A war will always become a big part of your life if you let it. And a war that is covered heavily and protested heatedly is a hard thing to avoid. The War on Iraq is no different, and its effects – most of which have little direct effect on most Americans – hit home hard to anyone paying attention.

I have developed almost an addiction to knowing what is going on. It is a morbid habit being informed comes at the cost of depression, bewilderment and anger.

Still, I have a somewhat naive tendency when thinking of this war – as in all things that are this inevitable and this devastating – to look for some good that may come of it, some glimmer of hope piercing through the smoke and the smart bombs. In this war it is difficult.

As the real objectives and plans of action are revealed, this war becomes even more difficult to assess. Usually, war is a very accurate litmus test for a nation; an opportunity to see its character – and that of its people – when it is stretched thin under pressure. Thus, like in most times of tragedy, a time of war is a time for picking sides.

But mostly I find myself lost, unable to stand clearly on either side of the fence, finding it easier to critique others’ stances than take one of my own.

I have argued with friends from home that the war is not just about oil. I argued with a warhawk bartender back home, saying innocent people are dying and many more will die in Iraq than in the World Trade Center towers, even though Bush has used that catastrophe to advocate stopping terrorism worldwide.

I sat at Mama’s Pasta and Brew watching television and talking with a guy at the bar – with Dan Rather breaking into the Kansas-Arizona game to tell of missing Marines and the progress against Baghdad. We sat around, sizing each other up over half-finished beers, talking of the war – why it started, how it will end and when it will end. It was as pleasant as a conversation about war could be.

It was then I realized I had talked about the war for at least two hours every day for the last two months. At bars mostly, but at coffee shops and restaurants too. I have discussed it in class with students and teachers, dissecting causes, agendas and consequences. I talked war with people waiting for the bus; people who knew little about the war except what the day’s paper said about the number of Marines missing or how long Bush says it will take to conquer Baghdad.

If any good can come from a war in which thousands of people will die, it is that the astounding political apathy of the last 20 years, at least in one sense, seems to be fading away as the war looms ahead.

Everyone has an opinion about what is going on; both what they want to happen, and what they wish never happened. Every angle – from the evil of George W. to the uselessness of the United Nations – has been discussed.

And that fact is encouraging.

That political interest seems to be awakening, which can lead to a better political climate for the future, if it is acted upon. And with the protests that have sprouted on campus and in major U.S. cities in the last six months, it seems the awakened political interest is definitely leading to action and in surprisingly powerful ways.

Even the more basic elements of political consciousness are increasing. People who have never been interested in politics are reading newspapers and watching the news to form opinions about their government.

This war is pushing many people to extremes. I hope the vigor of the protest movement will be carried to the ballots – the simplest but also one of the most consistent ways to create change – come next November. I hope more than 51.3 percent of eligible voters will turn out to change what is going on to what should go on.

It is a shame that it takes war to activate political interest. But in national and international politics, the means are rarely noble, and most of the results are neither noble nor fortunate for those not making the decisions.

The trick is finding the ones that are.

John Ross is a senior in comparative studies. He can be reached for comment at [email protected].