When you’re in elementary school, America is just about the best thing ever (apart from whipped cream and Pokémon). You’re pumped full of the patriotic songs and George Washington and those damned catchy Schoolhouse Rock videos with the talking bill on his way to becoming a law. Then middle school comes around, and you touch on the Civil War, learning about that honest tall guy named Abe who frees the slaves. Sure, a few people died, but it was a righteous war. No problem; America did the right thing in the end. Maybe you learned that Lincoln suspended habeas corpus during the Civil War and that Nixon did some wire-tapping. Awful, yes, but rectified in the end and basically ancient history. The civil rights movement ended segregation. Nixon got impeached. Plus, the United States is the best country on Earth in terms of educational opportunities (well, in the top 20) and standards of living. We have a stable constitution, peaceful transfer of power and corn dogs. What more could you ask for? Good question. At this point I’m marveling over the difference between the vision I had of America in high school and the one I have now, particularly since the release of new documents detailing the problematic situation of the Guantanamo detainees. Not only are the prison conditions horrendous, the cases against many of the detainees, described by a New York Times Article as “patchwork and contradictory,” would not hold up in a criminal court or even a military tribunal.

As a political science minor, I have become increasingly cynical toward American foreign policy since coming to college. Not that I’m alone—this attitude has been fashionable among liberal-minded people and hipsters since the 1970s, becoming ever more virulent since the Bush administration’s involvement in the Middle East. Getting a formalized polisci education has only deepened my already-present cynicism. I have learned that not everyone agreed with Lincoln’s decision to suspend habeas corpus during the Civil War and that the CIA has undertaken secret operations everywhere from Iran to Guatemala in the name of national security. As much as I hate to admit it, this isn’t even a partisan issue. Even during the Clinton administration, the CIA was involved in covert operations in Kosovo. We all know about the Iraq war, Guantanamo Bay and wire-tapping—they have almost lost their shock-value.

One main theme that my professors have emphasized is the tension between freedom and security—how much freedom of speech, freedom of expression and freedom of movement can we have without opening ourselves to potential threat? Conversely, how much wiretapping and government secrecy can we stand without violating the very principles that Americans profess as basic creed? How comfortable should we be as ordinary citizens with that trade-off? It’s easy to take an extreme stance either way because nuances are messy and require asking questions like “if we don’t tap these phones, will there be a terrorist attack?” and “what if these people we’ve detained and tortured are innocent?”

As college students, we’re the next generation of government watchdogs, not only those of us who choose to pursue journalism, but also future politicians and voting citizens. We have a duty to consider these questions and either accept the status quo or push for change. As for myself, I will probably continue to grow increasingly cynical about America’s foreign policy and covert missions. However, I have to admit, even though I believe torture is wrong, I’m not 100 percent opposed to Guantanamo Bay when I think about 9/11…and that thought scares me.