On the first day of spring break, I swore I would write no more columns about the impending war in Iraq. Then I got on a plane bound for Washington, D.C. - my location as I write this.
As far as traditional Spring Break destinations go, it's no Cancun. And I'll admit that my timing was coincidental at best, since I made my flight reservations back in February. But after this monumental week, I can think of nowhere else to be but here, in the command center of "Operation Iraqi Freedom" and the epicenter of political discourse and dissidence.
Aside from the tractor nut who claimed (falsely) to have bombs on his tractor while he occupied police for more than a day, D.C. was business as usual. The metro was running, planes were making low landings into Reagan National Airport, cherry blossoms were preparing to bloom.
I got up each morning, stepped outside into a limber city as it stretched all of its sirens and stoplights and subways at once, still free and fearless. Away from the ubiquitous TV screens, it is easy to forget that there are firestorms launched hourly in another capital, bordered by different seas.
Being here the week of the first strikes has compelled, nearly obliged me to write on the Iraqi conflict: the air over Washington D.C is saturated with talk of war. There are shouts and banners of protest, and bundles of newsprint stacked before so many doors each morning inked with inches and columns that try to make sense of something senseless. I scanned Arizona news from here, looking for the local connection. War. Spelling Bee, March Madness, Oscar Picks. War. War. War.
With winning originality at a premium, I was hard pressed to find anything that wouldn't fall into the archives along with millions of other papers that penned the exact same opinions. They say journalism is the rough draft of history; this time there will be reams of it.
But if journalism is the rough draft of history, then monuments are the polished, published anthologies: stories we have chosen to tell from the multitude that make up our nation's history - people and events worth the permanency of stone. These monuments, and the buildings in which government business is conducted, form the skeleton of the United States' capital - the skeleton of any great city.
Last night I studied this glittering marble anatomy of D.C. from the ground. I walked the Federal Triangle - from Independence to Pennsylvania Ave., along the Potomac River and through all the up-lit arteries that connect the heart of our country.
In the Potomac, the reflection of the Washington Monument wobbled its white arrow toward the pristine Jefferson memorial, a glowing domed rendition of his beloved Monticello. From those steps, I looked out over the cityscape.
The administration has tried to reassure the public of this war's cleanness by emphasizing its total focus on targeting government buildings in Baghdad. I looked down at my city map to see government buildings on every block: the Department of Energy, the Federal Reserve headquarters, the National Archives, the International Trade Center, the White House, the Pentagon.
Just as the United States has chosen Iraqi government buildings to bomb, an enemy aiming at our federal structures would hardly be short of targets. In taking out government buildings, they would massively mangle the skeleton and the skyline of this Capitol. Standing at the feet of the Lincoln, I knew this, too, would be fair game. From the pyrotechnics of our bombing campaign, there are surely monuments and beautiful historical structures in Baghdad already in flames. There is nothing clean about that.
Take, for example, World War II. When the Germans conducted their bombing raids in England, the Nazi soldiers looked at a guide book and chose the most picturesque town, Exeter, to decimate. Then they moved on to London, where the great firestorms left little standing except St. Paul's Cathedral.
Out of vengeance, the Allies left Dresden, Germany unrecognizable in cinders and ash - a "shock and awe" campaign, to be sure. Attacking government and national sites is an intense act of aggression, even in wartime, and the U.S. must consider how "clean" a counterattack on the District with similar objectives would truly be.
The pock marks on St. Paul's left by the bombshells also remind us that it is impossible to know, as the missiles are being fired, what will be leveled and forever lost, and what will be spared and merely scarred in war.
For all the state of the art coverage, the ominous green night vision footage and real-time tank-cams of this war in Iraq, we undoubtedly do not see the beauty we are burning. We have viewed Baghdad only through the crosshairs.
Katie Petersen is an English and biology junior. Reach her at katie.petersen@asu.edu.
