Apparently there's been a vote in Congress against withdrawing American troops from Iraq. I haven't really bothered paying much attention to it; it seems like a transparent political maneuver. Unless there's a legitimate chance that Congress will cut off funds to our troops (which I absolutely can't imagine happening) anything Congress says or does on Iraq is just posturing. Obviously Congress is a decent barometer of public opinion, but public opinion seems to be, "well, maybe this wasn't the greatest idea, but what are we going to do now?" That's not the kind of opinion that spurs politicians to pursue specific policy agendas.

That disconnect between what people say and do and see in America and what they say and do and see in Iraq is real. It doesn't mean folks in the States aren't entitled to an opinion, but it does require people to think hard about the limits of their knowledge before they start pontificating about the situation over here. That cuts both ways. People who are immersed in the day-to-day weirdness — both the weirdness of this place and the weirdness of how westerners are forced to live — probably lose some of the larger perspective.

I thought a little about this when I read Lee Siegel's post about Zarqawi at The New Republic. Siegel's a smart guy and a good writer. Sometimes I find is stuff impenetrably pretentious, but more often than not he's worth reading if only because he brings a singular perspective to things.

His perspective on publicly displaying the images of Zarqawi's lifeless face took me by surprise. He wrote:

"Our culture, so full of rage and schadenfreude on the reality TV shows, and on the Internet, and in the street, seems more hospitable than ever to the facts of violence and killing."

And:

"the image of the dead Zarqawi, which consists of only the beheader's head, is so cathartic to so many people."

And:

"Eye for an eye is a militant Muslim thing; it is their thing. When we began to encounter its grisly consequences, it seemed to hark unreally back to the days when conquerors paraded through captive cities with the heads of enemy generals on poles. We could feel contempt for such a primitive form of redress. Now, with Zarqawi's head in all the papers, on all the airwaves-on all the poles of our culture—this insanely archaic type of justice is becoming ours. Believe me, I like seeing that image of bloody extinction, too. I feel worried, and ashamed."

I don't take serious issue with any of this, since I agree that Americans are probably a lot more accepting of violent and obscene imagery now than they were 10, 20, or 40 years ago. And if Siegel is uneasy about the national reaction to seeing Zarqawi's dead body that's understandable, too. The idea that war makes people more willing to accept violence and obscenity also seems logical.

Maybe it's because I'm so much in the grip of war's logic that I don't really see what the big deal is. I wasn't surprised when, sitting in a hot and humid briefing room, the young servicemen who flanked Gen. Caldwell at his briefing hoisted images of Zarqawi's dead, slightly battered, face onto the easels where they usually display maps of Iraq or lists of successful counter-insurgency operations.

Iraqis are skeptical people, especially skeptical of the U.S., and so showing them graphic evidence that Zarqawi was, indeed, dead seemed entirely appropriate.

I came to the same conclusion in the summer of 2003, when I was living in Washington, DC, and the media broadcast pictures of the Hussein brothers' dead bodies. But I also remember being kind of queasy looking at those pictures, and wondering if it was the right thing to do.

This time I didn't think much of it, until people back in the States made an issue of it. Everyone I know in Iraq — American officials, American servicemen, Iraqi politicians, Iraqi civilians, American journalists — took it in stride.

Maybe this is an ominous sign for our collective humanity, but maybe it's as simple as something my friend Richard told me a couple years ago: people can get used to anything. That doesn't mean they become inhuman or lose sight of the tragedy of what they're seeing, but it does mean that they adjust so they don't get overloaded with emotions and forget how to live and do their jobs.

A few weeks ago when I was embedded with American police trainers we pulled into a station to find that the Iraqi cops had picked up a dead body. The body was in the back of an IP pick-up truck, wrapped in a fuzzy Iraqi blanket and a sheet. The sole of one shoe was visible where the sheet was cinched around the dead man's ankles.

I was chatting with one of the American cops who works with the military training the IPs. These guys are either on leave from their departments, have retired from the force, or quit their jobs to come to Iraq. After we'd talked for a minute or two he said (didn't ask) "This isn't your first time in Iraq." He said most people who haven't spent much time here have a deer-in-the-headlights look.

That reminded me of something my long-gone guide Shivan told me. Shivan was the Kurdish-American guy who saved my ass when I wound up in Diyarbakir with no luggage and no clue. He was a bit of a poseur, but he had a ton more experience than me and said he was worried about me because I had a very innocent look on my face.

I haven't seen a remarkable amount of violence over here. I think I've just seen my share, given the job I do and how long I've been here. There are many, many, reporters who've seen much worse and — obviously — a huge number of soldiers, Marines and Iraqis who've seen much worse.

That being the case, I wonder what right the American public has to be insulated from the reality of this war. Obviously there's a risk that constantly bombarding people with images of death and destruction will desensitize and dehumanize them. At the same time, if they don't see — or only rarely see — what's happening over here then they may be incapable of reaching an informed conclusion about what it all means.

I don't think that seeing violence would necessarily turn people against the war. People understand that war is violent, that people die, that people are maimed, that innocent people become victims. The greater danger, I think, is what Siegel highlights: ”that they may grow too fond of the images of death and destruction."

I guess I just disagree with Siegel that citizens of a country at war have the right or the luxury to insulate themselves from reality. If displaying the corpse of Iraq's premiere mass murderer offends someone's delicate sensibilities then they should probably commit to pacifism.