Yet some horrors are barely mentioned. I'm disgusted, not frightened, by the enormous profits of Halliburton, Vice President Cheney's former company and the largest recipient of Iraq reconstruction dollars. But the administration's policy that discourages U.S. contractors in Iraq from reinvesting the fortunes they reap in that nation -- in which millions of people are without jobs -- is terrifying.
Decent Iraqis who'd love to embrace democracy can't feed their families. Are we too frightened to care? Or does fear make it easier to see "them" -- anyone whose religion, appearance or beliefs are unlike ours -- as less human? Fear, a psychologist told me recently, makes people "regress -- they're more likely to respond in primitive and less logical ways."
No wonder fear -- or anger, which is fear with hair on it -- prompted a reader to respond to a column I wrote questioning the war to say, "I hope one of your beloved sons dies in a terrorist attack."
Astounded, I contacted her. Promptly, she apologized. "Your words made me so angry," she explained. "I'm really ashamed." But I understood.
Fear often whispers, "Follow your worst instincts.'' It spurs good-hearted people to question the rights and motives of fellow Americans who question any presidential decision.
Which brings me back to love: Those whom we truly love, we challenge to be their best.
Loving friends coax, prod and argue with pals whose behavior is unworthy of them. Caring parents chastise, as well as cheer, their children. Adoring spouses bristle when their partners make dangerous decisions.
Should loving citizens' response to their nation be different? Democracy's sacred purpose is to provide citizens with the right to dissent. When did it become traitorous to tell the people whom we selected to govern us that we believe they're wrong?
After Sept. 11, that's when. Suddenly, it was anathema even to suggest that the catastrophe we were catapulting toward was ill-advised. In that atmosphere, many lawmakers -- including Kerry -- worried more about re-election than their consciences, granting the government once-unthinkable powers. Another, former senator Max Cleland (D-Ga.) -- who lost two legs and his right arm in Vietnam -- was unseated by an opponent who painted this hero as soft on defense. How could that happen?
Fear shrinks our vision. Love enlarges it.
Recently, I read a full-page advertisement by a Bush-supporting Republican. After shushing my reflexive "oh, please," I was struck by how many opinions we shared. I realized how easily my fear of another Bush presidency distances me from people whose love for this nation's ideals equals mine.
Loving America means trying to love each other -- and extending that affection and respect to the world that surrounds us. It means saying, "This is my country, too," to anyone who would claim America as solely theirs -- and who would stake similar claims on God, patriotism, "family values" or morality.
I'm not certain of much, but I know this: Our nation was founded by people who refused to accept the will of a government they felt certain was wrong. They crossed an ocean to build a better nation. That was brave.
Surely, we can be courageous enough to say, "No, thanks" to fear tactics.
