush and his cohorts are so anxious to get it on with Saddam, I have a more modest proposal than Middle East conflagration: tag team wrestling on international TV. In the red, white, and blue tights we have “Gorgeous” George Bush and Karl “King Kong” Rove, and in the black tights, Osama “Yo Mama” bin Laden and Saddam “Bruiser” Hussein. Wrestle to the finish. The losers cry “uncle” and refrain from building or using weapons of mass destruction for the rest of their days. No innocent bystanders hurt, in fact nothing hurt but perhaps a little pride.

Recently I met a small group of committed women who are walking across the nation for peace. They departed from California on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday, January 21, 2002, and reached Asheville after seven months of walking on their way to Washington, D.C. One of the women spoke of breaking bread with folks of disparate political, economic, and religious backgrounds in many towns and cities across our nation. During her remarks she revealed a common thread in the conversations she’d had: “Everyone really wants peace. In many respects we’re all the same; we want to love and be loved. Our beliefs just get in the way.”

Not too many decades ago, some white politicians in the South retained power by practicing the politics of divide and conquer—playing whites against the blacks. You may not have much, but at least “you’re better than him; you’ve been born with white skin,” they exclaimed. And of course, the hope was that the white folks would regard the black folks as scapegoats for whatever was not working in their lives, while the wealthy politicians, at the top of the heap, endeavored to maintain the status quo.

Now the strategy is a bit more complex what with our various ethnic backgrounds, our multitude of spiritual beliefs, our different social groups, our divergent political persuasions. But as long as those in power can keep us fighting among ourselves, we frequently don’t take the opportunity to discern who is making out like a bandit (sometimes literally). And who is sending our kids off to a fight in which only the arms manufacturers, the energy corporations, other corporate powers, and the politicians have a significant stake. Saddam is not moving our jobs overseas. Saddam is not diverting U.S. tax dollars from health and education toward the acquisition of more sophisticated weaponry. Saddam is not plundering American corporations for his own benefit.

If those of us who really oppose this war stand up, we can stop the madness advocated by Bush and Lieberman and Lott. We can keep our young men and women (and the people of Iraq) from harm’s way. We can resist. We can let our voices be heard. We can support those who refuse to serve. When the drums roll and the trumpets blare and the flags unfurl, war may seem a patriotic and noble venture. But how will we feel, I wonder, when our kids start coming home in body bags?