One Deep Breath: vision

Hopes to visit in peace a farm,
somewhere in Iraq,
on the porch
talking
of
crops.

A year ago, I wrote about climbing the steps to the Lincoln Memorial with my dad and hearing him tell how Dr. King's famous speech affected him. This year, I'm writing about hearing a vision that is not so famous, but is an extremely powerful one. As I have frequently written about here, my father is a National Guardsman who has served twice in Iraq. When I first sat down to write this week's poem, I wasn't sure what I would write. I thought of my dad and of Dr. King.

I think our rememberance of Dr. King has a tendency to oversimplify his message, which was one of justice for *all* people - he spoke not only of the injustice of judging people by the colors of their skin, but also of the injustice of war, the injustice of taking from the Many to further enrich the few, of the ways that violence harms everyone - the person committing violence, the victim, even the person "on the sidelines" is harmed - each has a piece of their humanity taken by the act of violence. And Dr. King said that the way to counter this is not to engage in more violence, but to reclaim our humanity, to act as human beings with compassion and strength, the strength that rises above violence.

And I thought of my dad's return from war each time. I thought of his interpreter in Iraq, who had been a doctor until the war, when he and his family were threatened if he continued to treat people. My dad told me that he hoped to bring his interpreter and the interpreter's family here to the United States. He hopes to take S. to see my grandfather's farm and to meet the family, and he hopes one day to travel again to Iraq, so that he can see S.'s family's farm, sit out on the porch, and talk about something really important - how crops are grown on that land.

Oy

A series on an American woman who chose to wear a Saudi style veil, apparantly so she could write a 4-part series complaining about the experience, and particularly complaining that women who veil should be discriminated against more.

*sigh* If she'd bothered to, you know, try asking someone who covers, Muslim or not, we could have told her a little about it, and far less of it would come as a surprise. (Such as: most people in a grocery are not going to even look at what you're wearing. They're there to get their cornflakes, baking soda, and tomato soup and couldn't possibly care less.) Heck, half of her complaints had to do with not knowing anybody (or asking anybody) who actually wears a covering on a regular basis. And most of the rest seemed to be that nobody actually hassled her, though some people *did* whisper about her at her gym.

Yeesh.

A moment of quiet in the storm

Christine talks about the unsettling news from Pakistan, and about the need for a bit of calm in all the violence that the world seems intent on producing sometimes. I was deeply saddened by the news of the assassination as well, and decided to "light a candle" over at gratefulness.org. (And check out the rest of the site, including a virtual labyrinth and some thoughts on peace...)

Oh, and thanks to Don, over at Country Contemplative, for introducing me to the site in the first place.

A thank you note

I got a thank you note from Iraq last week and frankly didn't know what to do with it. I certainly hadn't expected one. But there, in my hands, was a letter written by someone who had received the carefully packed snacks, diversions, and toiletries we sent. I cried. Then I forwarded the contents of the note to my friends who had also worked on the care packages.

It hurt to be thanked for caring about someone, and thanked effusively, at that. Reading a note that called blessings down on my head felt as though he should be thanking someone else, someone who could do more, someone who could make the people in power stop hurting others.

And then this afternoon, I heard the song Hero in Harlan by Tom T. and Dixie Hall. And found myself thinking of that note that thanked me for caring about a group of soldiers who had posted a request for food or anything that someone could send to AnySoldier.com. Sadly, I'm not giving away the identity of the group in question, as there are many soldiers requesting pretty much that. He says they're doing well, haven't lost anyone, though it can be hard to carry on. I found myself praying that we wouldn't get any more heroes - American, Iraqi, or otherwise. No more folded flags in exchange for sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, friends. No more.

He thanked me for thinking of them and praying for them, and I do. I pray for them all - for the end of this madness. I pray for the day when we will turn from this destructive path and work together in constructive ways. And I pray that these soldiers may find some peace.

Some observations

Over at Shipwrecked in South Carolina, there was a series of observations. I made some observations of my own, which I think need to be made in response.

I can't speak for anyone else. I can only speak for me.

I stayed up many nights, praying for my dad's safety, praying that he wouldn't have to use the gun I saw him practicing with. I woke up in the middle of the night, knowing something was wrong, but with no chance of finding out what. I crocheted on a blanket for him through sleepless nights until my fingers were numb.

I wake up in the morning and thank God that my dad is here again, in body at least. I write to my representatives, knowing that my parents taught me the responsibility of citizens to be part of the governance of this country.

I go to work with a splitting headache because my leave was exhausted 2 months ago, with constant travel to visit with my mother who has been doing her work plus keeping my dad's business going while he was deployed.

I don't wear a t-shirt, unless I found it secondhand because I have no idea under what conditions that shirt was made - what child was kept at work 18 hours to make it. Besides, my tax refund went to care packages, so I'm not going to spend money on a shirt I can only wear 2 days a week.

I, like most Americans, do not have a maid, nor am I likely to get one any day soon. After I get home, I'll have to find the energy to pick up the living room, make dinner, wash my hair, and suck up and soldier on.

My cell phone is a treasured connection, full of possibility. Perhaps today, I'll hear from him, or maybe he'll answer an email.

I hear that soldiers are being "extended" and rage at the radio until my husband turns it off.

I worry when a friend writes that his ship will be leaving soon, and they expect to be sent later in the year to the sandbox.

I am angry because my dad's loyalty and service are being abused.

I criticize my government when the wounded are housed with rats and other vermin after they've come home. I criticize my government when my dad is given the wrong body armor. I criticize my government when billions disappear with no accounting while soldiers are sent unsafe equipment. Damned right, I criticize my government.

I criticize my government when it ignores the commission it created and puts even more lives at risk. I criticize my government because my dad put his life on the line for me not to live in a tyranny, and because there is more than one way to live bravely. My dad helped to teach me that words tend to solve more than fists.

I criticize my government when I learn that they are employing torture. Guilty? Innocent? The waterboard doesn't know the difference.

I do not and will not joke about the war. I said goodbye to my father, the taste of bile still in my mouth, because there was no time to brush my teeth after I vomited from worry.

I hear his voice from half the world away, and can't feel at peace, even in a bustling farmer's market - right between jars of apple butter and handsewn aprons.

Despite my heartbreak, I smile bravely, knowing he takes strength from his family.

I am on call. No matter what I am doing, it stops if the cell phone rings. And I smile, because he can hear the difference.

I know the world is a better place because of him. I know that when he is here, he treats people, often people who have little money. I have known him to treat people for nothing. I pray that my government will leave enough of him to allow him to continue to improve the world.

And feel free to link, email, or whatever. I don't want the lies to stand unanswered.

We interrupt this life...

Mom just contacted me to assure me my dad is okay. Apparantly, something happened today that hit the news and she wanted to be certain I wasn't quietly upset, waiting for more information. Neither of us follows the news much anymore, but she'd had the radio on because of a snow emergency.

And I find myself conflicted- happy that my dad is one of the living still, and sad for yet another family who find their hope turned to dust. Worried at the reminder. Angry that people still have the gall to insist that our all-volunteer army is "working". Well, yes, they are working and have been working very hard. You want this war, think it's a good thing? Then go. And take as many as you can convince that it's a good thing with you. You work with them.

And when you get there, tell the folks who are there how much we love them and want them to come home safe. I'm not in the mood to concede that an economic contribution is enough. It's not. We're paying for this war in heart's blood. I hate this war, and I've given more to it than many who claim that it is the only hope for this country's future.

If you're right, then give.

A simple request

I do not think anyone reading this blog could possibly mistake me for a supporter of this war. It is difficult to imagine someone having more than about five minutes' conversation with me and making such a mistake. Which is why I was confused yesterday.

As my husband and I left our neighborhood supermarket with our bags of soup and sandwich fixin's, we were approached by a woman with an armful of fliers. Okay - that happens reasonably often in our neighborhood. Turns out she was from a group organizing a peace march in DC and was asking us to show up. Nearly the first thing out of my mouth was "We're going" despite the fact that I don't like crowds, noise, or other stuff that usually gives introverts like me hives, and usually that is the very stuff of marches. But this is important, and I can cope with crowds for a few hours, even if afterwards all I want is a long, quiet, very hot bath.

Why, then, did she feel the need to further convince us? Yes, I'm willing to go. Yes, I've been writing letters, signing petitions, and otherwise exercising my First Amendment rights. I've also been trying to address the fear in this country in my own ways, telling stories and explaining history, telling jokes, and being calm and peaceful in places that we've been told to be afraid in.* But this was not enough for her. When my husband made a comment that did not strike her as sufficiently doctrinaire, she snapped a correction at him.

Um.

My request is this: we are working for peace. Can we please keep in mind that as important as this is, we need to act peacefully ourselves? Our message of peace can be strong without this kind of thing, and in fact, would be stronger if we were to show that we have internalized our message and, as Arlo Guthrie once said "done for ourselves what we want to do for the rest of the world".

It is still very important to reach out to those who are so motivated by fear that they see no other options. I hate this war from the bottom of my soul, but I don't want to be in a place of hate. I want to show others the hope of peace, that there is another way to address fear. And that includes folks who support this war. Most are just afraid. Snapping at each other is no way to address that fear.

* It amazes me how much it actually does just to be cheerful and calm in difficult circumstances. As my family stood outside the hotel after the earthquake in Hawaii, several other people came over to ask us how often we got these. The assumption seemed to be that because we were calm and trying to help other people as best we could as we came down the stairs, and later remained optimistic, we must be locals. Similarly, my habit of bringing crafting materials whenever I have to go into an airport has given me wonderful opportunities to reach out to my fellow passengers.