I was horrified when I first learned of President Lincoln's actions to jail some of the administration's harshest critics during the Civil War. At the time I simply couldn't comprehend how a U.S. President could engage in such unseemly conduct. But youth has its innocence and while I had grown up in the generation that watched war waged on television for the very first time; I had not had significant exposure, to the antics of those decrying the American efforts in Vietnam, to reach the conclusion that Lincoln's actions held merit.

Sometimes the passage of time has a way of sharpening the focus, making the picture clearer so to speak. Such is the case with me, as I find myself wishing President Bush had the wherewithal to follow Lincoln's bold lead and jail some of those who loudly proclaim themselves mere dissenters.

It seems to me that today's version of dissent walks the razor's edge; dipping toward petty disagreement only when doing so is deemed necessary, while spending most of the time flirting with a reasonable facsimile of aiding and comforting the enemy.

Perhaps it's just me, but in pondering the question posed, I can't help but thinking of one Memorial day nearly three years ago. It was my first participation in the annual motorcycle rally and I had left my house early in the morning so I could meet a group of friends near the Bay Bridge, for breakfast, prior to riding into Washington, D.C. The trip in went as expected; I had a blast looking at the thousands upon thousands of bikes and their riders. I had expected to thoroughly enjoy myself, feeling the freedom that comes with riding in a group of brothers and sisters – fellow bikers – while observing all that I could so as to obtain ideas for customizing my newly purchased bike in a manner that fit my personal tastes.

We parked our bikes in a grassy area, not far from the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall and having not seen the memorial before, I decided to walk down to the wall with a few others in our group. It couldn't have been more than a couple of blocks and the entire park was literally packed with people of all ages; though I noticed that a goodly number of them were sporting insignia from one military branch or another.

No words of admonishment were ushered, it wasn't necessary; the throng of people lining up to tour the wall sensed that this was a moment for reverence, as we walked among giants. As I type this, the memories come flooding back and I'm overcome with emotion for what I witnessed next. The sheer beauty of the wall struck me first, only to be followed by the sudden understanding that comes from seeing all those names and knowing that each died in service to their country. The joy of the ride was gone, who was I but a speck in the magnitude of all that encompasses the greatness that is America?

As I walked along silently, reading the names of men who had given more than I can ever imagine, I saw him. I don' know his name, but he was kneeling in front of the wall, weeping silently with tears streaming down his face. He looked up as I stopped, but he didn't speak a word: he didn't have to, as his pain was evident. He could've been mourning his brother, a fellow soldier, or he might have been paying his respect to all who served. I don't know, but I know this: that man taught me something that I'll never forget.

Some say the pen is mightier than the sword: I have my doubts. For the pen did not grant me freedom; the sword did.

Brave men and women died while fighting on behalf of freedom, so people like you and I can use our “pen” to author articles on a subject that we probably can't ever truly understand. I'm not going to sully their efforts in asking if they died in vain. Doing so diminishes their sacrifice and our commitment to freedom. Let them rest in peace and let us rejoice in knowing that some had the courage to act on our behalf.