Helpless, Hopeless

Get the latest issue of Newsweek.

Flip to page 25.

And look at the faces of the dead smiling back at you.

Now stick a "Bring Our Troops Home" bumper sticker or a yellow ribbon magnet on your car. Protest the war by picketing at the Port of Tacoma. Bitch about Bush to your friends, in a blog, on the back of your car. They all accomplish the same thing.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

These are people's friends. Babies' fathers. Mother's sons. These are real people, with blood, bones, people who have wept, who have had their hearts broken, who have had the flu and nursed at their mothers' breasts, children who smiled with no front teeth, who got As and made their parents proud, who made their little brothers eat dirt and then made them laugh about it later. These are fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, wives, husbands, sons, daughters. Think of someone you love in his or her 20s or 30s. Think of all he or she has done, all he or she has left to do.

Now imagine him or her gone. Struck down with so much time left. And so much time passed. And imagine you, left behind. There are lots of people you can blame, but nothing you can do.

There must be good going on there, right? It's not black and white - it's not the Americans saving the Jews or fighting an entire country that's against us. It's some gray, Vietnam area. Some area that's a little nauseating because we have no real prizes to show for it. Yet?

You can vote Democrat in 2008. You can vote Libertarian. You can feel good when someone finally puts an end to this war. And you should.

But their smiling faces in pictures will still be all that remains. For the 3000 that could be saved, 3000 will still be dead. THREE THOUSAND.

If you haven't thought about it before, look at page 25 next time you're in line at the grocery store.

You'll think about it.