We should invade their countries, kill their leaders and convert

"We should invade their countries, kill their leaders and convert them to Christianity. We weren't punctilious about locating and punishing only Hitler and his top officers. We carpet-bombed German cities; we killed civilians. That's war. And this is war." These words, spoken by the controversial political commentator Ann Coulter, ignite a firestorm of emotion, drawing a line between the perceived necessity of war and the moral compromises often made in its execution. In her statement, Coulter boldly suggests a ruthless path—one that has echoes in the brutality of past conflicts, yet raises deep questions about the ethics of modern warfare and the relationship between religion and conquest. Her words challenge us to confront the harsh realities of human conflict, to consider the cost of war, and to question the true nature of moral justification in the pursuit of political aims.

Let us first unpack her words. Coulter speaks of invasion, killing leaders, and the conversion of foreign peoples, evoking the ancient tradition of empire-building—a time when rulers would conquer lands, not merely to dominate, but to impose their own ideologies and faiths upon the vanquished. The historical precedent for such thinking is vast and tragic. Consider the Crusades, when the Christian kingdoms of Europe embarked on a series of holy wars to reclaim Jerusalem from Muslim control. These wars, fueled by both religious fervor and territorial ambition, saw the killing of countless civilians and the violent conversion of populations to Christianity. The Crusaders did not hesitate to sacrifice the lives of innocents for what they believed was the will of God. In this sense, Coulter’s words resonate with the age-old call to arms in the name of a higher cause, a call that has often led to unimaginable suffering and destruction.

But Coulter also draws a direct parallel between the brutal tactics of the Second World War and the modern conflicts of our time. She speaks of the carpet-bombing of German cities—a strategy employed by the Allies, most notably the Royal Air Force and the United States Army Air Forces, which devastated cities like Dresden and Hamburg, killing tens of thousands of civilians. The horrors of these bombings, justified at the time as a necessary evil to defeat the Nazi regime, highlight the grim truth that in war, the line between combatant and non-combatant can become blurred. The destruction of civilian life, the suffering of innocents, became an acceptable price to pay in the pursuit of ultimate victory. And Coulter’s invocation of this brutal tactic serves as a reminder that in war, actions are often justified by the larger cause, even when those actions are morally and ethically questionable.

This is the painful heart of Coulter’s statement: war is brutal, and morality often takes a back seat to the imperatives of victory. We see this truth in the sweep of history, in the conquests of Alexander the Great, whose empire stretched from Greece to India, and whose wars were marked by the slaughter of untold numbers. Even as he spread Greek culture and Hellenistic ideals, he also imposed his rule with unrelenting force, crushing resistance without mercy. In this sense, Coulter’s words echo the reality that in the pursuit of power and dominance, the moral considerations of life and death are often subjugated to the needs of the state. For in the theatre of war, the rules are bent, the innocent are sacrificed, and the nobility of purpose can quickly give way to the harsh realities of survival.

But let us not be deceived by the simplicity of Coulter’s rhetoric. She asks us to accept that war is a reality, an inevitable force of human nature that must be faced with decisiveness and resolve. Yet, we must ask ourselves: is this the only way forward? Is the answer to the suffering of war simply more suffering, more violence, more loss? The lesson here is not to glorify war, nor to accept it as a necessary evil, but to understand its true cost. War leaves scars upon the land and the soul, and once set in motion, it breeds destruction beyond the control of even the most powerful nations. This is the truth that history teaches us, whether we look at the horrors of the First World War, the devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, or the endless conflicts of the modern era.

And yet, the lesson is not one of despair, but of awareness and responsibility. Coulter’s words may shock us, but they also challenge us to consider the consequences of violence and warfare in a world where technology has made the power to destroy even greater than ever before. Nuclear weapons, biological warfare, and genetically engineered threats now stand as the new tools of destruction, and as such, the stakes of war have grown ever higher. In this world, we cannot afford to think of war as merely a tactical exercise, a means to an end. We must understand the cost—the human cost, the moral cost, and the lasting consequences of every decision we make. If we are to ensure a future of peace, we must look beyond the temptations of militarism and embrace the difficult work of diplomacy, understanding, and cooperation.

What then can we take away from Coulter’s challenge? Practical action begins with a recognition of the gravity of war—its power to destroy, its capacity to leave wounds that may never heal. We must be vigilant in holding our leaders accountable, demanding that the path to war be chosen only after careful consideration of its consequences. We must ask ourselves: do we seek to impose our will on others, or do we strive for a world where understanding and compassion prevail over violence? The true test of our humanity lies not in our capacity to conquer, but in our ability to build, to heal, and to choose the path of peace—even when the allure of war seems irresistible. Let us learn from the past, and may we forge a future that values life, not just as a strategic asset, but as the sacred gift that it truly is.