I am thinking tonight, the night the latest war began, of Walt Whitman. He’s good company in tough times.

President Trump has taken the country to war—again—on his own, without a word or even a gesture of explanation to the American people before the bombs started falling, without any meaningful debate in Congress, and without developing a proper legal case for war or any kind of plan for its aftermath. It’s all KA-BOOM and let’s-see-what-happens.

The American military is unmatched in the disciplines of war, and I truly hope and pray for our success in arms and for the safe return of the men and women who volunteered for this duty. I also pray for the Iranian people. I want America to win. I want Iran to thrive. Truly.

But this war against Iran marks the seventh attack on a foreign nation since Trump returned to office last year. Iraq. Nigeria. Somalia. Syria. Yemen. Venezuela. Iran—twice. Let that sink in for a moment. Does it feel that the American people are even remotely involved in our government’s decisions to attack other countries?

Zero congressional hearings, much less actual votes. Zero presidential addresses to the nation—before the hostilities begin. Zero pressure on administration officials, or even curiosity about the justification for any of this, from corporate media. Not a single whisper, a single sign, of the ritual acknowledgment that a republic owes itself a moment of genuine collective deliberation before choosing war.

But this is the new normal. Trump quotes Napoleon on social media—“He who saves his Country does not violate any Law.” He sees himself as all-powerful, beyond the annoying obligations to the people that the chief executive of a self-governing democracy ought to honor. He wants to wow the people with spectacle, not seek their permission for war on the basis of honest explanation and argument.

Trump didn’t invent this presidential imperialism, of course. Wars have begun before without my approval, without yours, without even much warning. America has never been innocent of power and its abuses. We have launched expeditions, interventions, invasions, and bombardments across generations. Historians and critics will argue—correctly—that the United States has long exercised an imperial reach.

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But I come back to those images and echoes that also live in our history, and that remain a source of civic energy. Our people have had heroes who stood up and not just opposed wars—they championed the right and duty of a free people to have a say in starting them.

Senator George Norris of Nebraska—“the very perfect, gentle knight of American progressive ideals” FDR called him—arguing on the Senate floor against President Woodrow Wilson’s call to join World War I.

“Their object in having war and in preparing for war is to make money. Human suffering and the sacrifice of human life are necessary, but Wall Street considers only the dollars and cents. The men who do the fighting, the people who make the sacrifices, are the ones who will not be counted in the measure of this great prosperity he depicts.”

Eugene Debs, American Socialist, before a large crowd at Nimisilla Park in Canton, Ohio, making his case against war in 1917:

“If war is right let it be declared by the people. You who have your lives to lose, you certainly above all others have the right to decide the momentous issue of war or peace.”

Senator Ernest Gruening of Alaska, arguing in the Senate against the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution in 1964—one of two senators who voted against the measure that plunged the nation into the Vietnam War:

“All Vietnam is not worth the life of a single American boy.”

And Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia, in a stemwinder of a speech to his Senate colleagues on the eve of the invasion of Iraq in 2003:

“I weep for my country…Why can this President not seem to see that America’s true power lies not in its will to intimidate, but in its ability to inspire?”

All those ringing quotes were part of great national debates, passionate arguments across the country, about whether America should go to war. There will be no such quotes for this war. There was no debate.

And so tonight I find myself wondering whether something small but essential has somehow slipped away from us in the night—some lingering habit of citizenship, some expectation that war belongs not only to presidents but to the people.

But I can’t accept that. We won’t accept that.

Democracy is not procedure or mere rhetoric—hearings, speeches, debates. Those are the vessels. Democracy is vitality—our voices, the voices of all no matter their wealth or station or heritage—raised up out of our patriots’ hearts and pored into those vessels to revive the great American adventure.

That’s why I’m thinking of Walt Whitman tonight. He understood us, but more than that, he heard us. We must all find our voices in these times, and there is no better encouragement for that than Walt Whitman’s great lines.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedI hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.