How it is.

I have refrained thus far from blogging about the war. Mostly I've been in a state of shock and denial about the whole thing. I oppose the war on a very grand and abstract level. I am a pacifist because I believe that in order for the human race to evolve we need to start using our minds to solve problems, not fists and missiles. This war is unbelievable depressing to me. Depressing and distressing beyond words. We are living in an age where we can cure previously fatal diseases, fly across oceans and among the stars, and communicate with nearly anyone anywhere about anything by pushing a few buttons. And yet we are fighting a war because, like that fat, smelly kid in a kindergarten class, people can't share.

I truly believe that the world has gone insane. People are using women and children and human shields. We all live in fear because some idiot who doesn't really understand the concepts of life and respect could wipe out an entire city with a few microbes. People are being tortured and killed because they were following orders.

Governments are singing "This Land is My Land, This Land is My Land Too." This land, this oil, this food, this medicine, these peoples' lives.

Don't get me wrong. I support the troops. Of course I support the troops. Every anti-war protestor supports the troops. I implore each and every one of you mindless, flag-wearing militant pro-war zombies to stop and ask that protestor whether or not they support the troops before you spit in her face.

I oppose war because I value life. Imagine you were a soldier. Imagine that it came down to a one-on-one showdown between you and an Iraqi soldier. You both grit your teeth and raise your bayonets (or whatever) and get ready to do what your president says you should do and suddenly an idea strikes both of you at the same time. You think of your family. You think of how much you love them. You think of that sandwich you just ate that tasted like sand and remember laughing with your army buddies about it. You think about hugging your children before boarding the plane to Iraq. You think about how much you swore when you pounded your thumb with a hammer while fixing your kitchen cabinets last summer. You think about your daughter's first steps. You think about falling off your bike when you were eight years old and how your best friend brought it home for you later. You think about sharing a popsicle with your grandfather on a hot summer day when you were five. You think about how proud your parents were the first time you went to the bathroom all by yourself.

Suddenly you are in the mind of the other soldier pointing the weapon at your head. You see that soldier kissing his mother and brother before leaving home to fight the Americans. You see that soldier's eighteenth birthday celebration. You see that soldier's best friend sharing food with him and laughing about a TV show last year. You see that soldier's first drink. You see that soldier holding his nephew for the first time. You see that soldier's parents beaming with pride at his fifth birthday. You see that soldier's best friend sticking up for him at age four. You see that solder's life and experiences and joys and pains.

You realize that that soldier is alive, just like you. You realize that the soldier has friends and family and a life just like you. And that soldier sees the same thing in you.

Could you kill him?