Last week, the White House announced, with little fanfare, that the two-year search for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq had finally ended, and it acknowledged that no such weapons existed there at the time of the U.S. invasion in 2003.
For many, this may be a story of only passing interest. But for me and my family, it resonates with profound depth.
My brother was Sgt. Sherwood Baker. He was a member of the Pennsylvania National Guard deployed a year ago with his unit out of Wilkes-Barre. He said goodbye to his wife and 9-year-old son, boarded a bus and went to Fort Dix, N.J., to be hastily retrained. His seven years of Guard training as a forward observer was practically worthless because he would not face combat. All he needed to do was learn how to not die.
He received a crash course in convoy security, including practice in running over cardboard cutouts of children. We bought him a GPS unit and walkie-talkies because he wasn't supplied with them. In Iraq, Sherwood was assigned to the Iraq Survey Group and joined the search for weapons of mass destruction.
David Kay, who led the group until January 2004, had already stated that they did not exist. Former U.N. weapons inspector Hans Blix had expressed serious doubts about their presence during prewar inspections.
On April 26, 2004, the Iraq Survey Group was still on its fruitless but dangerous search. My brother stood atop his Humvee, securing the perimeter in front of a suspect building in Baghdad. But as soldiers entered the building, it exploded; the official cause is still not known. Sherwood was struck by debris in the back of his head and neck, and he was killed.
Since that day, my family and I have lived with the grief of losing a loved one. We have struggled to explain his death to his son. I have moved from frustration to disappointment to anger. And now I have arrived at a place not of understanding but of hope -- blind hope that this will change.
The Iraq Survey Group's final report, which was filed in October but revealed only Jan. 12, confirmed what we knew all along. And as my mother cried in the kitchen, the nation barely blinked.
I am left now with a single word seared into my consciousness: accountability. The chance to hold this administration's feet to that flame has passed. But what of our citizenry? We are the ones who truly failed. We shut down our ability to think critically, to listen, to converse and to act. We are to blame.
Even with every prewar assumption having been proved false, today more than 130,000 U.S. soldiers are trying to stay alive in a foreign desert with no clear mission at hand.
At home, the sidelines are overcrowded with patriots. In the end, however, it is not their family members who are at risk, and they do not sit up at night pleading with fate to spare them.
Change is vital. We must remind ourselves that the war with Iraq was not a mistake but rather a flagrant abuse of power by our leaders -- and a case of shameful negligence by the rest of us for letting it happen. The consequence is more than a quagmire. The consequence is the death of our national treasure -- our soldiers.
We are all accountable. We all share the responsibility of what has been destroyed in our name. Let us begin to right the wrongs we have done to our country by accepting that responsibility.
Dante Zappala is a part-time teacher in Los Angeles.
© 2005 Baltimore Sun