I had a friend in high school named Beth. Beth was sweet and pretty and everyone loved her. I mean EVERYONE. There wasn’t one person in the whole damn county who didn’t think she was the bee’s knees. Since I loved her too, I didn’t question it until I was about a junior, at which point I noticed that though everyone loved her, she wasn’t really close with anyone. I started paying attention to Beth at parties, in conversations, in class. What I realized was that Beth WAS sweet, and there was no disputing how pretty she was, but Beth never took a stand on any issue. She agreed with every side; she disagreed with no one. A few months later, I began to wonder if Beth had opinions of her own. If she did, I never learned what they were. But I still loved her.

I started this blog a while ago and have written mostly about my personal life, or my opinions about dumb news stories, or funny things my mom or friends have said. But it wasn’t until I started a little shitstorm with my post yesterday about Cindy Sheehan that I saw how much of a wuss I’ve been about saying anything controversial.

I don’t necessarily think this is a bad thing. I like to think I’m pretty open minded. I get along with most people. I can understand arguments made by right-wingers and hippies alike. I often find that when I’m with my conservative brother and his wife, I become the liberal poster child and front their questions about why liberals think and feel the way they/we do. When I’m with my friends from the left, I’m asked to tap into small town mentality (of which I still have plenty) to help them understand where most (or at least 51%, it would seem) of America is coming from.

Maybe it’s related to the fact that I’m a small town girl living in a metropolis. Or that I’ve never really felt totally at home in either a rural or urban setting. And the fact that I’m now straddling the nonprofit and corporate sectors qualifies me to speak from both sides of one more realm. Whatever the reason, I’m capable of, and therefore have a penchant for, being a mediator, which means I have found I’m not taking sides as often as I used to.

So, ask me about the Iraq war. (Sidenote: is it just me, or is it weird that most people I know pronounce Iraq “EYE-RACK” and everyone on NPR says “EAR-ROCK”?) Here’s how I feel about it…hold your breath while I take a stand here:

Do I agree with the reasons we went over there? No. Do I think we were lied to about the reasons we went over there? Yes. Do I believe that the Iraqi people want us there? I think some of them do. Do I want my brother or any other U.S. serviceperson to spend one more day there? Absofuckinglutely not! Do I think we should withdraw our troops ASAP? No.

Seems like a contradiction, right? It feels that way to me, too. When my brother was over there during the first part of this year, a poem was circulated among some of my family members. The poem was written by a Marine whose father then unleashed it to the willing leeches, lions, and lepers of the internet. I don’t remember exactly what the poem said, but there was one stanza that basically said this Marine was over there fighting his ass off and watching his buddies get hurt and killed so the protestors over here, the ones who hate him, can keep protesting. I took issue with that stanza, and pointed it out when I hit “Reply All” to the email containing the poem. The email frenzy that ensued was as close as I’ve ever been to having a fight with my sister in law.

My argument was basically this: protestors don’t hate people in the military. Not in general, anyway. And here’s why: most of them are intelligent enough to have to differing points of view in their head simultaneously. They can disagree with the war, but still support and appreciate the sacrifices our military is making in the midst of it.

I can support my brother and other U.S. forces who are over there fighting for what they believe in. I do support him. I love him and am so proud of him I get weepy just thinking about it. But that doesn’t mean I agree with this war. I don’t trust GW one tiny fucking iota. I think the guy is scum. I think he’s stupid. I think he’s an oligarch. And I think he’s lying when he says he doesn’t take lightly the losses we’ve sustained during this skirmish. But he’s still my president. And he’s still my brother’s boss.

All of that said, I think that my brother could tell you first-hand that there is good work being done over there. And I sincerely with my whole heart believe that if we left now, we’d be fucking ourselves big time.

I don’t agree with why we are there. I don’t agree that we are doing a good job of “winning the peace.” I don’t have any good suggestions for how we could be doing it differently. I do know that if my brother has to go back, I’ll cry my eyes out, be pissed off for at least a week, go to the next protest I can find, and then send him a letter every week, a box of magazines and non-perishable food items every other week, and keep loving and supporting him, and believing that he is doing important and good work with every last shred of my soul.

Is it a contradiction? Probably. But it’s how I feel. It’s the stand I’m taking. It’s now the difference between Beth and me.

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