Metro Pulse/Editor's Corner/At a Loss

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Personal reflection as Iraq II looms

by Bill Carey

It's time for my column. That means it's time to write about historic preservation, downtown revitalization, TDOT, or one of the other half-dozen subjects we rail about. But with the space shuttle raining down, the economy getting weaker, and the country on the verge of another war, my heart's not in it. With terrible things happening in the world, the shortcomings of Knoxville are hard to get upset about.

The situation is horrible for so many people right now; people whose children are in the military and people who have lost their businesses in the recession, for instance. I'm lucky not to be in either situation. But I've been thinking a lot about our second war against Iraq under our second George Bush, and what it means to me.

This wasn't the way I thought the world would turn out. The big enemy when I was in college was the Soviet Union. When I decided to major in Russian, I did so with the idea that I would be an intelligence specialist or diplomat or something. I was going to be the guy who cleared it all up, who made the Russians realize that we were nice guys and made us realize that the Cold War was just a big misunderstanding. I didn't have the details worked out; all I knew was it was my job to finish high in my ROTC class and that if all went well, I'd be in the middle of some of the most important things happening on the planet.

The Navy had other ideas; sending me to navigate large, four-engine propeller planes. I did it for five years; I did it off the coast of Petropavlosk and in the Straits of Tushima; I even did it in the last war against Iraq. I did it and didn't like it. I didn't like it because I learned three thing in the Navy—that lowly lieutenants don't mean squat, that all that matters was knowing your procedures and following the chain of command, and the only way to get ahead was to brown-nose the commanding officer. So I decided to get out.

Thus, the crusade to be a diplomat fell flat, and I found a new mission. That career was journalism, and I charged into it. Unfortunately, I had no experience and no contacts. So instead of starting with the New York Times London bureau, I started as a freelance op-ed columnist, writing about world events from the point of view of someone just out of the military. After a few months and hundreds of rejection letters, I ended up at The Tennessean's business desk. No matter. I threw myself into my job like I never have before. I exposed a couple of scams, got in good with some local big-wigs, and next thing you know I could crank out a good story whenever I wanted to. Eventually, I gave up on the idea of changing the world with my articles. So long as I could break news here and there, get a thrill out of what I did, and feed my family, it was enough.

Now, I really feel like I've let myself down. While I've been writing local history books and making life uncomfortable for people who try to sneak unfair bills through the Legislature, a rich kid whose main claim to fame was that he was the son of his father became president. He's enjoyed public support since he took office, not because he has done anything worthwhile, but because he happened to be in office when thousands of innocent Americans were murdered by terrorists. Now the economy is in the tubes, and the only things he can think to do are increase military spending and cut taxes on the money people make from idle stock ownership. And now, the rich kid who would never have been sent to the front is about to send hundreds of thousand of kids who were just like me to the front. All to take care of the guy his father wouldn't let us finish off 11 years ago.

Part of me wonders whether someone like me could have made a difference. Then again, maybe this was the way our world was destined to turn out regardless of the little people like me.