It’s perhaps the only sacred cow in America. To touch it is taboo, rendering any speaker against it a social pariah, an anathema, an outcast. Further still, we celebrate it yearly—with no outlet given to voices that would qualm with its holiness. We praise it daily as the one thing that keeps the United States alive and well—the one thing that keeps us safe. Though we may be referred to as the world’s “melting pot,” there is no mistake that one deity is universally worshipped within every territory and state of our great nation. America’s God is Annan, Anhur and Laran, Ares, Kū and Belus, Bellona, Anat and Bugid Y Aiba; America’s god is War.
In an advanced—some would even say civilized—society, we continue to make violence our number one export. It is the way we deal with dissent. It is the way we deal with misunderstanding. It is our only foreign policy. Perhaps I am alone in asking why—ashamed that after hundreds of years as an established nation and decades as a world super-power, not only have we not found peaceful ways to thwart conflict, but we celebrate that fact.