This Started Out
I'm dragging myself through the morning today. Muttering to myself. Slouching and bitching through the chores. In three short hours I will be playing yet another funeral for a fine young man who has fallen due to the misguided policy and schemes of George W. Bush and also because of the craven cowardice or callous cynicism of the Congress that refuses to do their duty and stop this shit.
I'm doing this because it fucking hurts. That's right. I'll say it again, I'm doing this BECAUSE it hurts.
It hurts to see that another young person has been brutally killed. It hurts to see the faces of the surviving family. It hurts to stand with honor guard and play sad songs on the harp and pipes. It hurts even more when it is the child of a neighbor, it hurts even more when it was a kid that I knew.
Want to know something else? It hurts even more when I'm going to or leaving something like that and realize that most of this country doesn't even know, or much care, how bad it hurts.
I have had friends, on the phone, in my house, through concerned emails, tell me that they see the toll this is taking on me. Fuck! The republican pukes have had the gall to tell reporters that they will tow the line and stay with the president until the primaries are over and they are certain to make it to the general election, then they'll come to the "Stop this fucking madness" camp. They are more concerned with keeping their pissant jobs than the fact that we are losing two or more soldiers a day while at the same time not accomplishing a goddamned thing other than losing two or more soldiers a day.
Here's my challenge to you. Find a way to make this personal. Do like Jersey Cynic and Liz did over at BlondeSense did. They got out in the street to protest. They even got Jim Yeager of Mockingbird's Medley to join them. You know Jim. He used to blog as Mimus Pauly, now he's just doing it under his name.
Make it personal. Find a way to make this shit mean something deep inside you. Make it hurt. Then Do. It. Some. More. Feel the pain, feel the sadness when a 20 year old kid gets rolled over in a truck wreck. Then go to the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that.
Keep. It. Personal. Do that and you might find a way to ensure that this madness stops. Drag people along with you so that they know how much it hurts.
My cousin and his partner are coming to the funeral with me today.
That's two more people.
Maybe we won't stop this war. It has the distinct potential of stopping itself. The military can simply break down and cease to function like it did with Alexander. Of course, it just might get worse. Still.
I'm keeping it personal. I'm going to walk through the hurt, the grief, the pain and do what I can to make something, some fucking where a little better.
That's what I'm doing.
How about you?
Big Brass Blog
posted by The Minstrel Boy at 8:47 AM
5 Comments:
I feel small and mortal and woefully inadequate to the task. But I will try.
i've done it most of my life. seeing the WWII guys at the v.a. hospital in pittsburgh here while growing up because of my dad.going thru the 60's and watching friends go to war.poor kids, lower middle, none of the wealthy that i knew, tho i know there must have been some. i watched friends fade away to avoid the draft, stay in college by any means needed, knock up girlfriends and get married or leave wives and girlfriends after their tour because things were so different, they were so different. saw guys i knew come back with pieces missing. the luckier ones came back with pieces of flesh gone. some came back with pieces of what made them, THEM gone. some healed, some didn't. some that didn't go now feel deep guilt that they didn't serve, some still march in protest of this war while the shade of vietnam peeks.then there are the people like cheney and worse, the people like bush that got daddy's buddy to bump someone else so the he could go to the guard(and then not even fucking show up!)
i have young friends now, mu kid's age who have served. some, more than once. i've seen the change and tho all served well and love this country. there are a few that had their eyes opened and their faith shattered in the bargin.
one in particular, well, he and i aree the only two at the club we belong to, that stand silently whenever they play the godforsaken "proud to be an american" song.
he sang it before he went. his best friend was blown up all over him at a police station in iraq .
he doesn't speak of it. his brother told me. me, i never ever sang that f'ing song. now he and i look at each other across the social hall if they play it at karaoke.
it's personal, it hurts and i've lost a few aquaintences because of my views because the club is as i have mentioned in my blog, in an old coal mining company town.
ah, enough of my rambling. be well and know that you are a blessing this day.
I feel that if the media coverage of Iraq was the same as it was in 'Nam, we would have our people home already. Those of us who remember seeing guys who had been blown apart in the middle of our living rooms during the dinner hour are the ones doing a lot of the protesting now. There are a loto of opportunities to do that here in Austin, a blue island in a sea of red. I have gone to marches and protests but I am careful about that now days. I consider my self for peace rather than against war. To me, there is a big difference between the two points of view and it gets blurred quite easily at organized demonstrations. I hold peace in my heart as much as I can and try to spread it around when I get the chance.
I wish you peace today.
It has always hurt, and it has always been personal.
Every mother knows what I'm talking about: we go through what we go through only to have our precious child killed in some ill-conceived war? Meanwhile very, very few of our leaders' children even serve?
Unacceptable.
And Congress remains disappointingly weak. Useless, really. I know they don't have the numbers--well, how can the numbers be gotten, then? What will it take? Or are these diehards going to keep riding along in the White House clown car even as it soars off the edge of a cliff?
It has been personal for a very long time, Cal is in Baghdad, his third tour. Cal and my Daughter's marriage is suffering mightily...whether from the separations or for deeper reasons; easier would be Cal at home, talks when the kids are in bed, so better than fleeting, nightly, phone arguments....they volunteered... they deserve better.
I thank you MB for the challenge and the example..I can make it more personal, I will...
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