Documentary: One Vet's Journey

The Iraq War enters its sixth year on March 19, and polls show that it's been overtaken by economic anxiety as the top issue for voters. American casualties are down amidst a perception that the surge is working--although on the day that talk-show host Phil Donahue screened his new antiwar documentary, "Body of War," before a small Washington audience, eight American soldiers lost their lives in two separate incidents in Iraq.

Donahue bounded to the front of the theater just like he did back in the day, his full head of gray hair making him instantly recognizable along with his signature enthusiasm. He'd never made a movie before, but three years ago, as he stood by the bedside of a wounded Iraqi vet recovering from a spinal injury, he determined that the American people should see this. He recalled the iconic picture from the Vietnam War of the naked child running from napalm. "That picture won a Pulitzer, as it should," he said. "See the pain. Don't sanitize the war."

He decided to document Tomas Young's struggle to rebuild his life now that he was paralyzed from the chest down after being shot in the spine while riding in an unarmored Humvee. The film opens with Tomas's bride-to-be planning their wedding and admitting, "I would be stupid not to question myself: can I handle this?" She searches an Internet site to ask for help to assure the groom that he won't have a bowel accident in his tux. The planning and preparation it takes to get through even an ordinary day is daunting. Tomas wears a cooling jacket with gel inserts to control his body temperature, and he's dizzy much of the time. There's an array of pills for pain, spasms, nausea, depression, on and on.

The film is intensely personal, detailing the couple's attempts to negotiate something resembling a normal life, including sex. It documents the evolution of Tomas into an antiwar activist. The couple spends their honeymoon in Crawford, Texas, protesting with Cindy Sheehan. Donahue didn't know what Tomas's politics were when he took on the project, but visiting his home in Kansas City, he saw a bunch of bumper stickers on a table, among them one that said DRAFT REPUBLICANS. Tomas had enlisted days after 9/11, responding to President Bush's call over a bullhorn at Ground Zero to get the evildoers. He was 22 years old. His disillusionment began during basic training when he realized he wasn't going to Afghanistan. He had only been in Iraq five days when he was wounded. He hadn't even fired a shot. "All I saw were women and children running away from gunfire before I took a bullet myself," he says.

Interspersed with the images of Tomas's life are scenes from Capitol Hill and a chorus of politicians repeating stock phrases generated by the White House as the vote is tallied in favor of President Bush's war resolution. There is Hillary Clinton saying it's "the hardest decision I ever had to make." She votes yes. John Kerry has a couple cameos beating the war drums. Republican members are the most diligent cheerleaders advancing the case for war in the media echo chamber. They warn of inaction, of Saddam growing more dangerous by the day, more dangerous than Hitler. They say Iraqis will be dancing in the streets waving American flags.

The lonely voice trying to hold back the stampede belongs to West Virginia Sen. Robert Byrd. A strict constitutionalist--he keeps a copy of the U.S. Constitution in his breast pocket--he admonishes his colleagues not to give Bush a blank check to wage war. Weakened by age and illness, he says, "My hands tremble but my heart still throbs." Only Congress has the right to declare war, he thunders as best he can, decrying the vote as "an abduction of our power. What a shame." Looking back, Byrd was right, but at the time he was treated like a Shakespearean sideshow. "He's loved and he's patronized," says Donahue. "He's not taken seriously." In one of the most affecting scenes in the film, Byrd brings out a framed list of those senators who voted against the October 2002 war resolution--"The immortal 23" he calls them. He and Tomas read the names aloud.

The challenge of getting "Body of War" into the theaters is not political, says Donahue: it's economic. "You can't waterboard a theater owner for being afraid of this because he's seen the empty seats," says Donahue. Movies about the Iraq War are box-office flops. He hopes this one is different enough that it can break through what he calls Iraq War fatigue. Tomas doesn't want people to feel sorry for the guy in the wheelchair. He wants to make a statement. He wants people to know that war is about more than making speeches on the Senate floor.