Iraq's defense minister made front-page news in The New York Times the other day, with a timetable that doubtless provoked many a gulp and groan.
It won't be until 2012, said the soothsayer, Abdul Qadir by name, that Iraq's forces will be in the kind of shape to take responsibility for the country's internal security. And we'll have to wait all the way until 2018, the minister predicted, before Iraq will be capable of defending itself from threats beyond its borders.
Great. Absolutely great. Because if Iraq isn't defending itself, you know who's likely to be doing it instead.
Sure, some top-tier Democrats want to disengage forthwith. It's a nice thing to hope for, but given the realities of our entanglement, the best advice might be to not hold your breath.
Qadir's prognostications surely warranted the display accorded by the Times' editors. But I have to admit that what especially caught my attention was the story's dateline -- Fort Monroe, Va.
The Iraqi official, it turns out, had been interviewed during a visit to this ultra-historic fort that commands the entrance to the broad harbor known as Hampton Roads. News not simply important, but of monumental significance, for centuries has unfolded on this spit of land opposite Norfolk and hard by Chesapeake Bay.
As part of the national base-closing process, meant to save money, the Army is scheduled to close Fort Monroe and leave by 2011. Yet the place is bound to produce at least one more huge story: What will become of it?
The land Fort Monroe occupies is known as Old Point Comfort. It's at the very tip of the long peninsula separating the James and York rivers, about 30 miles from the site of Jamestown, settled in 1607. And it was to Old Point Comfort that, in 1619, the first Africans were brought to America.
That profound link to African-American heritage would by itself deserve special recognition. But the connection goes even deeper, as slavery gave way to freedom.
Fort Monroe was constructed to give the U.S. Army and its artillery a dominating presence at the mouth of Hampton Roads. Robert E. Lee, then a young officer in the Corps of Engineers, helped lead the massive project during its final stages. It was finished in 1834. The old stone fortress itself is ringed by a moat.
At the Civil War's outset, as federal installations in the South fell into Confederate hands, Fort Monroe remained under Union control. And it was at Fort Monroe that Gen. George McClellan's huge army disembarked from transport ships in early 1862. The army's mission: march up the York-James peninsula to Richmond and crush the rebel government.
The Peninsula Campaign became one of the great might-have-beens of American history. Even though McClellan's troops eventually fought their way to Richmond's outskirts -- it was said they could hear the church bells -- Lee, by then wearing gray, devised a brilliant strategy to drive the federals back. The ghastly battles of the Seven Days ended with Northern survivors withdrawing in defeat to ships in the James.
So the war, instead of ending in 1862, unfolded with all its carnage for another three years. But meanwhile at Fort Monroe, a key precedent was set.
Federal authorities had considered themselves still bound by laws requiring fugitive slaves to be returned to their owners. But when three fugitives sought sanctuary at Fort Monroe, the commander, Gen. Benjamin Butler of Massachusetts, agreed they should have it. The word spread, and thousands of erstwhile slaves made their way to the Union lines. The fort became a beacon for the liberated, many of whom went on to settle in the adjacent city of Hampton. Their heritage remains strong to this day.
The modern-day post consists of 570 acres, and it houses the headquarters of the Army's Training and Doctrine Command. That's what occasioned the visit by the Iraqi defense chief. The old fortress isn't going anywhere, of course, but plans are to turn the whole facility over to the state of Virginia once the Army departs.
How best to do justice to Fort Monroe, especially as a place where American slavery had its roots and also as one where slavery's bonds began to be shed? Certainly not by turning it over to the tender mercies of developers eager to exploit it as a prime piece of real estate.
The National Park Service is evaluating the site's potential for park status, and perhaps that would be the best outcome. The fort combines historical significance and natural beauty, and it needs to be shielded from development pressure.
In any case, take a drive up there this spring -- it's about 3 1/2 hours from Raleigh -- and like Abdul Qadir, you can visit before it's too late. And sort of like Jefferson Davis, the Confederate ex-president who spent two years there in a dank prison cell (now part of a museum). It was a miserable confinement where perhaps he contemplated the ironies of fate.