Easy to blame the war on those who love war; I blame it also on those who opposed it. They should have done a better job produced arguments that smacked less of ancient ideology, found subtler people to express them, put language to better use than sloganising, sought the support of less obviously biased or hysterical groups, kept one issue separate from another, not turned the cause of peace into a ragbag of associated or not-at-all associated grievances, jeered less, cheered less, put their minds, every inch of the way, to the fears no less than the ambitions that fuelled the war, and why others, who were not all Bush's poodles, did not always think as they did.
Any decent peace movement could have picked me up and made me theirs in seconds.
As it was, they put a wall up, forbidding if you weren't already camped on the other side of it, if you didn't take it as a given that Americans were hyenas, or that the world's stockpiles of poisons would go away by wishing them away, or if you believe that only those capable of listening are capable of answering. And thus they left me out there, where I didn't want to be.
But if they couldn't address the concerns of a man in my condition a nobody loitering by the banks of the River Indecision with his finger fluttering to his lips how were they ever going to get through to the hard men, to Blair or Bush or Saddam Hussein, or to those who could get through to Blair or Bush or Saddam Hussein, or to those who could get through to those who could get through? The slow drip drip drip of mind-changing. And don't tell me that those who organised for peace never entertained such grandiose ambitions, because in that case who were they trying to reach?
I know the answer to that one another.