Men can be complete monsters. Murderers who think nothing of slaughtering human beings in the most gruesome fashion, cover themselves in blood and gore; taste the horror of another man's dying and laugh full out and giddy. And half an hour later, after a quick shower, hold a tiny baby in their hands and coo like a fool in love.
Men are such strange, assinine creatures, aren't we?
Men like Rumsfeld feed the death machine with no gain whatsoever save their own sense of power. Some men are fools and cause the deaths of thousands because of their foolishness. Are they to be forgiven because they're fools?
Some men send thousands to their deaths because of a vision they have in the deep, dark night; a vision that involves, usually, some self-righteous image of themselves at the head of an army, fighting the good fight for god and country and mom's apple pie.
Some men are simply bad, evil creatures who like the thrill of killing in a bloody fashion.
These are usually elevated to dictatorship or eminence, or presidente.
And it's a strange sunrise the fals on the kind-hearted man of compassion who's willing to kill for love of life or love of another.
When is victory declared? What constitutes victory in Iraq, I wonder? How many U.S. soldiers must die before we can say we've won? How many lives are we willing to sacrifice in the name of democracy in Iraq? In Iraq? Will 20,000 be enough? 50,000? 100,000? What price are we willing pay to plant democracy in the hearts of a people who've never known it, and likely don't want it? How many deaths make a victory?