This is what I hate about current discussions about a possible (inevitable?) war with Iraq: they are hardly ever discussions. Most people’s political opinions are formed by a mixture of personal experience, economic interest, gender expectations, and one’s idea — usually sentimental — of what America stands for. In times of crisis, we all resort to the simplest, most reductionistic expressions of these opinions. As someone who has been actively involved with progressive politics since the mid 1960s, I am infuriated — and disheartened — when any criticism or qualm I voice about the Bush administration’s foreign policy or war on terrorism is greeted with the dismissive comment, "Get over the ’60s — this isn’t Vietnam." Of course it’s not Vietnam, but it’s not Pearl Harbor either, and Saddam Hussein isn’t Hitler.

I understand that there is a strain of progressive political argument that easily slips into knee-jerk rhetoric enumerating the appalling, immoral errors of US foreign policy: the genocidal war against Vietnam, funding and training death squads in Central America, instigating "regime changes" (i.e., assassinations) in Chile, Cuba, and a host of other countries. But, quite frankly, this is not what I hear most progressives arguing. What I hear — and say — is not "This is another Vietnam," but "We don’t want another Vietnam." That is very different. It is called remembering and learning from history.

What I hear from conservatives, however, is rhetoric that is far less nuanced. It is the rhetoric of insistent nationalism. I remember hearing such sentiments about Vietnam in the 1960s and early ’70s, the constant reiteration of "America — love it or leave it" and the far more frightening "My country, right or wrong." These declarations were called out — and called upon — to displace discussion. The antiwar movement (a wide range of groups and people, hardly all progressive) was demonized for even voicing criticism of US policy. It’s true that the protesters themselves often did not promote fruitful discussion. Although it raised a startling, potent, and vital question, chanting, "Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?" was as polarizing as the "America first" rhetoric. As with politics today, real discussion was hardly possible. But that was because — in large part — those with political and military power (and their supporters) were unwilling to have a discussion.

Most progressives I know today are willing to have a frank, civil discussion. But that discussion has to be a complicated one that involves the past and the nature of international politics. And it must be open to the possibility that the United States might not always be right. Complicated discussion is difficult when people feel threatened. During the 1960s and ’70s, the "threat" of a Communist takeover of Vietnam — which in retrospect appears so illusionary, so imaginary — was enough to impede all civil political discussion. Life and politics are so much more complicated today that even the idea of such a discussion feels nearly impossible.

When I discuss Iraq with my less progressive friends, I try to be clear and avoid easy rhetoric. My basic theme is that war should be the last resort, not the first. It should be predicated on moral and ethical principles and waged with clear objectives against clear dangers. At this point in the discussion — as rocky as it is — it seems to me that a war against Iraq meets none of these criteria. Yes, I know that this isn’t the 1960s and this isn’t Vietnam. But I also know that we don’t move forward with any sense of survival or integrity unless we have hard, open discussions about what we are doing and why; where we have been, and what we have done wrong in the past.

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