Twenty Years of War: What Was The Point?
One man’s perspective on the failed war in Afghanistan.
I was 15 in 2001, a sophomore in high school (grade 10 for anyone outside the US). I was in the throes of some of the worst of my bipolar disorder, coping with wild mood swings and horrific depression. Things were not very good in my life at the time.
On September 11, 2001, I was sitting in my morning Japanese class when we heard about the attack. My teacher turned on the TV to watch. We sat in awe as the news covered the attack and watched in horror as the second plane hit. As we moved between classes, there was no learning to be done that day. Just period after period of watching the news unfold.
Not long after the towers fell, it was announced that we were going to war. The terrorists must pay for this brazen attack on America.
The war started, and my classmates and I watched things unfold. I don’t think I realized that I was witnessing history — again, I was coping with my bipolar disorder at the time, so I had bigger things to worry about than some overseas war. However, there was a lot of talk about the draft starting up again to support the effort. A lot of the guys in my classes were starting to get nervous.
As I went through high school, having been transferred to my new school for kids like me, I was more focused on fixing my brain than the war effort, but I watched the news regardless. I don’t remember much about it, just that “victory” came fairly quickly and the effort to rebuild the country was going to be the focus.
I went through college with the war effort in the background, hearing about random casualties and attacks in a country far away. I graduated, got a job, then a career, all while people were fighting and killing and dying far, far away. I listened to public radio talk about the ongoing rebuilding effort, the setbacks with the Afghan army, the random attacks, the injuries, and the trauma.
I listened with rapt attention as the Arab Spring came and went with some positive impact, but a lot of things unchanged. All the while, the war in Afghanistan rolled on.
I got a full-time job in my field, spent years building my resume and experience, bought a house, got married, and generally lived my life with the war going on in the background. It became part of everyday life — all day every day, somewhere in the middle east, there was a war going on that I had no part in.
I did get to see some of the results of that war, though. I watched a friend, who was usually a happy-go-lucky kind of person, enlist, go out to the desert, and get their knee blown out. I watched them become bitter and cynical, just a shell of the person I knew. I watched them recover, gain some of their happiness back, but they still held onto that edge of bitterness that they continued to carry.
I got to know some other veterans who told me about some of the things that were going on over there in that far-away place that is so disconnected from me and my life. I learned a lot about the military and what things were like from first-hand sources. It was enlightening, to say the least.
I watched, year after year, as people demanded that we stop this seemingly endless war, that we leave and get out of this quagmire that we’d gotten ourselves into. I watched Trump take credit for negotiating the exit plan, and I watched him shift the blame when it inevitably went wrong.
Oh boy has it gone wrong. The Taliban, our sworn enemies that we’d driven into the mountains, have retaken the country in about a week. The evacuation is ongoing at the moment, but it will likely not last much longer, and then the country will be fully back in the Taliban’s hands.
It’s been a strange, bizarre scene for me. I became an adult while the war effort was well underway, and it’s been going on for more than half of my life. And for what? We went to Afghanistan as retribution for an attack on America, rebuilt the country from the ground up, and then twenty years of progress was undone in a week.
What was this all for? Retribution, sure, but what was even the point after all of this? Thousands of people fought and died there, and tens of thousands were injured and had their lives irrevocably changed as a result of this war, and for what? A show of force? A demonstration of how great America is? How we don’t back down from adversaries?
Well, our adversaries seem to have won this round. We spent twenty years in the desert for no particular reason that I can tell. An entire group of people were born, went through school, and are now voting adults without knowing a time without this war.
This all feels like another notch in America’s decline to me. I watched 3,000 people die on live TV when I was 15, and nothing has improved in the interim. We have dramatic economic and racial inequality, a ruling class of millionaires and billionaires who run the economy, and a bunch of geriatric white guys running the government. The middle class has shrunk, my generation has lost so much ground due to three recessions in our lifetimes, and all we can do is try our best to scrape by with a full-time job and two side hustles.
I wish I had some sort of answer or comfort in any of this, but I don’t. The geriatric white guys are working to ensure that a bunch of other white guys with regressive politics are forever running things in a quasi-fascist kind of way. Many of their core policies — religious government, no abortion, rejection of science and vaccines, anti-LGBTQIA+ policies — are core policies of the very Taliban that we spent twenty years fighting against.
The more things change, the more things stay the same, it seems. I hope that we learn some sort of lesson from all of this, but based on the current political situation in America, I doubt it. All I can do is wait and see if any good comes from all of this.
I’m not optimistic.
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