“It's always the old to lead us to the war

It's always the young to fall.”

– Phil Ochs

I spent the past week in Los Angeles with my 18-month-old grandson. It was a pleasure to tickle him and make him laugh his infectious laugh.

It was also stressful, being on duty every single moment: “Hold hands when we cross the street.” “Don’t pet the pit bull.” And, I was reminded how much work goes into raising a human child. How much love. How much sacrifice.

I came home and watched the first part of “Restrepo.” It is a documentary about young American soldiers stationed on a base in Afghanistan.

They take enemy fire every day. Sometimes the enemy bullets hit their mark, and someone’s son dies. The soldiers traipse through villages whose language and culture are unknown to them.

In one village, they ask, through a translator, for help in their battle with the Taliban. The villagers complain about civilian deaths, and the officer in charge tells them that starting now there will be a clean slate. Things will be done differently. The villagers seemed unconvinced.

Nazi Germany notwithstanding, it is hard to find a justification for any of our undeclared wars. There is no reason for any of these wars that can satisfy an American conscience.

So, ultimately, these young soldiers, glued together only by camaraderie, are fighting for each other. They need to come home and get out of harm’s way and not fight at all.

Polls show that the majority of the American people don’t see that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are worth fighting.

Many voted for Obama because he said that things would be different. He led us to believe that he would end the wars, and surely not start more of them. And yet these wars drag on year after year as we continue to send the young to die (and to kill).

On the flight coming home, the steward announced that there was a passenger on board who was a member of the armed forces and thanked him for his service. Everyone clapped. I was thinking what an easy patriotism it is to clap; to take action to end this war in order to bring that young man home to safety is not so easy.

I wonder if my grandson’s life was at stake, would I be marching and committing civil disobedience.

I can tell myself that I am an old man. I can tell myself that there is nothing that I can do. But, an inescapable truth is printed across the sky: If not me, who?

Nelson Strasser lives in Kelseyville, Calif.