Is this what we are fighting for?

CHASING DOWN THE MUSE

The trail in Aliso Woods darkens as the sun slips behind the

coastline ridges. I scamper between wild oats and tall sun drunken

mustard, grasping the grains and flowers between hands that are

suddenly those of a 12 year old. Groundhogs peek from furrowed

tunnels, grabbing green grasses in their elongated teeth.

Caterpillars perch atop swaying weeds like tiny dark holiday

decorations. Overhead, a lone white kite hovers, wings fanning the

sky, as her steeled eyes survey the grass for the last day’s kill.

On the bike path to the east, a family rushes home before darkness

consumes the remaining daylight. Children’s laughter echoes against

the narrow canyon walls as their father encourages them to hurry up.

A small boy, pushing his bike up a crest, calls out, “I can do it.

I’m OK.”

Is this what we’re fighting for?

Young sea lions frolic in the waters off seal rock, while elders

bask on sun kissed ledges. Tall pelicans man the point as guardians,

while cormorants stretch and preen. Silvery fins from a pod of

dolphins break the water’s surface, circling the rocky point in

search of their breakfast. Waves of walkers round the point at

Crescent Bay Park, stopping briefly to absorb the aquatic scene,

“oohing” and “ahhing” at our magical coastline.

Main Beach hosts an early morning volleyball game, groups of

coffee-drinking newspaper-reading folks fill the park benches and

homeless gather near the chess set for conversation and camaraderie.

Starbucks has its usual line, and James, Molly, Eleanor and Melinda

cheerfully fill their patrons’ odd requests.

Is this what we’re fighting for?

The newspaper’s headlines and photographs tear at my heart. What

do I care if we have the palace? What do I care if we control the

airport? I am grateful that a U.S. soldier renders first aid to an

injured woman, but why did we shoot her in the first place? Why is

the U.S. military rumbling down the streets of her home city?

A subsidiary of Houston-based Halliburton, Kellogg Brown & Root,

sent oil-well fighting teams to Kuwait well in advance of the first

U.S. assault. Bechtel, Flour, Louis Bergen and the Parsons Group have

been given bid sheets to estimate the price of re-building Iraq. Each

of these contractors has deep political ties or have given generously

to the republican party in the form of political action committee

donations and soft money.

Is this really why we are fighting?

I was “told” (along with you), that large caches of weapons of

mass destruction lay hidden in dark corners of Iraq, poised to be

used against the United States, and that the U.N. inspectors would

never find them in time. Protesters here and abroad disagreed.

Worldwide, the chant was not to go to war, to let the inspections

continue. The world requested a resolution that did not include

bombing a poor desert nation with a sick dictator in control.

Saddam said, “I have no such weapons.” President Bush disagreed,

and utilized the emotions of Sept. 11 combined with “inside

information” to begin an aggression without the support of his

nation.

Is this what we are fighting for?

I have prayed that our soldiers would find the so-called weapons.

I have prayed that the administration wasn’t lying and that I could

rally behind this disgusting masquerade of protecting the world, that

I could find a way to stand proud of the path my country is taking.

In the depths of my heart, I keep hoping, beyond prayer, that some

overwhelming revelation about an evil Iraqi intent will surface, and

we will be vindicated.

The world stands in collective sickness at our acts. What healthy

individual, basking in 2003’s brilliant gleam of technological

advancements in health, energy and communication, could possibly

support the destruction of a country?

And how can we, the citizens of one wealthiest, best educated and

most advanced countries, re-claim our right to be heard?

If there is to be a fight, let it be for truth and justice. Let it

be for global education, peaceful negotiations, exploration of the

heavens, and an end to poverty and hunger.

I cannot alter yesterday, even with the best of my intentions.

What I can do is utilize my voice (one of the greatest gifts of being

an American) and the power of my vote. It behooves me more than ever

to engage in the political process, at this moment when I feel it has

failed me, to address the grievances that have brought us to this

juncture, and to gather together with like minds to seek and create

change.

* CATHARINE COOPER is a member of the city’s Open Space Committee,

a local writer, photographer and designer who thrives in the

wilderness. She can be reached at (949) 497 5081 or

ccooper@cooeprdesign.net.