"Learning to Accept War," unpublished, March 29, 2003.

By WILL POTTER

As I watch news segments on "Talking to Kids About War," I remember the Gulf War, the first one. I wasn't in the streets protesting, like I am now. I was in Mrs. Wamser's fifth-grade class at Pierremont Elementary School.

I remember Mrs. Wamser using an overhead projector to explain to our class why we were bombing human beings. "Some people do bad things," she said. "Nobody wants to go to war, but sometimes it's a last resort."

"But, what will happen to the people there?" my best friend Ryan asked, trembling.

"All the innocent people will be safe," she said. She put up a map of the world. She said that Iraq, one small scribble on the screen, invaded Kuwait, another small scribble on the screen. The United States, a bigger scribble on the screen, would make everything better, she said.

I remember my friend Ali coming to class in tears. Her brother was in the Army, and was sent to Iraq. Mrs. Wamser talked to the class again about war. She called Ali's brother very brave, and said he would help defend our country.

Ali didn't look at the overhead projector. She didn't care about which scribble was fighting which. She just cried.

I remember sitting at home with my mom, watching CNN. I couldn't see very much, except for a flurry of white flashes on a green, blurry screen. Don't worry, the journalists said, the white flashes only hurt the bad people. Journalists, too, put up a map and talked of scribbles attacking each other.

"Why are we watching this?" I asked my mom, frustrated with images that looked like video games.  

"People are dying," my mom said.

People are dying. I was 11. I cried then, and I cry now. I cry because not much has changed. The United States hasn't made everything better, like Mrs. Wamser said. Bombs are falling again. Actually, they never stopped falling. Through fifth grade, through middle school, through high school, and through college my country continued to bomb Iraq and cripple the Iraqi people with economic sanctions. Now, as we bomb harder and kill more, journalists have taken the place of Mrs. Wamser in my life, telling me everything will be alright. I cry because I still do not believe them.

At night I watch news programs with segments on explaining war to children. Similar segments once taught parents and teachers to placate my generation. They feature experts, teaching adults how to waltz around the war and sugarcoat the cluster bombs. As I watch, I think of Ryan and Ali, and wonder if they will be in the streets protesting, or if they have grown up to accept war. They saw through the lies then, and I wonder if they see through them now.

I recognize, though, that their opposition to war as a child does not mean they grew up to be part of the "movement." It has been 11 long years since the first Gulf War. We have had plenty of time to grow up and realize that "there are bad people" and that "all the innocent people will be safe." In those 11 years it became naïve, unpatriotic and ignorant to question war.

Questioning war is for children. There is no room for tears or screaming or curling up on the bathroom floor hoping it all just ends and being so scared I can barely breathe and wondering why people just can't be human and care about each other and stop dropping BOMBS and going on like nothing is wrong and...

In those 11 years since elementary school, it has become much harder to be a human being.

We can no longer turn to teachers, parents, politicians, or journalists to hear that everything will be alright. Nor can we can retreat into hopelessness, and let the darkness consume us, for our tears will be shed in vain. The world is burning, and no amount of tears will put the fire out.

The only answer is to remember the compassion and honesty that came so easily as children, and use it to fuel our resistance. We must come together as a movement and remember what's at stake if we acquiesce. We must come together in the streets, teaching — and learning — compassion and resistance. Only then can we begin teaching today's children a new set of values.

I wish I could see Mrs. Wamser now. I would tell her that we didn't want to hear that everything would be alright. Ryan knew innocent people weren't safe. Ali knew she shouldn't lose her brother for war. We needed to hear that there is nothing normal or inevitable about war. We needed to hear that people are suffering, people are dying, and that we can do something about it.