When the knock on the door comes, most families know before
any words are ever spoken. The father of Alex Ramirez had just
finished eating when he heard
the knock. Nearly every day now somewhere in America there
are families who cringe at the sound of footsteps and hope that
the knock on their door does not mean death has come to their
home. Those who die are rarely mentioned by a national news media
that spends millions of dollars covering the latest adventures of
superwarhero Bush as he saves us from gay marraiges, imports of
lower cost Canadian drugs, and the avarice that would come from
having more than minimum wage jobs.
A blogger on the Clark blog
talks
about going to the funerals of soliders. Nearly every day
somehwere in America the son or daughter of yet another family is
being lowered into the ground.
Since I had been against the Bush administration's push to
war and question the mismanagement of it ever since by that
administration, I must be able to bear witness to the aftermath.
It isn't enough to just take to the streets with a sign and a
rousing slogan. It isn't enough to just write letters to the
editor or to your elected representatives. When we take it to the
street or write our letters it is usually in response to a two
dimensional image we have seen, something on TV or in the paper.
The funeral of a soldier is much more than that. It has not only
the third dimension of a live event, it has a forth dimension, of
the spirit, of the emotional. I'm just a veteran from another
time. I did not see the horrors of war up close and personal even
though I was in a combat zone. I did not hear or smell or touch
the violence of battle. However, I have seen the effects on my
comrades who did. I have seen the effects on the countryside and
the native population. Of these I can also bear witness. These
funerals drain me. I weep. I find I have to leave and catch my
breath when the obligatory videotape of the deceased's life is
shown, the baby pictures of young men cut down in their prime by
lies. It takes a couple of days for me to recover. I don't know
if the families ever will.
While Colin Powell was receiving an award from Princeton
University for providing "richer humanity",
Sue Niederer stood
across the street with about 40 others and protested the war
built on lies. Her son, like hundreds of American soldiers and
thousands of civilians, had been killed in Iraq. They all stood
together in the cold and sang Bob Dylan's 1963 song "Masters
of War"
Mr. Powell, you deserve nothing...You deserve this award
like my son deserves to be dead. I have to come out in memory of
my son to protect other parents from what I have to go
through,"
A teary eyed Sue Albert, middle, of Princeton, N.J., hugs
Sue Niederer, left, of Hopewell, N.J., at an anti-war protest
across the street from Princeton University, Friday, Feb. 20,
2004, after learning that Niederer's son was killed in Iraq (AP)
During the funeral service for Christopher Bunda, the chaplain
said "..his selfless service and his devotion to his
country, his Army and the family that he loved will never be
forgotten." In the bright sun of an Oregon afternoon,
the haunting sound of Taps signalled the end of his
journey as his wife Michele and children, Chrizchele, age 6, and
Christian James, age 3, looked on.
Michele Bunda touches the flag-drapped coffin of her late
husband Staff Sgt. Christopher Bunda during the Rosary before
Mass at the Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church in Bremerton,
Wash., Friday, Feb. 20, 2004 (AP)
None of it can ever be forgotten, it will be their place in
history forever. The merchants of war who knowingly sent young
men and women to their deaths for their own personal, political,
and economic gain and took the lives of tens of thousands of
Iraqis will be remembered forever alongside the
worst despots and demagogues of human history. .
Nearly a year and many hundreds of lives ago, Jimmy Breslin said
"...Colin Powell calls out that there must be something
wrong with the soap because it does not get the blood off his
hands. At Camp David, Bush notices blood on his right hand and he
goes to the bathroom to wash it off and he holds his hands under
the water and rubs them with a bar of soap and then puts them
under the water and he takes them out and holds them out to dry
with a towel. He glances at his hands and sees the blood of the
dead baby is bright on his fingers. He mutters and washes the
hands again. He will do it again. Again this year and then next
year and through all the years because the blood remains forever
on the hands."
Rob is the
founder and editor of the news site robwire.com and is a
frequent contributor to rob.dailykos.com
and robnotes.blogspot.com