- "The illegal we do immediately. The unconstitutional
takes a little longer. Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac." Henry Kissinger
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- "There is only one way to deal with people like
this, and that is you have to kill some of them even if they are not immediately
directly involved in the thing." Former Secretary of State Lawrence
Eagleburger (CNN, 9/11/01)
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- "Oh you're so small you died alone, under rubble
and stones and you did not moan." Sister Iman
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- Men of power and wealth; inherited or acquired through
ill-gotten plunder, connections, appointed or elected positions, are not
in the business of emotions, feelings, conscience, love of neighbor, thoughtful
considerations, or the brotherhood of mankind!! Anyone who thinks differently
does not have an inkling of the brutality and ruthlessness as to how a
minority of men without conscience, devoid of the attributes that identify
others as members of the human race, see and play the Game of Life. It
is hard, if not almost impossible, for the majority of mankind to imagine
cruel-callous-arrogant-egotistical-self-centered-malignant men; that interpret
the acquisition of monies, lands, annihilating, vaporizing weaponry, and
the positioning of others (never their own) sons and daughters on some
battlefield gameboard for; as Mr.Kissinger so aptly puts it; "the
ultimate aphrodisiac". The word 'friend' does not exist in the thinking
or vocabulary of such people. It is an alien thought, as friendships do
not exist in this power game; only 'interests.' One dare not trust another
for they cannot trust themselves. Like the appointed summer's romp of Volleyball;
life a game of imperfections for only through others mistakes/weaknesses/flaws
does one gain success on the scoreboard.
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- If one, described by the power-players as simpletons,
commoners, human resources, the masses, useless eaters et al; should take
the opportunity to speak out on the horrors of war that vaporizes, tears
children limb from limb, poisons soldiers, citizens and lands with depleted
uranium; they are immediately through marketed propaganda labeled anti-American,
unpatriotic, a sympathizer or the old stand by Commie! In a world of Hubble
telescopes, space stations, and telecommunications wonders; a think tank
on every D.C. corner, hundreds of thousands of government employees, consultants
for consultants and experts (who've never seen war outside a video game)
the 21st century seems not to have stumbled upon the answer to peace except
through barbarism, of the most unimaginable sort! As the Old Testament
advises 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth'; which someone once observed
has the world blinded and toothless!
-
- Wars are no longer identified as wars (except in public
pep rallies) but conflicts. Victory, no longer the objective but containment
(since the Korean conflict). Vietnam saw millions slaughtered with mines
still ripping limbs from errant children at play. Robert McNamara (former
Secretary of Defense during Vietnam era), stated a few years ago that upon
reflection he realized that Vietnam was a "mistake". I thought,
visiting the Wall in Washington D.C., with the names of 58,000 of our finest
listed, did they know they'd died for a "mistake?" What of those
left behind as POWs/MIAs (thanks to Kissinger's aphrodisiac power fumbling),
we're they comforted that they'd been left behind over a "mistake?"
Who can forget the news conference that President Bush Senior held with
families of those missing when he told them to "shut-up and sit down".
So much for this "support the troops" and "we take care
of our own" I thought watching.
-
- Yes, tedious, this lamenting over man's inhumanity to
man. Tattered flags, rotted ribbons, blood lust parades music and screaming
long muted; as people romp on summer's grass, spend a day at the golf course,
catch a breather from an exhausting trip, and debate politics in the glow
of a campfire with the flush of wine adding passion to the banal chatter
far from charred bodies and haunted hungry faces. As a small child I vividly
remember sitting in my Aunts room full of books, turning the pages of a
large picture volume of World War II. I remember the picture of a soot
covered baby sitting in the rubble of what was once a city, but now just
twisted smoking ruins. I wondered as a small child why people would do
this to one another and worried and worried as only a child would; whether
anyone had picked the crying baby up? My relatives all returned from the
Army-Air-Force-Marines-and Navy going on with their lives. War was never
spoken of. Others not so fortunate returned sterile, blinded, limbless
and traumatized by the unimaginable and the impossible they as young, naive
recruits had witnessed.
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- In the shadow of man's phallic edifices of concrete-glassed-hanging
gardens splendor; in a Fortune 500 city; the nobility of our nation's wars;
sick, crippled and emotionally shattered, exist (not live) beneath bridges,
abandoned cars, boarded tenements, crack houses (the only affordable $500.00
per month rooms) or in decaying shelters. Most chose not to stay in shelters
amongst the mentally-ill, the drug addict, the dispossessed and discarded
sea of suffering humanity. They instead took their chances out on the streets,
outside the bureaucratic bumbling of rules, regulations, policies and hundreds
of forms to fill out proving their need. They told me (the director of
a homeless program) that it was their last "No" to a system they'd
felt had totally failed them.
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- I found James (WWII) veteran, living under a bridge in
a rusted wheelchair, the rubber on the wheels long disintegrated. James,
an affable Black gentleman, welcomed me into his meager abode early one
morning as I announced I was from Welcome Wagon. If you want to help people
you have to go where they 'live'. Many, are for various reasons, unable
to maneuver through the layered maze of paperwork (the DMV multiplied by
100). Others, mentally impaired, haven't a clue of where to go or how to
articulate their problems or need. As James and I shared a 'picnic' lunch
I'd brought from the Deli, the roar of cars overhead was not conducive
to a quiet chat. I pretended not to notice the huge river-rats scampering
in the shadows waiting for some crumbs! James told me of his crackhead
nephew who'd been put in charge of his monies spending it all on dope and
him ending up evicted. No-one had been willing to listen to James' story
or assist him. When I sent him to the opulent city hall, the Mayor had
him arrested; which resulted in my having to bail him out (wheelchair and
all) for $50.00! In any event, with much persistence and a lot of paperwork
and the help of Representative Christopher Shays, James finally was admitted
to a meticulously kept nursing home. Some months later as I was serving
meals in the soup-kitchen, a hulking Black man of gentle demeanor pulled
at my sleeve, tears running down his cheeks. In halting language he told
me that James had died the night before and he'd just come to thank me
for not letting him die in the gutter.
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- Denis (Vietnam) was found dead in his makeshift tent
in the large park near the shore, just a few hundred feet from the extravagant
yacht club. His grocery cart of collected cans overturned nearby. Bob,
a brusque bellowing man (Vietnam) burned to death in an abandoned house.
Hubert, an elderly Black gentleman was blinded with lye when some doper
attempted to rob him. He'd fought in North Africa. Joe, a Merchant Marine,
(WWII) lived in the basement of a honkey tonk bar . I found Bill (WWII)
living in his car. When I took the plastic garbage bag from his foot, I
found the bottom rotted and filled with maggots. Bill's foot was saved
when I got him to a distant VA hospital (not without the maze of paperwork!).
Mr. Elliott (WWII-Naval photographer) was beaten to death in an alleyway
where he slept. The small ten bed shelter in this elite-pretend country
town, home to movie stars and Wall St. brokers, had refused him admittance
because he didn't have the $5.00 they charged per night! A crazed drug
addict, an illegal immigrant working as a dishwasher in a nearby exclusive
restaurant had attempted to rob Mr. Elliott and finding he had nothing
beat him to death with his own wheelchair! Mr. Elliott, had survived WWII
but not the streets of America! The irony of this was (and believe me I
made it quite evident to the local press!) was that this same boutique
filled town with it's gated estates had gone all out to save some 30lb
lobster that had been caught and was going to be boiled up at the Club!
They collected monies, this little town with a big heart, hired a boat
and had the little lobster taken back out to sea!! At the same time, Christmas
lights twinkled a goodbye to the few homeless as the ten bed shelter was
closed! In it's place they opened a, "I'm OK, You're OK, We're all
OK" self help group. I imagined that there was be a lot of stress
in managing one's money or arranging that perfect dinner party??
-
- And so it goes dozens and dozens of similar stories that
never make it to the papers or the nightly infotainment news hour! Real
people, real warriors kicked to the curb! Disposable society....use people
and lose'em!! Wars carry long echoes! In my opinion with billions being
spent on the weaponry of war why; don't we have 'state-of-the-art' VA hospitals?
Respite Homes for those traumatized? Reservists returning from war's theater
should not have to resort to welfare for medical care!! No veteran in this
country should be living amongst rats, nor in an alleyway, park or abandoned
building!! What a travesty!! How about no war equals no discarded veterans!
The rich want war, let'em have at it; them and theirs. We'll watch them
get blown to smithereens and come back in black body bags for a change!!
If it all gets too much we'll change the channel!!! Or go on vacation again!
-
- Phillip Berrigan, a 76 year old priest says it best.
Phillip, such a menace and danger to society has spent nine years in prison
protesting the insanity of war, of man butchering man. I saw Philip, a
few years back in a courtroom in Portland Maine. He was there to be sentenced
for protesting the use of depleted uranium shells in weapons. A big gentle
bear of a man, with a shock of white hair, and piercing, all compassionate
eyes that welcome you into his life's song; "For Swords into Plowshares,
the hammer has to fall." As the sentence was read, I the outsider-the
watcher, was humbled as his 'friends' and family raised their hands and
sang a gentle lyrical song of peace as he was led from the courtroom in
his new white sneakers (prison garb) and bulky cardigan. Philip says, "Our
hammers and blood will fall on this high-tech monstrosity called the A-10,
which fired 95% of the depleted uranium in Iraq and Yugoslavia. A hammer
is the universal tool, used to build up and tear down, used to extend responsibility
or disarmament universally. Disarming the weapons and abolishing war is
the number one business of the world. Nothing so destroys our relationship
with God and one another; nothing so threatens the very survival of the
planet! There will be no justice, no peace, no relief for the poor, no
restoration of the ecology until we STOP killing one another!! The vision
of Isaiah 2:4 tells of a people faithful to God by disarmament and living
as brothers and sisters." Let those with eyes to see and ears to hear
awaken from their slumber.
-
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- "Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in
order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor, for patriotism is
indeed a double-edged sword. It both emboldens the blood, just as it narrows
the mind. And when the drums of war reached a fever pitch and the blood
boils with hate and the mind has 'closed', the leader will have no need
in seizing the rights of the citizenry. Rather, the citizenry, infused
with fear and blinded by patriotism, will offer up all their rights unto
the leader and gladly so. How do I know? For this is what I have done.
AND I AM CAESAR." Julius Caesar
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