Waking Up on New Year's Day
2007 starts out for me in pain and anger. My lower back, left hip and thigh are sore and stiff. It's been bothering me for a few days but yesterday was the worst. Moving about is definitely not easy. With some rest and care the pain should pass. The anger is more likely to be permanent.
The 3,000th American died yesterday and today's Washington Post carries articles about the Arlington Section 60 where 300 Iraq dead are buried and a young woman mourning her lost love. Yesterday was an article about women casualties and America's willingess to see its daughters die in war along with its sons. Nothing about any of these stories is unique--the pain and loss is shared by families throught America. And beyond is the immense toll of Iraqi civilitan suffering and death.
Maybe if this death and destruction were serving the nation it would be acceptable but it most certainly is not. Nor is it serving Iraqis beyond the favored elites whose interests and loyalties are to themselves. And even though the nation clearly decided against continued war and occupation, BushCheney is planing to throw more troops into the fire. The grave diggers will be busy in Section 60.
I look at those rows of white stones and see an abomination, the waste of sacrifice and service. The dead served honorably and courageously but BushCheney squandered their sacrifice on lies, deceptions and delusions. The invasion was a lie. The myth of democracy and self determination was a delusion. Now BushCheney is asking service members and their families to invest their lives and loves on a failed policy.
Yeah, it's easy to be angry at all this. I'll put the anger to good use in 2007.
3 Comments:
IN Flander's fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flander's fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flander's fields.
lt. col. john mccrae
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work -
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.
carl sandburg
boonie rats, boonie rats
scared, but not alone. . .
us.
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