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Ashland, Oregon HOME Valley & State Sports Nation & World Opinion/Editorial Classifieds Business Columnists Local Issues Obituaries Weather Archive Revels Etcetera Backpage Hot Topics Most Viewed Forum Photo Galleries Video Readers Polls O-Zone Online Games Movie Preview Special Sections Real Estate Guide Menu Guide Shakespeare Subscribe Contact Us Rate Card Place an Ad May 8, 2006 Case In Point Things I wish this president thought By Chris Honore’ Tidings Correspondent Last week the press held its annual journalism dinner. Traditionally, the President addresses the audience and gives a speech that is humorous and self-deprecating, which Bush did. Perhaps it’s unfair, but every time I see the President at a gathering or at the podium, I am reminded that, as he has said so often, he is a war-time president and our soldiers are, at that moment, in harm’s way. It is a somber reality that we have lost more than 2,400 troops and so many more wounded. I’m not sure I could smile until they came home. Not really. Of course, someone would say, “Mr. President, this will be a long and protracted war and you have to get on with your presidency.” I would nod, but not in agreement, not completely. “I’ll get on with my life when I can bring the troops home and they can get on with theirs,” I’d say to myself. Then I’d walk the halls of the White House hunched over, the weight of placing our young men and women onto the field of battle almost a physical thing. And every time I gave a speech, I would stand straight at the lectern, head bowed. I would never lean forward, casually. To stand at attention, grim and determined, would be the least I could do. I would light the White House Christmas tree, visit factories, speak before groups, meet with advisors and dignitaries in the oval office. I would discuss politics and strategy and the economy and gas prices and Iran. I would do all of that and more. There is still much to be accomplished. But I wouldn’t return to my ranch in Crawford until the last troop stepped off the last plane and our men and women were home. Safe. As long as they were there, in Afghanistan or Iraq, hunkered down in that faraway desert, I would remain in the White House. This is my watch, and I would refuse to leave the bridge. It’s that serious. I would want to wear a black arm band, and fly the White House flag at half staff. I would attend funerals (how could I not?) of those who have fallen, look into the tear-welled eyes of the families and be reminded of their inestimable loss, and share their abiding grief. I am, after all, responsible. Let me never forget that the soldier who lies beneath the flag draped casket will never rise on a spring morning and see the sun, will never again know the embrace of a child or a wife or a parent, will never feel the misty rain on a late afternoon, will never know what it means to have a career. Or the insights of old age. I would want to remember, ever more, what the meaning of the word sacrifice is. That it’s never an abstraction, not a word to be dropped in a speech filled with patriotic fervor. It is a life robbed of all the days that tomorrow promises; it is black crepe hung on the door; and empty rooms in a silent house. I would walk slowly among the crosses and stars at Arlington Cemetery, and I would return often. I would visit frequently the hospitals where our wounded soldiers struggle with recovery. Some are damaged beyond repair. They will never be the same. Many stand between two bars, unsteady, on prosthetic legs, grappling with an ordeal that will follow them for the rest of their days. Others are disfigured beyond recognition, their injuries so grievous as to be unimaginable, and that which was will never be again. I want to acknowledge that I am aware of what they have given in the name of service, the price they have paid at my command. And thank them. How can I thank them? What can I say? But I must try and find the words, however elusive. It’s with them I’ll spend Thanksgiving, break bread across a long table, stand at the foot of a bed, sit with their families and promise that they will not be forgotten, for we are inextricably bound, our futures forever linked. That’s what I would do. It’s that serious. Chris Honore is a free-lance writer living in Ashland. --> Copyright © 2006 Ashland Daily Tidings and Ottaway Newspapers. All Rights Reserved.