By Rosa Brooks
In August 2003, some colleagues and I
were held up by armed bandits on the highway in Fallujah, Iraq. (Don't ask why I was dumb
enough to be wandering around Fallujah.) My bandit -- there were quite a few of
them, but I like to think of the guy who stuck a gun in my face as my bandit --
was straight out of central casting, complete with a red kerchief around his
mouth and nose to disguise his facial features.
I doubt he knew much English, but he knew enough to
say the magic words. "Money, money, money!" he demanded with a
guttural, heavy accent, waggling his gun unnervingly around my head.
I handed him my wallet. He took out the cash and handed the empty wallet
back to me.
"Shukrun," I said, using my sole word of Arabic. "Thank
you."
"You are welcome," he said, and sprinted off to wherever
bandits go when they're not robbing people. (This was in the good old days of
2003, when gunmen in Fallujah just robbed you.)
In some ways, this story is a reasonable metaphor for the current debate
about the defense budget. Men with weapons intone, "Money, money,
money"; we hand it over and say "thank you," even though much of
the time we don't really know who they are or what they plan to do with our
money.





















