At the very dawn of a new year—when churches, synagogues, mosques, and homes across the world were praying for peace, restraint, and renewal—an ominous note intruded into the global conscience. In a post on Truth Social dated January 1, President Donald Trump reacted to the killing of protesters in Iran by declaring that the United States was “locked and loaded” and ready to enter Iran to protect the protesters against the Iranian regime.
Those words—casual, combative, and chilling—reawakened an old American fear: that the United States, yet again, may be sleepwalking toward another unnecessary, costly, and morally troubling foreign war.
For those of us old enough to remember, the language has an unsettling familiarity. It echoes the rhetoric that once drew America into the long, painful quagmire of Vietnam—a war we regret not because we stayed out of it, but because we ever went in at all. Vietnam was supposed to be about containing communism and protecting freedom. What it became was a tragedy measured in body bags, shattered lives, and a lasting scar on America’s moral standing and national psyche. Have we learned nothing since?
The Dangerous Allure of Regime Change
Let us speak plainly. The idea that America can—and should—reshape the internal political destiny of other nations through military force is not new. It has been tried repeatedly, often with soaring rhetoric and noble-sounding intentions. And it has failed us time and again.
Did regime change help Afghanistan? After two decades of war, trillions of dollars spent, and countless lives lost, the Taliban returned to power almost exactly as they were before America entered the conflict. Young American soldiers died far from home, believing they were building a stable future—only for that future to collapse in a matter of weeks.
Did it help Iraq? The removal of Saddam Hussein unleashed sectarian violence, destabilized the region, fueled extremism, and directly contributed to the rise of ISIS. Iraq remains fractured, and the Middle East more volatile than before.
Did it help Libya? The overthrow of Muammar Gaddafi plunged that nation into chaos, civil war, and lawlessness. Libya today is not a beacon of democracy; it is a cautionary tale of what happens when bombs replace diplomacy.
Did it help Syria? Years of conflict, millions of refugees, and widespread human suffering have yielded no clear moral or strategic victory.
And now, we are to believe that Iran will somehow be the exception—that this time, intervention will be clean, limited, and successful? History argues otherwise. Experience shouts a warning.
Not Every Tragedy Is America’s War
No decent human being can remain unmoved by images of protesters being killed for demanding dignity and freedom. The suffering of ordinary Iranians is real, and it demands international attention. But compassion does not automatically translate into bombs and troops.
There is a profound difference between standing for human rights and assuming the role of global enforcer. When America rushes in militarily, the moral clarity often blurs. Protest movements are discredited as foreign-backed. Nationalist sentiments harden. Civilians—those we claim to protect—end up paying the highest price.
Every war begins with claims of urgency and righteousness. Rarely do leaders dwell on the aftermath: the coffins draped in flags, the veterans struggling with trauma, the taxpayer-funded military hardware reduced to smoldering wreckage. Wars are easy to start and painfully hard to end.
The Price Paid by Ordinary Americans
What do we gain from these interventions? Not peace. Not stability. Not gratitude. What we gain are grieving families, broken veterans, ballooning deficits, and a military stretched thin across the globe.
America’s sons and daughters do not enlist to fight vague, open-ended wars with shifting objectives. They enlist to defend the nation when it is truly threatened. Iran’s internal repression, tragic as it may be, does not constitute an immediate threat to American soil that justifies armed intervention.
We are the world’s number one nation economically, militarily, technologically, and culturally. Our influence is unmatched. Yet we so often choose the blunt instrument of force instead of the patient tools of diplomacy, sanctions, international pressure, and moral leadership.
Strength is not measured by how quickly a nation reaches for the trigger. True strength lies in restraint.
A Moral Argument for Peace
There is also a deeper moral dimension that must not be ignored—especially by a nation that so often invokes faith in its public life. The Bible speaks unambiguously about the sanctity of life—from the womb onwards—and about peace as a divine ideal. The same scriptures that many cite to argue against abortion also warn against bloodshed, pride, and vengeance.
The central figure of Christianity, Jesus Christ, did not choose the sword even when confronted with injustice. He spoke of turning the other cheek, of loving one’s neighbor, and of peacemaking so radical that he willingly submitted to crucifixion rather than endorse violence.
If these teachings mean anything beyond rhetoric, they must inform our foreign policy as much as our domestic debates.
Peace is not passive. It requires effort, creativity, and courage. It means engaging allies, empowering international institutions, applying sustained diplomatic pressure, and offering asylum and support to victims of repression—without turning their homelands into war zones.
A New Year’s Plea
At the start of this new year, humanity does not need another war. It needs healing. It needs leaders who pause before posting, who weigh words knowing that markets, armies, and lives respond to presidential statements.
America should lead—but lead toward peace. Toward dialogue. Toward de-escalation. Let our aircraft carriers be symbols of deterrence, not invitations to conflict. Let our influence be used to cool tempers, not inflame them.
We have tried the game of regime change too many times to plead ignorance. We know how it usually ends. Another generation should not have to learn the same cruel lesson at the cost of blood and tears.
The choice before us is stark. We can build a world ordered by love, cooperation, and respect—or one driven by hatred, suspicion, and endless conflict. For the sake of our soldiers, our conscience, and our shared humanity, let us choose peace.
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