First of a two-part Left Out series reviewing the legacies of America's wars in Panama and Iraq.

AS GEORGE BUSH ponders new ways to remind Americans of his two favorite wars, as Pentagon hawks try vainly to parley "successes" into bigger appropriations for high tech weapons, Saddam Hussein remains in power; Kuwait's democratic elite enslaves Filipino servants; Manuel Noriega gets ready for his acquittal; and America's domestic problems go unchecked, too big, too complicated and too politically explosive for the President who brought us Just Cause and Desert Storm to manage.

Two days after the bombing of the Beirut Marine barracks, we invaded Grenada, a tiny, tiny island whose exact problems and import to the world are still entirely mysterious. But it was 1983, the economy was recovering, and the fiasco in Lebanon was not that big a problem. A few thousand American troops, a few casualties, one terrible Clint Eastwood movie.

In 1989, things were looking a little worse. The economy was slowing down. Tiananmen made American policy toward China look bad, and events in Eastern Europe (while optimistic) were clearly beyond American control. So we stepped up the rhetoric. We picked a dictator with a bad record. We ignored the fact that we had been supporting him and his drug activities for years. The Pentagon gave it a catchy name, Operation Just Cause. (Why do it? Just 'Cause.) 22,000 soldiers. Twenty-three die, 330 injured.

In 1990, the economy was clearly going downhill. The 1992 campaign was within striking range. Iraq provided a convenient excuse by invading Kuwait, a small, relatively reliable American ally. Saddam played the awful dictator perfectly. Again we ignored the fact we had supported him for years. Bombs away! 650,000 troops, fewer than 100 deaths. Songs, television specials and incredibly cool images of Tomahawks entering bunkers.

In some twisted way, the wars were a way to prove that presidents could do anything, absolutely anything, for years, and then reverse themselves and send people off to kill and die for the new cause. Back Saddam for years against the Ayatollah and the Russians, back Noriega for years against the Russians, the Nicaraguans, the Cubans, (the Salvadorans, the Hondurans, the Costa Ricans--he'd do anything). Do it out in the open and then, when it comes time, go get 'em.

AT A BRIEF, strange moment last year, America flashed back to 1983. For a few days in winter, Chrysler returned to its early 1980s advertising campaign: While a LeBaron scooted along a golden desert highway, Kenny Rogers belted out, "The pride is back, born in America..."

Forget for a moment that the American car industry is approaching collapse, or that the quality of Chrysler's cars suggest that proud is the one of the least accurate adjectives to describe the company. The reappearance of this ad was just a tiny patriotic drop in the sea of flag-waving pride that engulfed America during the Iraq war.

This outpouring of American pride--pride in our technological superiority (Rah Patriot Missile), in our brilliant military (Rah 100-hour war), in our humanity (Rah No Civilian Targets), in our racial equity (Rah Colin Powell, Rah Blacks and whites in the trenches), in our democratic ideals (Rah Restoring the Elected and Legitimate Government of the Freedom-Loving People of Kuwait)--has been a successful diversion of our attention from pressing economic issues.

It is "Symbolic Military Keynesianism" at its best. In traditional Keynesian economics--long the bane of Republicans--the federal government "primes the pump" of the domestic economy by increasing spending on unemployment benefits, jobs programs and the like. In military Keynesianism, the government primes the pump by building a massive military program--trading the efficiency of jobs programs for the enticement of military might.

Symbolic Military Keynesianism (SMK) is a substitute for both of these: Instead of priming the national economy, they prime the national symbolic economy. By turning inchoate regional barbarities into questions about the fabric of world democracy, our government created a feverish excitement about Panama and Iraq.

Pitched at this intense level--month after month of build-up, day after day of bombing, constant--but censored--television coverage, Bush et al distracted everyone from anything else by glutting the airwaves with Gulf "news."

For months, the Gulf War drove every other issue--the banking disaster, the Liberian massacres, the growing deficit, higher unemployment, the growing trade gap, and the legacy of the previous year's war in Panama--from newspapers and television broadcasts, from the national conversation. It was a dreamlike state of video war and triumph and it was a shame it ever had to end.

Whining Democratic senators who said we had "smart bombs but stupid children" sounded more like upset youngsters who got too small a piece of cake at the big party than outraged politicians. Sure, you could agree to disagree, but you couldn't disagree and make any difference.

BEYOND INDUCING AMNESIA, priming the symbolic pump had marvelous, if temporary, effects on how Americans saw themselves. Our technology suddenly became the best: Our smart bombs, our cruise missiles, our infrared goggles, our Patriot missiles (no Sonys here, pal) not only vanquished the primitive weapons of the Iraqis, they vanquished them humanely. Their Scud missiles hit Tel Aviv houses; our cruise missiles hit chemical weapons storage facilities.