Haditha – America’s Newest Shame

President Bush says he's "troubled" by accusations that US Marines massacred 28 people, including women and children, in revenge for the death of one of their own after an IED exploded under one of their vehicles.

From MSNBC News Services:

“I am troubled by the initial news stories,” Bush said. “I’m mindful that there’s a thorough investigation going on.

Personally, I'm far more than troubled. Heartsick, outraged, ashamed….

I am heartsick that Iraqis are far less outraged than the Americans just learning of this story. To Iraqis, this is just one more incident in an unbroken, unending line of deaths. Nearly every Iraqi has lost someone to this never-ending nightmare, whether by occupation troops or insurgents or the roving death squads enforcing Sharia.

I am heartsick to realize that the Iraqi people – in general – expect nothing better from American soldiers. I am heartsick reading Iraqi blogs and realizing a girl my daughter's age is resigned to living in primitive conditions because of the war, is resigned to not fulfilling her dream to become a veterinarian, is resigned to death.

I am outraged that these members of the United States military were so consumed with bloodlust that they would so forget their training, their once-proud history as Americans, and their legendary honor as United States Marines, that they would kill unarmed women and children cowering in their homes.

I am outraged that those involved and their superiors attempted to cover their actions. I am outraged that the command structure was apparently so weak as to allow a tragedy like this to occur. I am outraged that one of those who claims not to have known about the massacre somehow received a Bronze Star for valor because of actions in Haditha.

From the same article: [emphasis mine]

On Tuesday, the lawyer for Capt. James Kinder, one of the officers of the dozen enlisted Marines who are being investigated for the Haditha case, said that the inquiry is not targeting the officers themselves.

The investigations and whether Marines covered them up are focused on the troops who were in a four-vehicle convoy hit by a roadside bomb last Nov. 19 in Haditha, attorney Paul Hackett said.

Kimber, one of three battalion officers relieved of command last month, knew nothing of the deaths until after the 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment returned from Iraq in March, Hackett said.

[snip]

Kimber, who was nominated for a Bronze Star for valor in Haditha, was relieved of command because his subordinates used profanity, removed sunglasses and criticized the performance of Iraqi security services during an interview with Britain’s Sky News TV, according to Hackett.

The highest-ranking Marine targeted by the investigations is a staff sergeant who led the convoy, Hackett added.

Someone please explain this! How do you get a Bronze Star, yet know nothing of what occured?!

I am outraged that those who brought this incident to light are considered traitors by the rightwing. I am outraged that President Bush isn't outraged and screaming for heads to roll from top on down.

I am ashamed to be an American, to know that few Iraqis will ever know how deeply most Americans want this war to end, how much we also want the troops to come home, how much we want for them to live in peace again. I am ashamed that a few people in the blogosphere have had the nerve to laugh at the images of children with with their faces bloody and their bodies torn by bullets.

Mr. Bush also had this to say: If in fact, laws were broken, there will be punishment.”

Hmmm…gee whiz, Mr. President – I'm pretty sure there's a few laws in the UCMJ – the Uniform Code of Military Justice – against killing unarmed civilians, not to mention killing children. But, I guess you'd know that if you'd actually done your TANG service instead of playing politics in Alabama.

Iraq – circling the drain

In March, when Laura Ingraham had the nerve to say this:

Laura Ingraham on NBC's Today, March 21: "To do a show from Iraq means to talk to the Iraqi military, to go out with the Iraqi military, to actually have a conversation with the people instead of reporting from hotel balconies about the latest IEDs going off."

she was rightly taken to task by Lara Logan:

Kurtz: "What do you make of that comment about reporting from hotel balconies?"

Logan: "Well, I think it's outrageous. I mean, Laura Ingraham should come to Iraq and not be talking about what journalists are doing from the comfort of her studio in the United States, the comfort and the safety.

I mean, I don't know any journalist that wants to just sit in a hotel room in Iraq. Does anybody understand that for us we used to be able to drive to Ramadi, we used to drive to Falluja, we used to drive to Najaf. We could travel all over this country without having to fly in military helicopters. That's the only way we can move around here. So, it's when the military can accommodate us, if the military can accommodate us, then we can go out and see.

"I have been out with Iraqi security forces over and over again. And you know what? When Bob Woodruff was out with Iraqi security forces and he was injured, the first thing that people were asking was, oh, was he being responsible by placing himself in this position with Iraqi forces? And they started to question his responsibility and integrity as a journalist.

I mean, we just can't win. I think it's an outrage to point the finger at journalists and say that this is our fault. I really do. And I think it shows an abject lack of respect for any journalist that's prepared to come to this country and risk their life. And that's not just me. That's the crews, that's all the people that make up our teams here."

and Keith Olbermann:

A note about Laura Ingraham's comments: I've known her for a long time. I'll in fact give you the caveat that I've known her socially. But that hotel balcony crack was unforgivable. It was unforgivable to the memory of David Bloom, it was unforgivable in the consideration of Bob Woodruff and Doug Voigt, it was unforgivable in the light of what happened to Michael Kelly and what happened to Michael Weiskopf. It was unforgivable with Jill Carroll still a hostage in Iraq. It's not only unforgivable, it was desperate and it was stupid.

(Crooks and Liars has the videos here and here.)

Laura Ingraham's remarks were especially inflammatory considering they occured some seven weeks after ABC's Primetime News anchor Bob Woodruff and cameraman Doug Vogt, were standing in the hatch of an Iraqi Army vehicle. and were injured when a roadside bomb exploded near them.

Despite this, journalists were still criticized for not reporting the good news of Iraq, even as bombs continued to explode and bodies piled up.

And now, it's happened again.

On Memorial Day two CBS journalists, cameraman Paul Douglas and soundman James Brolan, were added to the rolls of those killed while reporting on Iraq after a car bomb exploded. Correspondent Kimberly Dozier is in critical condition at Landstuhl Regional Medical Hospital at Ramstein Air Base in Germany.

From CBS News.com:

The three journalists – embedded with the 4th Brigade Combat Team, 4th Infantry Division – were doing a Memorial Day story about what life is like for the troops in Baghdad when an explosives-packed car nearby suddenly blew up.

Dozier, Douglas and Brolan had been riding in an armored humvee but at the time of the blast – in the Karada section of Baghdad – they were outside on the street, accompanying troops who had stopped to inspect a checkpoint manned by the Iraqi Army. They were wearing helmets, flak jackets and protective eyeglasses when the bomb went off.

Douglas, 48, and Brolan, 42, died at the scene of the explosion, which also killed a U.S. soldier and an Iraqi interpreter and wounded six U.S. soldiers.

Kimberly Dozier, 39, was flown to a U.S. military hospital in Baghdad a mile away from the scene, where she underwent two surgeries for injuries from the bombing and was stabilized enough to be able to make the trip early Tuesday to Germany.

Palmer reports that at one point Dozier's pulse stopped.

"She didn't have a heartbeat. She was as sick as you get," a doctor told Palmer.

From left to right: Kimberly Dozier, Paul Douglas, James Brolan

Terror is an emotion

President Bush stood once again at Arlington, mouthing the now-familiar platitudes we've heard repeated over the past three-plus years. Mr. Bush's disconnection from reality has never seemed so obvious.

Wearing his rose-tinted shades, Mr. Bush sent young men and women into harm's way without proper planning, without vital equipment and protection, and without clear objectives. And he has done so without noting the cost.

Since the beginning of the "Global War on Terror" he has not once stood on the tarmac of Dover AFB to receive our returning dead, and he has attended precisely zero funerals of those who died on his watch as "Commander-in-Chief".

He and the Republican-controlled Congress have under-funded the Veterans Administration and slashed veterans' benefits even as more than 16,000 wounded men and women returned with a variety of devastating physical and emotional injuries.

During his time in office, Mr. Bush has alienated many of our country's allies and damaged the reputation of American goodness, generosity, and respect for law above all. By invading Iraq, Mr. Bush created a new breeding ground for terrorists and lost focus on Afghanistan – a known state sponsor of terrorism – allowing Osama Bin Laden to remain on the loose nearly five years after the Sept. 11th attacks.

Mr. Bush, in speeches in front of screened audiences of supporters, has continued to tell us, more or less, "Be afraid. Be very afraid." His standard excuse is “the terrorists” when called on for gutting the Constitutional protections that generations of Americans died to preserve.

From Pachacutec at FireDogLake:

There is no "War on Terror."

There is, however, a "war" on the U. S. Constitution.

After September 11, 2001, we’ve learned that we can take a punch and move on. We’ve faced far worse threats to our national survival in our history – the Civil War, the War of 1812, World War II to name a few – but we never abandoned our Constitution. Until now.

Terror is an emotion. Emotions are part of human nature and cannot be eradicated. A "War on Terror" is therefore a war on humanity. The Bush administration has exploited the fear and shock of a nation in the wake of a surprising and dramatic act of violence to whip national fear and paranoia into a constant boil. Why?

The evidence suggests the whole point has been to seize power and steal money. We are witnessing a creeping coup in the United States [...]

[snip]

Today is Memorial Day. Today we remember countless patriots who died and fought for those freedoms our president tells us we must abandon. . . in the name of "freedom."

If there were really a "War on Terror," an emotion, Wes Craven would be hiring a lawyer: he scares people. The "War on Terror" is a sham. You know what changed after September 11th? We, the people of the United States, forgot how strong we are. We gave in to fear, when the only thing we should have feared was fear itself. Osama bin Laden wants you to be afraid. So does George Bush.

Using "We were attacked" as his theme, Mr. Bush has, in essence, told us the following: Questioning policy is unpatriotic. Questioning the constantly changing reasons for the war in Iraq is unpatriotic. Questioning the use of torture is unpatriotic. Questioning the right of the administration to spy on Americans in hopes of finding a connection to terrorists is unpatriotic. Believing that the Constitution should be the supreme law of the land is unpatriotic.

But those days are over. More and more Americans are standing up to question this crony-laden, incompetent administration. More and more Americans are remembering the words of another wartime President, who told us, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

More from Pach: [emphasis mine]

I know I’m not alone when I say, I’m an American and I’m not afraid. I know I’m going to die. I accept that I’m going to die, no problem. What I do not accept and will not accept is the notion that I must live as a slave to fear for the purposes of craven, cowardly men who, in their time, pissed the bed rather than fight an actual war, later to become powerful and use that power to line their pockets with my tax dollars. Give me liberty or give me death. Take your "terror" and shove it.

Far and wide, you will begin to hear the refrain of average Americans taking their country back:

Mr. Bush, I am an American. And I am not afraid.

Lest We Forget

© Peter Marlow / Magnum Photos

Repeated from Friday's post, These Honored Dead:

Memorial Day is supposed to be a day set aside to remember the sacrifices of our military in wars – popular and unpopular – throughout our history.

Far too many people forget the meaning of the day, just as they forget the meaning of Flag Day, and Veteran's Day. To most Americans, this weekend will be about prepping the house for summer, planting gardens, and barbequing. It will be about beer and friends, races and baseball.

I was raised to remember all those who gave 'that last full measure of devotion'. My father was a lifetime member of the American Legion, and a Post Commander. He was a stickler for the rules of flag-handling, and many other solemn events related to the military and honoring their sacrifices. Before I was ten, I knew more about military ritual than most kids.

When I was eight years old, I was given the honor of leading the attendees of the Legion's Memorial Day remembrance in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. I remember little of the experience, except that my father looked very handsome in his Post Commander's cap, and that there seemed to be a million people in the audience.

From my father, I learned a lot about ritual, but it was from my mother that I learned about the cost of war.

My paternal grandmother sent four sons to war. Three returned to her; the fourth buried with his comrades on a small plain in France. Her mother waited in vain for her son to return from World War I, but like so many, he perished in a foreign land, his final resting place unknown.

My maternal grandmother watched her brothers leave to fight in World War II. Of the four, two came home; one later to become an instructor at the Air Force Academy. Later, she saw her youngest son drafted, in 1964.

My mother was fourteen and remembers vividly the pride and the fear the family felt as they watched him leave for US Navy boot camp. She remembers the eighteen months of terror spent waiting for any word, after the Navy reported him missing in action. She remembers the sense of relief and guilt that assailed them all, but especially him, when he came home injured, but not maimed or crippled. Alive, unlike so many others.

Many people often express surprise that I am very pro-military. I understand this – it's hard for most people to understand that you can hate wars and the reasons for fighting them, but still love, honor, and support the US military.

Servicemen and women do not choose their battles, they do not choose their enemies. They are told where to go and what to do by leaders that may or may not have their best interests at heart, by leaders who may or may not have seen combat themselves. And they do they very best they can, under circumstances the rest of us will never be able to comprehend.

My problem is not, and never has been, with the men and women in uniform. It is with those who send those men and women into harm's way without valid reason, without proper equipment and supplies. It is with those who scream themselves hoarse about supporting the troops, but cut veterans benefits in wartime and order them – in America's name – to violate international law and their own moral code.

It is with those who mistreat the American soldier while calling the rest of us unpatriotic.

© Erich Hartmann / Magnum Photos

 

 

 

Jenn’s Sunday Sermon – Memorial Day poetry

Anthem for a Doomed Youth – - Wilfred Owen, 1921

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing down of blinds

*

In Flanders Fields - – John McCrae, 1915
In Flanders 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 Flanders 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 Flanders fields

*

Back – - Wilfred Gibson

They ask me where I've been,
And what I've done and seen.
But what can I reply
Who know it wasn't I,
But someone just like me,
Who went across the sea
And with my head and hands
Killed men in foreign lands…
Though I must bear the blame,
Because he bore my name.

*

Two Sides of War (All Wars) – - Grantland Rice

All wars are planned by older men
In council rooms apart,
Who call for greater armament
And map the battle chart.

But out along the shattered field
Where golden dreams turn gray,
How very young the faces were
Where all the dead men lay.

Portly and solemn in their pride,
The elders cast their vote
For this or that, or something else,
That sounds the martial note.

But where their sightless eyes stare out
Beyond life's vanished toys,
I've noticed nearly all the dead
Were hardly more than boys.

*

We few, we happy few…

What is A Vet? – - Unknown

Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eye. Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of shrapnel in the leg.

Or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity. Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem. You can't tell a vet just by looking.

What is a vet?

He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel.

He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.

She or he is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.

He is the POW who went away one person and came back another, or didn't come back AT ALL.

He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never saw combat but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other's backs.

He is the parade-riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.

He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.

He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.

He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket – palsied now and aggravatingly slow who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.

He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being, a person who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.

He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.

So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say Thank You. That's all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded.

Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU."

*

*

Saint Crispin's Day Speech
from Henry V by William Shakespeare

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

*

Barrancas National Cemetary, Pensacola, FL

*

The Charge of the Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

In Remembrance

Update: (6/20/06) Wow! I’ve found the secret to getting lots of blog hits: Post the lyrics to a Big & Rich song!! LOL

I hope those of you who’ve found your way here for the first time will to check out some of my other posts and visit the great folks on the blogroll. Also, take a look around Bloggers Against Torture and learn about Torture Awareness Month.

– Jenn

*

I’m not a big country music fan. There are certain songs that have special meaning to me, and certain artists and bands I like listening to, but for the most part I prefer listening to something else – anything else.

Today, I was riding with my sister and listening to her favorite country music station. I started paying attention when I heard Kris Kristofferson speak. Listening to this song for the first time, I was overcome with tears, and reminded once again of the heroes who do what is asked of them without question, for honor and country.

*

8th of November – Big & Rich

Hello, I’m Kris Kristofferson.
On November 8th, 1965, the 173rd Airborne Brigade on Operation Hump, War Zone D in Vietnam, were ambushed by over 1200 V.C. Forty-eight American soldiers lost their lives that day. Severely wounded, and riskin’ his own life, Lawrence Joel, a medic, was the first livin’ black man since the Spanish-American War to receive the United States Medal of Honor for savin’ so many lives in the midst of battle that day. Our friend, Nialls Harris, retired 25 years, United States Army, the guy who gave Big Kenny his top hat, was one of the wounded who lived: This song is his story. Caught in the action of kill or be killed, greater love hath no man than to lay down his life for a friend.

Said goodbye to his Momma as he left South Dakota,
To fight for the Red, White and Blue.
He was nineteen and green with a new M-16,
Just doing what he had to do.
He was dropped in the jungle where the choppers would rumble,
With the smell of Napalm in the air.
Then the sergeant said: “Look up ahead.”
Like a dark evil cloud, 1,200 came down on him and 29 more.
They fought for their lives but most of them died in the 173rd Airborne.

On the 8th of November, the angels were crying,
As they carried his brothers away.
With the fire rainin’ down and the hell all around,
There were few men left standin’ that day.
Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky.
1965, the 8th of November.

Now he’s 58 and his pony tail’s gray,
But the battle still plays in his head.
He limps when he walks but he’s strong when he talks.
‘Bout the Shrapnel they left in his leg.
He puts on a gray suit over his Airborne tattoo.
And he ties it on one time a year,
And remembers that fallen as he orders a tall one,
And swallows it down with his tears.

On the 8th of November, the angels were crying,
As they carried his brothers away.
With the fire rainin’ down and the hell all around,
There were few men left standin’ that day.
Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky.
1965, the 8th of November.

Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky.
1965. (1965.)

On the 8th of November, the angels were crying,
As they carried his brothers away.
With the fire rainin’ down and the hell all around,
There were few men left standin’ that day.

On the 8th of November, the angels were crying,
As they carried his brothers away.
With the fire rainin’ down and the hell all around,
There were few men left standin’ that day.
Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky.
1965, the 8th of November.
8th of November. (8th of November.)

Said goodbye to his Momma as he left South Dakota,
To fight for the Red, White and Blue.
He was nineteen and green with a new M-16,
Just doing what he had to do.

These Honored Dead

This Memorial Day, take time to remember and honor those who gave all, and those who are in harm’s way.Take time to reflect upon the sacrifices still being made upon the altar of Ares; all those yet to die in our name.

*

*

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

*

Memorial Day is supposed to be a day set aside to remember the sacrifices of our military in wars – popular and unpopular – throughout our history.

Far too many people forget the meaning of the day, just as they forget the meaning of Flag Day, and Veteran’s Day. To most Americans, this weekend will be about prepping the house for summer, planting gardens, and barbequing. It will be about beer and friends, races and baseball.

I was raised to remember all those who gave ‘that last full measure of devotion’. My father was a lifetime member of the American Legion, and a Post Commander. He was a stickler for the rules of flag-handling, and many other solemn events related to the military and honoring their sacrifices. Before I was ten, I knew more about military ritual than most kids.

When I was eight years old, I was given the honor of leading the attendees of the Legion’s Memorial Day remembrance in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. I remember little of the experience, except that my father looked very handsome in his Post Commander’s cap, and that there seemed to be a million people in the audience.

From my father, I learned a lot about ritual, but it was from my mother that I learned about the cost of war.

My paternal grandmother sent four sons to war. Three returned to her; the fourth buried with his comrades on a small plain in France. Her mother waited in vain for her son to return from World War I, but like so many, he perished in a foreign land, his final resting place unknown.

My maternal grandmother watched her brothers leave to fight in World War II. Of the four, two came home; one later to become an instructor at the Air Force Academy. Later, she saw her youngest son drafted, in 1964. My mother was fourteen and remembers vividly the pride and the fear the family felt as they watched him leave for US Navy boot camp. She remembers the eighteen months of terror spent waiting for any word, after the Navy reported him missing in action. She remembers the sense of relief and guilt that assailed them all, but especially him, when he came home injured, but not maimed or crippled. Alive, unlike so many others.

Many people often express surprise that I am very pro-military. I understand this – it’s hard for most people to understand that you can hate wars and the reasons for fighting them, but still love, honor, and support the US military.

Servicemen and women do not choose their battles, they do not choose their enemies. They are told where to go and what to do by leaders that may or may not have their best interests at heart, by leaders who may or may not have seen combat themselves. And they do the very best they can, under circumstances the rest of us will never be able to comprehend.

My problem is not, and never has been, with the men and women in uniform. It is with those who send those men and women into harm’s way without valid reason, without proper equipment and supplies. It is with those who scream themselves hoarse about supporting the troops, but cut veterans benefits in wartime and order them – in America’s name – to violate international law and their own moral code.

It is those who mistreat the American soldier while calling the rest of us unpatriotic.

*

*

Arlington – Trace Adkins

I never thought that this is where I’d settle down.
I thought I’d die an old man back in my hometown.
They gave me this plot of land,
Me and some other men, for a job well done.

There’s a big White House sits on a hill just up the road.
The man inside, he cried the day they brought me home.
They folded up a flag and told my Mom and Dad:
“We’re proud of your son.”

And I’m proud to be on this peaceful piece of property.
I’m on sacred ground and I’m in the best of company.
I’m thankful for those thankful for the things I’ve done.
I can rest in peace;
I’m one of the chosen ones:
I made it to Arlington.

I remember Daddy brought me here when I was eight.
We searched all day to find out where my grand-dad lay.
And when we finally found that cross,
He said: “Son, this is what it cost to keep us free.”

Now here I am, a thousand stones away from him.
He recognized me on the first day I came in.
And it gave me a chill when he clicked his heels,
And saluted me.

And I’m proud to be on this peaceful piece of property.
I’m on sacred ground and I’m in the best of company.
I’m thankful for those thankful for the things I’ve done.
I can rest in peace;
I’m one of the chosen ones:
I made it to Arlington.

And everytime I hear twenty-one guns,
I know they brought another hero home to us.

And I’m proud to be on this peaceful piece of property.
I’m on sacred ground and I’m in the best of company.
We’re thankful for those thankful for the things we’ve done.
We can rest in peace;
‘Cause we are the chosen ones:
We made it to Arlington.

Yeah, dust to dust,
Don’t cry for us:
We made it to Arlington.

Friday Anti-War Song with bonus!

After yesterday's hoot of a post about the National Review's "Top 50 Conservative Rock Songs" I figured y'all might need a little extra dose… or a couple.

Actually, I couldn't pick decide which one to post today, so I'm posting all three: 

Mothers of the Disappeared – - U2

Midnight, our sons and daughters
Were cut down and taken from us
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat

In the wind we hear their laughter
In the rain we see their tears
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat

Night hangs like a prisoner
Stretched over black and blue
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat

In the trees our sons stand naked
Through the walls our daughters cry
See their tears in the rainfall

 *

Sunday Bloody Sunday – U2 

I cant believe the news today
Oh, I cant close my eyes and make it go away
How long…
How long must we sing this song?
How long? how long…

Cause tonight…we can be as one
Tonight…

Broken bottles under childrens feet
Bodies strewn across the dead end street
But I wont heed the battle call
It puts my back up
Puts my back up against the wall

Sunday, bloody Sunday
Sunday, bloody Sunday
Sunday, bloody Sunday (Sunday, bloody Sunday…)
(allright lets go!)

And the battles just begun
Theres many lost, but tell me who has won
The trench is dug within our hearts
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters torn apart

Sunday, bloody Sunday
Sunday, bloody Sunday

How long…
How long must we sing this song?
How long? how long…

cause tonight…we can be as one
Tonight…
Tonight…

Sunday, bloody Sunday (tonight)
Tonight
Sunday, bloody sunday (tonight)
(come get some!)

Wipe the tears from your eyes
Wipe your tears away
Wipe your tears away
I wipe your tears away
(Sunday, bloody Sunday)
I wipe your blood shot eyes
(Sunday, bloody Sunday)

Sunday, bloody sunday (Sunday, bloody Sunday)
Sunday, bloody sunday (Sunday, bloody Sunday)
(here I come!)

And its true we are immune
When fact is fiction and tv reality
And today the millions cry
We eat and drink while tomorrow they die

The real battle yet begun (Sunday, bloody Sunday)
To claim the victory jesus won (Sunday, bloody Sunday)
On…

Sunday, bloody Sunday
Sunday, bloody Sunday…

*

Blowin' in the Wind – - Bob Dylan 

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man
How many seas must the white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand
Yes, and how many times must the cannonballs fly
Before they are forever banned
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind
The answer is blowing in the wind

Yes, and how many years can a mountain exist
Before it washed to the sea
Yes, and how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free
Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn't see
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind
The answer is blowing in the wind

Yes, and how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky
Yes, and how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
Yes, and how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind

 

Richard Petty: still believes women don’t belong in NASCAR

Richard Petty – a longtime hero of mine – really disappoints me with his belief that women don't belong behind the wheel.

From Fox Sports:

Richard Petty didn't think women belonged on the race track when Janet Guthrie became the first female driver to compete in the Coca-Cola 600 in 1976.

Thirty years later, his opinion hasn't changed.

"I just don't think it's a sport for women," Petty said in an interview with The Associated Press. "And so far, it's proved out. It's really not. It's good for them to come in. It gives us a lot of publicity, it gives them publicity.

"But as far as being a real true racer, making a living out of it, it's kind of tough."

His son, Kyle Petty, seems to feel a little differently – sort of.

Kyle Petty, who currently runs the two-car operation built by his grandfather and father, said he would never rule out having a woman driver. He also pointed out that Petty Enterprises was one of the first teams in the garage to employ female engineers and mechanics.

But he said his father will never budge on his belief that women don't belong behind the wheel – even if Kyle Petty's daughter one day decides she wants to be a racer.

"His position is not going to change because that is who he is, that is part of who he is," Kyle Petty said. "That's just a fact of life. That's how he was raised, when he was raised, the era he was raised in. And that's just the way it is."

I can understand what Kyle Petty's saying. A lot of men of that generation, not just race car drivers, believe that women really don't belong in certain places, whether it's behind the wheel at NASCAR or behind the stick in an F-18, or even in the Chair's seat in a boardroom. 

However, I do hope that more women, especially his granddaughter, take him up on the challenge. What exactly is it does he think makes racing so difficult for women?

Yeah, it's tough and there are a lot of challenges where physical strength are important, but honestly – don't you think that maybe – just maybe – flying the world's most expensive, most technically-advanced fighter jets and helicopters in combat might be just a bit tougher?

So, if the military thinks women can do that – and do it as well as their male counterparts – driving a real expensive stick-shift in left circles for a few hours certainly shouldn't be considered male-only territory.

Especially when you consider that even Petty Enterprises allows women to be part of the teams that build and maintain these vehicles.