When the Trump administration ordered special‑operations forces to seize Venezuelan president Nicolás Maduro and his wife on January 3, 2026, electricity failed across Caracas and airfields filled with U.S. aircraft. The Venezuelan leader was spirited to New York to face an indictment on drug charges while President Trump pledged that the United States would “run” Venezuela until a safe transition could be arranged. He offered “boots on the ground” if necessary and invoked the Monroe Doctrine to justify an operation condemned as a violation of sovereignty. Within hours, social media feeds filled with profile pictures draped in the Stars and Stripes and statements like “FAFO.” The mission’s execution and talk of “restoring democracy” tapped a familiar chord in the American psyche. The reactions to this raid highlight an ugly truth about the United States: Americans love war. They do not like higher taxes, a debased currency, or flag‑draped coffins, but they love war. And our short memory ensures we will learn nothing from the disasters we have created.
A pattern of initial enthusiasm
After nearly every U.S. military intervention since World War II, public opinion has followed the same trajectory: overwhelming support when the bombs first fall, then waning approval once casualties mount and victory proves elusive. Just before the 2003 invasion of Iraq, Gallup polls found 59 percent of Americans favored sending troops to remove Saddam Hussein while 37 percent opposed it. Pew Research surveys that spring reported that 77 percent believed the United States made the right decision to use force. Support for President Bush’s handling of the war peaked at 71 percent in the days after the televised fall of Baghdad. A comparable rally occurred in January 1991: before Operation Desert Storm, 55 percent said they favored using force to expel Iraq from Kuwait; two weeks after the bombing began, 77 percent agreed the decision was right.
The invasion of Afghanistan in October 2001 triggered even stronger approval. In the first weeks after U.S. forces toppled Taliban positions, Gallup found that 88 percent supported military action. At that moment, only about a quarter believed the campaign was going “very well,” and fewer than half believed the Taliban would be ousted or Osama bin Laden captured. For the American public, the emotional satisfaction of striking back after 9/11 outweighed prudence or realism.
Even a limited campaign like the 2011 NATO airstrikes in Libya generated a rally. A Gallup survey conducted days after U.S. aircraft began enforcing a no‑fly zone found that 47 percent approved and 37 percent disapproved of the mission. The same article noted that support for the Libya intervention was lower than for any prior campaign but still produced a majority of Americans in favor. On March 20 2023, as talk of intervening in Syria dominated cable news, polls indicated that roughly six in ten Americans favored airstrikes; fear of chemical weapons made war appear necessary. Time and again, Americans greet new conflicts with the assumption they will be short, decisive, and morally unambiguous.
This pattern extends to older conflicts that many now condemn. When Lyndon Johnson escalated U.S. involvement in Vietnam in 1965, Gallup found only 24 percent calling it a mistake; 60 percent said it was not. A plurality still supported the war in July 1967. It was not until August 1968—three and a half years into the conflict – that a majority of Americans first said Vietnam was a mistake. This suggests that the initial impulse to back intervention is so strong that even thousands of casualties cannot immediately dislodge it.
The cost of amnesia
Within months, early enthusiasm invariably fades. Gallup tracked a steep rise in Americans who believed the Iraq War was a mistake: from 23 percent in March 2003 to a majority by June 2004. Pew found that by mid‑2004, support for the war slipped below 50 percent as images of killed contractors and Abu Ghraib abuses circulated. In 2007, 61 percent opposed President Bush’s troop surge while only 31 percent supported it; by 2011, three‑quarters favored withdrawing all combat forces. Approval followed a similar arc in Afghanistan: only 6 percent said the war was a mistake in early 2002, but this rose to 25 percent by 2004 and 42 percent by 2009. Observers may recall that by the time Washington signed a withdrawal agreement with the Taliban in 2020, nearly two‑thirds of Americans favored bringing the troops home—a tacit admission of failure.
Vietnam provides the longest time series. Gallup’s “mistake” question recorded that 53 percent called the war a mistake by August 1968, and opposition continued to rise: 55 percent in 1969 and 1970 and 60 percent by 1971. Lyndon Johnson’s approval for handling the war plummeted from 47 percent in April 1966 to 27 percent in August 1967. John Mueller at the Cato Institute notes that casualty levels – not anti‑war protests – are the most significant factor driving these shifts; as American deaths mount, support for wars collapses. The conclusion is grim: Americans are enthusiastic about war until the human costs become personal.
One reason for this cyclical amnesia is the way politicians package wars as risk‑free. In 2003 the Bush administration promised a short campaign financed by Iraqi oil, just as the Kennedy and Johnson administrations predicted a quick victory in Vietnam. Today President Trump suggests the Venezuelan operation will be swift, with no U.S. casualties. History suggests otherwise. Interventions rarely remain confined to surgical strikes; they metastasize into nation‑building projects that drain billions and shatter lives.
The body counts and price tags of U.S. interventions are staggering. The Iraq War killed more than 4,500 American service members and cost an estimated $2 trillion, while hundreds of thousands of Iraqis died in the ensuing insurgency and civil war. Afghanistan cost at least $2.3 trillion and claimed the lives of around 2,400 U.S. troops, plus tens of thousands of Afghan civilians. Vietnam killed over 58,000 Americans and as many as 2 million Vietnamese. Each of these wars began amid promises of quick victory and ended in protracted quagmires. Yet the pattern persists. In 2011, as the war in Libya dragged on longer than expected and concerns about arming rebels emerged, public support declined. By early 2019, a majority of Americans said the Libya intervention was not worth it. Already there are signs of the same fatigue with Ukraine. None of these numbers appear to register when the next crisis calls for U.S. “leadership.”
War and the American church
Equally disturbing is the complicity of many American churches in perpetuating the war instinct. Sanctuaries across the country display the American flag alongside crosses. The practice is defended as a tribute to veterans, yet it communicates theological confusion. As Dr. Richard Mouw warns, the flag is “a powerful symbol that evokes loyalty and pride not proper for Christians,” and placing it next to a Christian flag suggests equal allegiance to God and nation. Some congregants may become furious when the flag is removed from the sanctuary, insisting that without it the church is being unpatriotic. But when churches use patriotic songs and national symbols in worship, they implicitly sanctify the state’s wars.
Prominent theologian Stanley Hauerwas, who has long critiqued American militarism, argues that fusing the cross with the flag produces “an identity without difference”; when Christians make it their task to “make America work,” they “lose [their] ability to survive as church” because they become governed by the story of America rather than the Gospel. This theologian warns that such fusion makes the church an unwitting chaplain to empire. An essay from Hauerwas and Bishop C. Andrew Doyle states bluntly that “a Christianity that affirms the state’s wars is not Christianity. It is idolatry.” Christians must refuse to let the state define righteousness and must lament wars that demand we abandon love in exchange for “lethal obedience,” for war inflicts not just death but moral injury. War asks soldiers to suppress their conscience, and those wounds return home and sit in the pews. The church’s role is to speak truth to power, not to provide cover for violence.
The moral costs of war rarely enter the calculations of policymakers or enthusiastic citizens. Endless wars coarsen public discourse, normalizing cruelty and torture. Abu Ghraib and Guantánamo remain global symbols of American hypocrisy. Drone campaigns, once marketed as clean and precise, kill innocents and radicalize new militants. At home, veterans struggle with post‑traumatic stress and moral injury while underfunded VA hospitals leave them without proper care. The same leaders who cheer interventions often vote against funding for wounded warriors. In our time, mass surveillance and indefinite detention have eroded civil liberties in the name of security.
A society that loves war but refuses to count its moral costs is bound to repeat mistakes. The theologians above recall the Barmen Declaration written against Nazi state churches: Christ alone commands our allegiance. When churches accept the state’s wars without scrutiny, they practice civil religion rather than Christianity. This civil religion conditions congregants to salute the flag and trust military leaders more than they trust Scripture.
A way forward
One might ask how to break the cycle. The answer begins with honesty. Citizens must stop believing that interventions will be easy or cost‑free. Polls show that support for wars drops when casualties rise, suggesting that Americans care about the lives of their neighbors; we should apply that same empathy before the first bomb is dropped. Historians like Andrew Bacevich and economists like Robert Higgs have long argued that wars expand state power and diminish liberty. This pattern holds whether the war is waged by Republicans or Democrats. Trump’s Venezuela raid is no different; it will inevitably produce blowback, refugee crises, and the need for U.S. occupational governance – all financed by taxpayers who were never consulted beyond a momentary opinion poll.
Second, churches must disentangle their identity from nationalism. Remove national flags from sanctuaries. Preach the Sermon on the Mount instead of Fourth of July paeans. When asked about war, pastors should insist that Christian morality forbids killing non‑combatants and demands loving enemies. When the church attempts to serve America, it invites God to become an American. But the church’s task is not to make America great but to witness to the kingdom of God, a kingdom whose King refused to call down legions of angels and instead suffered violence rather than inflict it.
Finally, policymakers should heed the lessons of prior interventions. Do not promise quick victories; do not hide costs off‑budget. Congress must exercise its constitutional authority to declare wars and fund them transparently. Casualty‑averse strategies like drone warfare or proxy conflicts may reduce American deaths, but they still produce blowback and rarely achieve their objectives. Public debate should include the perspectives of those who have served and suffered, not just think‑tank pundits. Recognize that diplomacy, trade, and non‑military aid often accomplish more than military force.
The United States is a republic forged by war; its founding document lists grievances against a king for quartering troops and waging war without consent. Yet modern Americans often cheer the latest intervention with little reflection on history or morality. The Maduro raid reveals a people quick to salute and slow to question. When the mission inevitably drags on – when Venezuelan insurgents form, when American soldiers begin to die, when prices spike – support will erode, and we will wonder how we were fooled again. If there is any hope of change, it lies in confronting the ugly truth that our love of war is a form of idolatry. Only by remembering past disasters, valuing human life above geopolitical vanity, and reclaiming the church’s prophetic voice can America break its addiction to war.
Alan Mosley is a historian, jazz musician, policy researcher for the Tenth Amendment Center, and host of It’s Too Late, “The #1 Late Night Show in America (NOT hosted by a Communist)!” New episodes debut every Wednesday night at 9ET across all major platforms; just search “AlanMosleyTV” or “It’s Too Late with Alan Mosley.”
