The New York Times’s John Burns is a reporter without peer, and his lucid, intelligent dispatches from Iraq stand with the best journalism of the conflict. So it was disappointing to read his above-the-fold front page story in the November 29 edition, "Shadow of Vietnam Falls Over Iraqi River Raids." Although other observers have since commented on Burns’ article, it’s worth re-examining the manner in which press defeatism infects even routine news stories about the war.
Accompanied by a photograph of Marine river craft churning up the Euphrates—the early morning sun, blazing like a napalm explosion behind a palm grove, furnishes the necessary reference to Apocalypse Now—Burns’ article describes a patrol intended to root out terrorists, test new tactics and train Iraqi troops. But as the morning progresses, “images pressed in of another American war,” and “thoughts of Vietnam were hard to avoid.” The GIs express a “sense” that the insurgents’ Viet Cong-like cunning could “match highly trained troops, technological gadgetry and multi-billion dollar war budgets.” Burns’ implication is unmistakable: our soldiers fear a repetition of the catastrophe undergone by an earlier generation.
But wait. In the second graf, he concedes that Vietnam “is rarely mentioned among the American troops.” Indeed, aside from a few jokes, the Marines don’t talk about Vietnam at all. What proof does Burns offer to show how—or even if –that earlier conflict troubles today’s GIs? None. Worse, attempting to prove a negative, the journalist asserts that soldiers avoid mentioning Vietnam because it’s considered a “bad talisman” among GIs, “who privately admit to fearing this war could be lost.”
There you have it. In the space of two grafs, a story about a Euphrates river patrol detours into a claim that unspecified number of soldiers fear we might lose in Iraq—despite the fact that Burns provides no substantiating quotes. But to the casual reader the message is clear: Iraq is a mistaken war, a Southeast Asian-like quagmire, in which crafty guerrillas kill American troops sent into a combat zone for no good purpose. Better get out now.
Truth is hard: we might lose Iraq. We have no certainty of success. Then again, no war comes with unconditional guarantees of victory. Imagine a reporter describing soldiers’ fears of defeat during the battle for Guadalcanal or the Normandy invasion. Of course such anxieties existed, but none mentioned them, so as not to demoralize the troops, hinder the war effort and give comfort to the enemy. Why is Iraq different? It’s different because, this time, America’s cultural overclass opposes the conflict and seeks a quick exit. They—and we--understand the country will tolerate combat deaths if the cause seems winnable. Thus, supporters describe Iraq using images evoking hard but victorious conflicts like the Civil War or WWII; opponents choose quagmires like the Philippine insurgency or Vietnam. One set of references rallies, the other depresses, support. Depending on which becomes the lens through which we view this war will determine whether we emerge victorious or not.
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