March 20, 2023 at 10:55PM

Over the last few days I’ve read a number of reflections on the 20th anniversary of the United States’ invasion of Iraq. I don’t have anything particularly meaningful to add, except this:

A few days after the war began, my small hometown organized a parade in support of the war. I was in middle school at the time, and we were notified that the whole school would be attending the parade—during what would normally be school hours, instead of attending class.

When I expressed that I wasn’t comfortable being required to attend a political event in support of a war I opposed, the middle school principal (and future school district superintendent) told my parents that my concern was ridiculous. It wasn’t going to be political, you see. It was just about “supporting the troops.”

Nevertheless, I was humored. Students were subsequently notified that we could opt out, and while most of the school attended the parade maybe a dozen of us stayed behind in a classroom and wasted an afternoon watching a movie or something.

As the photos in the local newspaper would demonstrate, it was—of course—a political event. Never mind that “support the troops” was and always will be a political statement. Kids were taken out of school to go cheer for a war and for explicitly partisan message.

In so many ways, I had a good experience growing up in an idealized small-town middle America, in one of the more affluent towns in the county. The schools were good. The people were friendly. I was safe. I don’t blame anyone for wanting to live there.

But my high school health teacher told the class that AIDS was caused by “sodomy.” I could count the number of Black people I knew on one hand. And one afternoon in March 2003, all the kids in the middle school were taken out of class to go to a war rally.

That town and that time in my life feel so incredibly far away. It’s hard to process that dissonance sometimes.