This war is about Oil and it’s the media's fault. Section 1.
That could be the title of the class I am now enrolled in courtesy my fellow students.
It is your average run of the mill NYU course. Except, these are not your average run of the mill NYU students. We had a few state department employees, a few people from the UN, some investors (you can probably guess why they are there), a couple marines, a DOD backgrounds inspector, a refugee humanitarian and that is just to name a few.
The real title is "Iraq: Anatomy of a conflict." Section 1.
Tonight was class one. It was our job as a student body to come up with a boilerplate as to what we wanted to discuss this semester. A boilerplate it was. A heated emotional and utterly confused boilerplate.. You can imagine the cross firing slodgefest that erupted.
Within two hours the media had been attacked seven times, Bush four, The UN three, Congress three and Saddam a disappointing two.
Oil was mentioned five times, Electricity eight times, Iraq’s admiring neighbors four times and WMD’s zero.
Our instructor, whether he wanted to or not, mediated a two-hour random and often times directionless spattering of Iraq debate. He proved his point at the end.
“What drives our assumptions about Iraq? What fuels the fire? What do we really know?”
Nothing.
At least, I said nothing. I have nothing to say. The only thing I can remember about the Gulf War is sitting on my couch in front of our then projection screen TV. It is the one with the three primary colored bulbs disguised inside a table. There was a large map on the screen and a voice over. It was a map of Iraq and the voice of Tom Brokaw. Something had happened. I didn’t know what but I didn’t really care. I interrupted Tom to exclaim something to my dad. But my dad did care. It was met with a loud authoritative shushing.
I’ll never forget that shush. It was serious. It was ominous. It meant something. So much so that it has stuck with me to this day.
This conflict has struck a chord with the American people. Even in my small survey class of 15. I see confusion and a whole lot of finger- pointing but no clarity.
Iraq won’t be solved this semester and probably not next semester. But the least we can do is graduate to a level of understanding. Understanding a conflict that could define our generation.
In the meantime Let’s all just shhhhhh and listen. We may learn something.
That could be the title of the class I am now enrolled in courtesy my fellow students.
It is your average run of the mill NYU course. Except, these are not your average run of the mill NYU students. We had a few state department employees, a few people from the UN, some investors (you can probably guess why they are there), a couple marines, a DOD backgrounds inspector, a refugee humanitarian and that is just to name a few.
The real title is "Iraq: Anatomy of a conflict." Section 1.
Tonight was class one. It was our job as a student body to come up with a boilerplate as to what we wanted to discuss this semester. A boilerplate it was. A heated emotional and utterly confused boilerplate.. You can imagine the cross firing slodgefest that erupted.
Within two hours the media had been attacked seven times, Bush four, The UN three, Congress three and Saddam a disappointing two.
Oil was mentioned five times, Electricity eight times, Iraq’s admiring neighbors four times and WMD’s zero.
Our instructor, whether he wanted to or not, mediated a two-hour random and often times directionless spattering of Iraq debate. He proved his point at the end.
“What drives our assumptions about Iraq? What fuels the fire? What do we really know?”
Nothing.
At least, I said nothing. I have nothing to say. The only thing I can remember about the Gulf War is sitting on my couch in front of our then projection screen TV. It is the one with the three primary colored bulbs disguised inside a table. There was a large map on the screen and a voice over. It was a map of Iraq and the voice of Tom Brokaw. Something had happened. I didn’t know what but I didn’t really care. I interrupted Tom to exclaim something to my dad. But my dad did care. It was met with a loud authoritative shushing.
I’ll never forget that shush. It was serious. It was ominous. It meant something. So much so that it has stuck with me to this day.
This conflict has struck a chord with the American people. Even in my small survey class of 15. I see confusion and a whole lot of finger- pointing but no clarity.
Iraq won’t be solved this semester and probably not next semester. But the least we can do is graduate to a level of understanding. Understanding a conflict that could define our generation.
In the meantime Let’s all just shhhhhh and listen. We may learn something.
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