Dear Mark,

The last poll I saw had the yeses at over 70 percent. The winner's side is the one to join, if you're joining late.

The possibility that an action might be ineffective has never stopped Americans, thank maman for that. Among other things, the protesters are also protesting against the ineffective nature of their footfalls and signs. This desire to hit the street when you know your voice will not budge the mountain is famously and gloriously AMERICAN. I think of the young American woman who died in Israel last week, putting her body between a Palestinian shack and an Israeli bulldozer. What madness! What shrill crazy hope!

But if we justify this action on moral grounds—the world and Iraq and the Middle East are better off without Saddam—where do we stop with this moral crusade? We have shaky ground beneath our feet when we throw our moral weight around. Doing nothing in East Timor—moral? Rwanda—moral? Iran-Contra—moral? U.S. energy policy—moral? Legions of American working poor—moral? Of course, past gross failures of courage and resolve are no reason not to attempt a new project. But the idea that we can insert a constitutional democracy into a country rich with resources—Iraq—and that this insertion will persuade the rest of the region to come along for the new game in town lacks clarity and is an attempt to forget history, both intellectual and practical. Democracy is not a game. CNN will not have a video representation of the new Democratic Iraq to offer viewers. And this is partly why I want to be there in the aftermath, to watch us fuck it up, and then try to fix it, because that's what we'll do—fuck it up and try to fix it, because we are driven by that shrill crazy hope, that same insanity that impelled a group of radical men to dump the crown way back when. But those men had a tradition of dissent and Western intellectual inquiry informing their decisions and documents. Maybe I am wrong about failure in the aftermath; maybe the Iraqis will go straight for the golden goose, catch it and cook it well, and the entire project will fall in line, and our young men and women will be on the birds home before long. I doubt this, but I hope for it.

Perhaps in the aftermath the reasons for starting the war now will surface, but I wanted the United States to give Blix and ElBaradei more time. What would another 30 or 60 days have cost? Two more months and the French and Germans and Russians would have had to come along, because Saddam would still have been playing games. (But hell, they have to come along now, otherwise they won't get a piece of the reconstruction pie.) I think we went now for a few reasons—intelligence probably had it that Iraq's regular army units were ready to fold, and the longer the debate dragged on at the United Nations, the more questions Americans would ask about postwar Iraq. Only a few people know what the plan is. I wish more had been shared with us citizens of America.

I don't think that the current breed of American dissenter is fueled by anti-Americanism. I believe that fear drives the current breed. People are afraid of what they see their country doing domestically and globally, and when people are afraid they come together in groups in order to feel less alone. The protesters know that America's great gift to them is the freedom to protest, and most of them love America for that freedom, at least the protesters I've spoken to do. The loudest and most passionate protesters I've talked to recently were veterans of the Vietnam War.

I'm writing this from a bookstore in San Diego, where I landed about an hour ago. The descent to the airport offers a great view of the Marine Corps Recruit Depot. I spotted my boot-camp barracks. I remembered busting my ass on the O-course, and I saw the PT course where I ran my 3 miles in 16:10. I also looked down on the Close Quarters Combat training field, where as an 18-year-old I learned the various and spectacular ways to kill a man with my bayonet and bare hands. My plane hit the tarmac and sped past the scarlet and yellow sign that reads THE FEW, THE PROUD, THE MARINES. I remembered landing as a boot at the same airport and wanting one day to be called a Marine rather than a shitstick or comesucker or dickforbrains. Also, I cried. I cried for the boy I once was and for the Marines who died in the last few days, and their families, and their brother Marines who might at this moment be fighting close quarters. The Marine Corps breaks my fucking heart. I still love it and hate it.

I haven't watched TV in 20 hours. The first few days, I watched only because I was asked to watch and respond. I'll stick with print and radio from here on out. After I read here in San Diego I'm on a plane to London. I will miss the Marine Corps Recruit Depot. I'll be waiting for news of more surrendering units—8,000, 10,000, 20,000.

Best,
Tony