Commentary
Why the United States wanted this bloodbath
Ahmad Sadri The Saturday before the current
hostilities started I went to a peace rally. A gathering of senior citizens sang Give
Peace a Chance and a gaggle of children, their flaxen hair aglow in Chicagos
unseasonably sunny March, held a cardboard sign that read: HONK FOR PEACE.
A few of the passing motorists honked and flashed victory signs. A man on a motorcycle
flipped us off and shouted obscenities. A well-dressed suburban mom stopped to lecture the
demonstrators through the window of her shining SUV. A middle aged, long-haired man yelled
from his rusting Ford Taurus: Read the Bible! But the majority drove by in stony silence
imperceptibly shaking their heads in dismay. We were there to convince ourselves that we
did something to prevent a war that had for months appeared as ineluctable as gravity. I
wondered on that day and now, after more than a fortnight, why the majority of Americans
support the war on Iraq. As a naturalized American citizen, I know that I will be called
upon by bewildered non-Americans to explain why so many of us wanted this war. Here is my
dress rehearsal for answering that question.
The issue is to a large extent a metaphysical one. A bereaved Iraqi mother held her slain
daughter in the midst of the ruins of a bombed out Baghdad market and wailed:
why? Her answer could not be found in a coroners report. Nor can our
question be fully resolved by sober appraisals of the American foreign policy and economic
interests. This war was the result of Achillean rage from below and quixotic planning from
above. I do not invoke Achilles and Don Quixote in jest; the two mythic heroes are the
archetypes of our current American psyche. Deep inside the American collective mind
smolders the volcano of rage that erupted on Sept. 11, 2001. Soon after the hellish
Tuesday the war on Afghanistan was declared and, as bin Laden was closely tied to the
Taleban, world political and public opinion endorsed the undertaking.
But there was no denouement, no catharsis at the end of the Afghan campaign, as bin Laden
was allowed to slip to safety from the siege of Tora Bora. The rage was not fully sated
and had nowhere to go. The neo-conservative elites in the White House who had for more
than a decade drawn the blueprints of Americas global hegemony turned their sails to
the winds of American rage. By a slight of hand that would confound Houdini, they switched
the centerpiece of the terrorism campaign. The aim was no longer catching the terrorists
or preventing terrorism but going after a triumvirate of countries carefully selected from
the list of the anti-proliferation agenda.
As the focus changed to the suspected manufacturers of weapons of mass destruction, the
subtle and largely diplomatic methods of fighting proliferation were abandoned. Suddenly
Iraq, Iran and North Korea were unveiled as an axis of evil, and the new
targets of American fury. Once the neoconservatives desire for empire had locked the
radar of American anger on Iraq it was only a matter of time until the bombs were away on
the first foothold of the Project for the New American Century.
Happy as the oil tycoons and reconstruction contractors might have been at the outcome,
this war was not the result of businessmen scheming for profits. It was driven by the will
to fight a war: Achilles and Don Quixotes.
Achilles epic rage inaugurates the Western civilization. Overcome by anger at his
king, Achilles sat out the war in Troy until the Greeks were at the verge of defeat and
his friend, Patroclus was dead. The fall of Patroclus unleashed Achilles second wave
of rage. Iliad portrays his revenge, the brutal carnage of Trojans as impious and
gratuitous. He was impervious to the council of his friends and pleadings of his hapless
victims: Come friend, you too must die. Why moan about it so? Even Patroclus died, a
far better man than you.
Homer would have advised Americans to eschew the ways of Achilles and emulated instead the
master tactician, the wise Odysseus who always managed his anger as he journeyed home. To
imply that there is something of Don Quixote in the simple moral imagination, belabored
seriousness and ultimate simplicity of President Bush is not to mock him. It is not an
accident or a flaw in the American electoral system, as an Oxford professor has
recently suggested that elevated people like Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush to the
lands highest office.
Americas best playwright Tennessee Williams believed that the gaunt hero embodies a
romantic gesture that is of the essence of America. It was discovered by the eternal
Don Quixote in human flux. Then, of course, the businessman took over and Don Quixote was
in exile at home: at least he became one when the frontiers had been exhausted. But exile
does not extinguish his lambent spirit. His castles are immaterial and his ways are
endless and you do not have to look into many American eyes to suddenly meet somewhere the
beautiful grave lunacy of his gaze.
Our hope is that our public instinctively loves him and that he makes an excellent
politician. Our danger lies in the fact that he becomes impatient. But who can doubt,
meeting him, returning the impulsive vigor of his handshake and meeting the lunatic
honesty of his gaze, that he is the one, the man, the finally elected? There is something
infinitely human in Don Quixotes shocking imperviousness to the mundane realities of
the world as he suits up for imaginary battle. There is something tragic, pitiful and
awesome in the righteous Achilles as he suits up for real battle. But when the two lead
the cavalry charge of the most powerful nation on earth, the world is justified to look on
in shock and awe and disbelief.
Ahmad Sadri, professor and chairman of the Department
of Sociology and Anthropology at Lake Forest College, USA, writes a regular commentary for
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