And so it begins

When you buy fast food or Cheetos at a convenience store here, the person waiting on you invariably says, "What else?" Not "Will that be all?" or "Is that everything?" but this "What else?" like there must be something more you want. Though I've heard it countless times since moving here, it nearly always strikes me as just a bit demanding. I know it’s not, but somehow I get caught off-guard and think I should hurry and think of something.

But I was thinking about this phrase – hearing it over and over in my head – in the wake of this war that has begun. I was thinking how since the first mention of a possible war in the United Nations, that’s what everybody has been asking: some form of the question which begs President Bush, the U.N., Saddam Hussein, Peter Jennings, anybody to tell us the next way this monumentally huge thing was going to play out.

I wasn't even remotely aware during the so-called "first" Gulf War. It came and went with great significance, I am sure, though I was regrettably oblivious. I'm sure my parents watched the news reports and worried with the rest of the nation, but I don't remember any disruption or saturation in my world. (So as I write this I wonder if the things that I have found incredulous about this war were, in fact, much the same. I doubt it, and though it is probably presumptuous, I'm going assume the state of things is as new and bizarre as it seems.)

I am overwhelmed that we seem to have so much access to the answers, and yet can't get enough. We have this phenomenon of so-called "embedded" reporters, where civilian journalists have literally joined up with companies of soldiers to be at the front lines firsthand, dressed in thick blue vests that say PRESS on the back, presumably to keep them protected or vulnerable, I'm not sure which. It's like the reality show to end all reality shows; will we really be able to stomach The Bachelorette after this?

It seems to me there are two possible explanations for the American public's veritable invitation to the front lines of this decision and battle. At worst, one could presume that it’s our government’s own form of propaganda: the "if you can’t beat them, join them" theory spun dramatically in their favor. If we give the reporters relatively unfettered access to the inner workings of a war, they will at least subconsciously feel grateful and preach the cause – without bias, of course. It must be said that this theory more accurately reflects my skepticism for theatrical journalism than for the embattled United States government, though I wonder about the tone of the meeting where this permission was granted. It also eerily predicts the confidence with which our government has undertaken this move; the death of hundreds of reporters wouldn't reflect well on presumed victory.

The other is that television and radio news and reporting has become a saturated and competitive market, and as with all things prey to the laws of economics, the ability to be thisclose to the story certainly sells it. Right now I’m listening to Peter Jennings, who I’ve chosen because his voice was the most soothing to me after September 11th. But I have many other options – too many to be logical – each with their own spin on the graphics, titles, scrolling headlines, backdrops, and embedded reporter shirt color.

NBC has CGI images of the military equipment that flash, Playstation-style, on the left two-thirds of the screen, while relevant facts like the number of crew and weapons available appear one by one on the right. Tom Brokaw was telling us about the first casualties – four Marines and twelve British troops at last report – who died when their helicopter crashed, either due to weather or unfriendly fire, cause TBD, and their digital helicopter appeared, obscuring his face entirely. I had, up to this point, been feeling weird since the first bombs last night; I hesitate to say excited, though that’s a little what it felt like. I suspect it’s more like nervous anticipation mixed with brewing horror that it’s actually happening. But right then, when I lost the human face and instead saw a cheesy graphic, I felt detached and sick.

Aaron Brown on CNN just told me there are at least 500 embedded reporters. They are using recording devices which render the images pixellated and jumpy. The conversations between the pretty news anchors in New York and the dirty, wind-blown reporters are punctuated by time-delay pauses in which we watch both people stand motionless for seconds while waiting for the sound to catch up. The anchors here ask unrehearsed question after question like 4-year olds while the embedded one tries to maintain their journalistic decorum and avoid "um" while answering questions like "What does it sound like when the bombs drop?" All the while in nearly every news agency some former or retired military official stands by to lend commentary and credibility to what seems to me like the most unsettling display of voyeurism this country has ever seen. NPR’s Ann Garrels, in particular, betrays their façade; her voice sounds tired and frightened and somewhat awed. I suspect she’s wondering just what in the hell she is doing alone at a hotel in downtown Baghdad.

Still, I am watching. I listened to NPR all afternoon and can’t seem to shut off the television tonight. It feels a little like a Truman Show study of how there's this chunk of the American public that has an insatiable need for "what else?" You would think I could just turn it off, make it stop, but I feel kind of crazy that it’s happening behind the dark screen and I’m missing it. It’s reflective of our frenzied pace, our belief that noise and talking makes the hard things just a little more bearable. It’s the way I keep searching for justification in the words of another commentator, another Iraqi dissenter living and thriving in the United States, another speech from the President, or another photograph of troops fighting in unselfish solidarity. I think that answer can’t really be found, at least not until enough time has passed that the Bush presidents are a memory and our children read about this war concisely in a history book.

The effect of this barrage on me, at least, is quickly becoming numbness, though I wish it weren’t. I can hardly believe that we can watch, in horrifying real-time, bombs exploding on Baghdad. Maybe we are meant to feel empathy for Iraqis, though my fear is probably quite hollow compared to theirs. Perhaps it’s meant to be a way to join hands with our soldiers, carrying a heavy burden right now, who are frightened and brave and patriotic all at once. I applaud the effort, because it speaks to how an American can either be a member of the Armed Forces or a protester on the street. But on the other hand, it's hard to not think the worst; the vantage point of my television provides smoke and explosions, and not many answers.

Still, I am glad this time to be alert and aware. It feels impossible for me to understand the strategy of war, and preliminary images make my inner conflict ripe. Watching the so-called air war, I find myself both very nervous that my country (with its newly-assumed grand burden) is doing it, and very angry at Saddam and his apparent disregard for the destruction going on around him. At this point, is it safe to assume that he is, at best, a very bad leader? I really want to believe that the invasion was a good choice. Though images seem to say otherwise, I want to be supportive and not afraid. I hope the access serves everyone well, though I fear it a little more each day.