Amanda is in full end-of-democracy/imperial president/fascism on the march mode about Bush’s decision to start hitting Iranians who are supporting the insurgency in Iraq. Although her rhetoric is intemperate and her grasp of the issues on the table is, shall we say, less than comprehensive, I find myself smiling with warm recognition.
You see, the last time we were fighting wars in the Middle East, I was Amanda. Well, I didn’t have the whole vaginal apparatus thing going on, but I was her age. I was hanging in the same types of hip and liberal social circles. And I was a blame-America-first lefty. During the first Gulf War, I traded bitter denunciations of the fascist Bush machine with my other lefty friends. We talked about how democracy was dead, and the imperial evil was everywhere. We talked about Canada, and Sweden, the way Jews in the 1920s talked about the promise of Israel. We prayed for impeachment, and were sure that the independent counsel was going to find something – anything – on the warmongers and oil thieves who were corrupting the White House.
In fact, at the time, I was in a band. Not just any band – a progressive indie anti-war band. I sang, well, and fronted, badly. Here are the lyrics that I can remember from our best anti-war song. It was addressed to President Bush (Bush the First, as we certainly would have called him if we could see the future):
Driving down to war on a desert highway
People in your way cannot defy you
something something something
(Chorus, starts whispered, ends shouted:
No blood for oil, no blood for oil,
No blood for oil, No Blood For Oil!)
No, really. I swear to God, that’s what we sang. Well, what I sang. The guys behind me mainly just tried to remember how to play their instruments, except for our lead guitar player who was actually really good.
We also had a song about worms who came out after it rained.
Anyway, I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy about this. If history repeats itself, then in about ten to fifteen years Amanda’s going to get married, return to the church of her forefathers, start saying things like “the church of my forefathers” without a trace of irony, pop out some kids, and vote Republican. I can’t wait.
(Of course, by then I’ll probably be a hippie again. C’est la vie.)