#132 on an infinite list: References to “the romance of the antiwar left.”
I don’t find anything romantic about being antiwar. I don’t find myself filled with a desire to glorify or wax rhapsodic about the current antiwar movement, nor any previous antiwar movements. In fact, I find the obligation to assert opposition to a war heart-wrenching, depressing, infuriating, and often rather tedious. There is nothing glamorous or fun about contemplating a war to which one objects, and if I’m part of some “antiwar left movement,” it’s not because I’m desperate to join in a group that makes me feel special or hearkens back to some glory days that allegedly existed before I was fucking born. It's because I'm expressing my personal beliefs, and whether I'm writing a wonkish piece on national security implications while wearing a business suit, or grousing about it braless and gripping a blunt, doesn't change the underlying principle for me one bloody iota.
For full debunking, hop on over to Digby.
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