How we can lose the War in Iraq

By not doing what is required.

As pitiful and terrifying Kerry's monumentally stupid pledge to bring home troops in his first term was (though when 85% of your party is against the war, it might be a "good enough" situation), nothing depresses me as much as this figure: Less than five percent of the money pledged to Iraq by Congress has been spent in Iraq.

We cannot, cannot, cannot fail these people. I loved every minute of President Bush's speech. I was inspired and uplifted and I'm sure our troops were as well. But we can't just say we are the good guys. We must BE the good guys. Iraq should be awash in materials and money from us. It should be embarassing. Iraqi troops should be ridiculously well-equipped and supported. Iraq should be saturated in American food, medicine and supplies. We should not just be winning, we should be winning by four touchdowns and fieldgoal at halftime.

We are the only nation on earth that advances liberty - sacrificing our youth to free others from tyranny. Yes, Great Britain is a magnificent ally, but would not have done it without us. But this doesn't mean we do it half-ass. It means we never do it half-ass. We need to be aiming for utter and complete transforming force. Logistics, morale, supply, command and control - all need to be overwhelming. The United States of America must become a relentless, straining-at-the-bit, juggernaut of political and economic reformation; a force of good so total and awe-inspiring as to humble the world.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

We cannot fail. We must look through our fierce tears. We must retain our light. Our deeds are always frail, and we will always have sad heights. We must not falter in the storm. America's role for the next century is as clear as it is desperate.