Remember to Remind Me

Last night I found myself staring down 5th Ave at Washington Square Circle, just under the Arch, the place where 5th Ave splits and trickles to the other side of the park.

I was holding a banner, which boasted anti-Iraq war propaganda, and a candle in an opaque blue plastic cup (the irony being that a group of protesters who would normally protest for the environment were accidentally burning plastic for this particular demonstration). We were holding vigil for, specifically, the recent Falluja "insurgents" under US-led attack, and for, generally, the anti-war movement.

On my walk over to the park from the F train station, I thought about what I was about to do. Since I've been paying attention to our military manoevers in Iraq, the thought of going back into Falluja to squash the centre of the rebel uprising sounded, unfiltered in my mind, like a good idea.

My support of the war in Iraq has wavered since before it began. I was one of the first ones out there protesting the idea, back in January of 2003, on the basis of "Give Peace a Chance." Since then, I have heard stories from soldiers returned, telling of children and women they've saved, the gratuity some Iraqis have expressed them and the heartbreaking sights they've seen. I've heard from the Iraqi citizens who support the War and their arguments have been convincing.

All along, I've felt conflicted by my overwhelming desire for peace at all costs. In fact, confliction is the mot du année. I am surrounded in a sea of truths, jetsammed from my boat "Apathy," and clinging desperately to "I Don't Know."

I stood last night, with George Washington staring over my shoulder, wondering how I got there from "Squash the insurgency!" just hours before. And so,
because it felt like an appropriate response,
because I didn't know what else to do,
because the thought of so many deaths since the start of this war flooded my mind,
because I didn't know which side to choose,
because passers-by nodded their head, donated money, took picutres and cheered in approval,
because the icy winds were burning my eyes,
I cried.

The circle I have travelled in the last year has been an arduous path, though not as difficult as most. I've avoided most of the difficulty by sitting on the fence, watching from the sidelines, arguing for both defenses and voting for Nader (fnar). As with most challenges I don't feel ready to take on, I've ignored this one, claiming "neutral" all along.

I don't know what else there is to say about this; I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed, either.

I leave you with a quote I'm sure you're familiar with; it haunts all of my neutrality decisions and weighs heavily always in my mind:

"First they came for the Communists, but I was not a Communist so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Socialists and the Trade Unionists, but I was neither, so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Jews, but I was not a Jew so I did not speak out.
And when they came for me, there was no one left to speak out for me."
-Martin Niemoller