I remember watching reports from Iraq on Jan. 17, 1991, when Operation Desert Shield commenced. The pictures of spectacular explosions in Saddam Hussein’s sand box had an effect on me that I hadn’t experienced before, or since.
I wanted desperately to join the fight. I wanted to run to my nearest military recruiter and offer my services. I was struck dumb with a super-heightened sense of patriotism and could hardly contain myself. I remember my wife, Sandy, trying to tune me out. But when I continued to go on and on about my desperate desire to be an active part of the war, exasperation set in. “Well, go ahead then, if you must,” she said.
Obviously, my emotions had once again gotten the best of me. I was 34 years old at the time. I had three young children at home. I had never been in the military and, frankly, wouldn’t know the first thing to do if I’d suddenly found myself in the theatre of operations. No recruiter would want any part of me, anyway. And besides, I probably wouldn’t have lasted a week without wishing I could click my heels and return home to my wife and kids.
Looking back, I am sure my temporary insanity was spurred by thoughts of my father, a World War II veteran who’d gone to his great reward only three months earlier. I was still in the throes of grief. I was well aware that I hadn’t done anything heroic in my life like dad had, and the fireworks in Iraq had awakened an abiding latent urge.
The above recollection illustrates the foolishness of letting emotions dictate policy. Persons, and governments too, have often trotted off to war without thinking things through.
There are times, however, when ultimate actions are both necessary and just.
Several days ago, despicable attacks were perpetrated in Paris, a blatant act of war that — according to every rule of civilized behavior — requires a determined, sustained military response.
The Islamic terrorists who perpetrated these coordinated attacks on France have announced to the world that they are planning more of them. They aim for the destruction not only of French society, but of Western Civilization altogether. And whereas our response to the threat they pose has been tepid up to this point, I wonder what it will take for our sense of outrage to rise to the level it now demands.
The charge is often made that America has grown soft, too lazy, and too self-indulgent to embark on a grand crusade like one my father participated in more than 70 years ago. There is a surreal self-delusional dance going on; we still repeat the mantra, “Never again,” as we remember the Holocaust. But there is another holocaust happening now in large areas of the Middle East, where undesirable Muslims are being tortured and killed, where Christians by the thousands are being forced to flee their homelands or be brutally murdered.
While this is happening, America continues its navel-gazing. We can’t confront the Islamists. We can’t even confront each other. In our universities — where we are growing our next generation of leaders — students are demanding “safe spaces” lest somebody present an idea that challenges their convenient little ideologies.
Meanwhile, immediately after Paris, our present-day leaders make speeches that sound just as empty as the ones that preceded them. I hope I’m wrong, but my guess is that in another week or two, when the rhetoric dies down, we’ll settle back into our comfortable self-indulgences and just hope for the best. You see, we’re tired of war. We’re sick of it, actually.
We don’t want any more of that brutality. Of course we don’t. Problem is, our enemies are just getting started.