This Is What I know

This Is What I Know

Here Is What I Know

November 9, 2004

I know that CBS, NBC, ABC and Fox all have their own agendas - there is no news reporting going on from anywhere. It really pisses me off, too. A thousand, bazillion good things have happened in Iraq, and frankly, I don't care why. (Bush is only Bush - evidently we elected him President - again - but we did not crown him King, and this is my country. It's his too - how many votes does he get? One - just like me.)

Shall we abandon Iraq? Ummm. I'd rather not, thanks. (Did we abandon France? England? Even Germany? Sure, we abandoned Poland, but only for a little bit. Hopefully, we learned from that. We didn't learn enough to salvage Vietnam, but we could have! Except for.... oh, that’s another story!)

People are free, alive, and have electricity in Iraq. They also still have oil. Unless Iraqis have set fire to it. (I don't want their oil. I don't need it. We only import about 15% of all the oil we ever use - the rest we get 'here' - did you know that? Maybe we 'steal' it from Alaska, but that's a whole different subject, too!)

What would I do without electricity? Well, I'd camp. I'm not sure how I'd 'feel' if my whole life was camping, but I bet I'd deal. Just exactly like they are, some of them. Of course, I'd have to buy a generator, too. Or else give up email. But I am not fighting to be free, in the streets of my home town, in the United States of America. I would, if I had to, but I don't have to - today.

Why don't I have to? (Do you remember?)

I know that all the Moms love their babies, and want them safe and strong. They do not want to bury them. I don't want to bury mine. And they are all mine. But I know that freedom isn't free. It wasn't free in France, in 1943, and it isn't free now. It wasn't free in Belgium, or Germany, or Poland. It simply isn't free. And, frankly, until all the Moms and I can get together, and until we talk - all our male children might still be doing - what they're doing. I am another mother for peace. I have been for a long time. I believe all mothers are.

Look at Saddam's male children. Ever think, "Boy, I'm glad those boys weren't mine!!!!" I have.

I don't care if France is "mad" at me. F### France. France has a very short memory! That's okay - whatever. My memory is longer. (If you 'rescue' people, they might be 'mad' about it later. Or they might decide they know 'better' - whatever, again.)

There is no way that we can have this conversation, anywhere but here. There is no way that The People shall not be free - or that they will know what freedom is - unless someone frees them from tyranny, or they were born to it.

I was born to it. I was born to it because of the American Revolution, and WWI and WWII. I know what freedom is. Freedom is my own views, heard. Freedom is that I can go to, or come from, where I live, without attack, or confrontation. Freedom is that Presidents get elected, whether I vote for them, or against them. Freedom is the system working.

Freedom is the people questioning the system, and not getting shot for it, when it doesn't work. Freedom is me, speaking, and you, either listening or walking away. But Freedom is - we get to pick.

And every Angel picks - has picked - will maybe pick again. We are still standing in the blood of those Angels - up to our knees.

Never forget.

While you are standing, protesting, remember the Angels who fought, and maybe died, so you could protest. This was a great gift these people gave you - appreciate it. Use it. Respect it. Picture your life without it. Can you even picture it?

During this most recent 'war', I went to a war protest march in Oklahoma City, on the anniversary of the day of the bombing. (Remember the bombing in Oklahoma City? Remember all the news media blaming it, instantly, on the Middle East? Turned out the criminal was an American. I don't remember his name. ;) I don't remember who shot JFK, either. I have sworn not to remember. Don't bother to tell me - I won't remember.)

We got a parking place on the side of the march route, and we sat in the back of a pickup with our American flags. Many of the protesters who walked past us were - well - YOUNG. They shook their heads, and made frowny faces, like how could we dare - sit and hold a flag? How could we think this war was necessary, or good? (Maybe we didn't think it was 'good' - maybe we didn't think it was 'necessary' - but it was real, and reality, sometimes, bites.)

But those Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines - those are the guys and gals that make it possible for us to park on your march route, with our flags. Those are the guys and gals that make your march route possible, too. If you've forgotten that, be reminded. (See me? This is why I came - to remind you.)

There were old hippies in that walk. (I could tell, because I am an old hippie.) I could recognize them by their - whole selves. They nodded their heads at me, and mouthed "Good Morning". And I nodded back, and mouthed "Good Morning to you." They knew where they were walking, and why, and they remembered in whose blood they stand. Some of that blood was spilled by the protesters, themselves, in the 70's. They even remembered that we were all in that together, and we are in this together, and we are all still together. Each of us, exercising the rights someone else fought for, maybe died for. Exercising those rights respectfully. With respect for the sacrifices others made to give those ‘rights’ to us.

All those younger faces must think they invented protest. It’s so funny, really. And it’s a little sad. So, I say to them, “Frown, if you want to, little one. Make faces, and call names. Stamp your feet and say, ‘PFHHHH!’ if you want to. You can. Remember why you can. If you don’t know why you can, or how those rights got to be so inherently yours, go to the library and get some history books. It’s all there.”

I will remember.
Me

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