Twelve long months have passed. The bagpipes are silent. The United States has yet another new president, almost two dozen new congressmen and eleven new senators who have pledged a new foreign American policy that will guide the nation through the 21st Century, but still we grapple with the meaning of the ultimate sacrifice made by so many at the behest of so few to gain so little.
As these children prepare their simple ceremony, Publishers Row is humming full bore, churning out dozens of books to explain what the Iraq War was really all about.
Washington’s Warning: Why Washington Never Listened by Harold Walsh, the longtime White House insider, goes back to the first President’s farewell speech and his parting advice “To avoid foreign entanglements.” How much happier and secure the nation might be in the 21st Century had we remained strict isolationists? Talk about ‘I told you so!’
From former New York liberal Senator Harold Walker comes Military Machismo - the American Way of War in which the author claims that war-fighting is ‘ingrained in the American genome’ – every generation has to have a war to call its own. The Germans never attacked us, yet we fought in Europe against the Kaiser and Hitler. The Viet Cong never killed an American in the US, yet we fought in Vietnam, a continuation of Korea. Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with 911, but… Wars identify us—where and why they’re fought send a message not just to those who would challenge us, but to history itself.
Backing up that thesis is Dr. Randolph Schmitt’s America’s Fighting Spirit – Exploring our warrior psyche. We are a fighting people—against the Brits, the Spanish, the Germans, the Vietnamese, the Mexicans, the Iraqis, even our own Native Americans, no enemy is too big or too small, too strong or too weak. Without wars, we wouldn’t be who we are. Without future wars, we could forfeit our violent inheritance. America as a peaceful, passive, pacifist state? Never happen. We wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves.
God, Sex, and War – A Woman’s Guide to America’s Involvement in Iraq by psychologist Samantha Jacobs claims “We may be out of Iraq, but we’re still at war. ‘Our God is better than their God’ and we’ve got the technology, the might to prove it.
“What we’ve been fighting and dying for is what religious fundamentalists are most afraid of…women’s rights” she goes on. “They treat their wives and daughters and mothers like dogs and expect total subservience and loyalty. Talk about sleeping giants…Their women finally wake up and demand equal rights, and they’re done.”
Well, seems that Islamic women are going to have to wake up on their own. Or do we tell the parents, the brothers and sisters and children of our troops killed in Iraq—your loved ones served as ‘alarm clocks’ that never rang loud enough or long enough?
Weapons of Mass Destruction – The fear of fear itself by Raymond Neil goes back to WWII to remind us that the very first atomic bomb was built based on faulty intelligence: that the Nazis were on the verge of perfecting their own nuclear device when in truth they were nowhere near it. Neil also points out that the only time WMDs were used was to provide definitive closure to Pearl Harbor. Aren’t we ever going to get over the Second World War?
In American Apathy - How our loss of conscience led to tragedy in Iraq, William Jackson tirelessly documents the demonstrations protesting the Vietnam War and arguing that the “Spirit of the Sixties” saved lives. Unfortunately he fails to mention that during that time, more Americans lost their lives on the nation’s highways than were being killed in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia combined. Did anybody demonstrate for seatbelt laws? Increased prosecution of drunk drivers? Lower speed limits? Guess we’re a lot more eager to find fault with our government than we are with ourselves.
Incompetence & Indecision, Deception & Dishonesty – The US failure in Iraq has Robert Walsh heat-seeking a second Pulitzer with a 352-page diatribe blaming three Presidents, both houses of Congress, the Pentagon and the media for a disaster “far worse than Vietnam.” Join the shelf. The book leads the parade of more than 50 major works (The Fallacy of the ‘World’s Policeman,’ The Price of Gas versus the Cost of Blood. Endless!) in lockstep pursuing “instant history” status while our self-inflicted wounds are still a long way from healing.
Rather than curse the darkness, America’s schoolchildren are lighting a candle. Bless their hearts, but their idealism and naiveté evoke a telling sorrow, even pity among the adults gathered here. Don’t these young people understand that we’ve already been told all there is to know?
One day after the war had ended, the “Children’s Campaign” began when 13-year old Peter Cooper envisioned a memorial designed and financed solely by the nation’s young people. Only one-dollar donations, no more and no less, would be accepted. And only from children. No parents. In the Internet Age, money came flowing in. Then the media got hold of it and corporate sponsors lined up to contribute. PR and advertising firms offered their professional expertise pro bono.
“No!” The kids rebuffed them all. “We want no cheap hype. Charley Jones ain’t about sellin’ soft drinks and sneakers.”
No fancy design folks either. The Children’s Campaign had it all worked out in advance—a life-size statue of Private Jones in the geographic center of the country so that “his heroic image would radiate equally to all America.”
With all due respect, only in politically-correct-speak could Charley be called “a hero.” He had won only a sharpshooter’s badge and an Iraqi Freedom ribbon. Just like everybody else got for showing up. In reality, the poor kid was a statistic, another victim of a war fought in vain.
“We’re going to keep Charley looking sharp forever,” Peter Cooper declared as the statue neared completion. “Pigeons, acid rain, and global warning are not going to stain our immortal hero.”
I didn’t get it then or now. The nation is dotted with statues and memorials to gallant warriors in action poses, Medal of Honor winners bravely fighting against insurmountable odds to preserve American freedoms or war-winning generals mounted on magnificent stallions symbolizing the glory of hard fought victory. Who was Charley Jones to America’s children?
For every reporter in Blakesville, every “talking head” back at the newsrooms, every op-ed writer in the country, the homework had already been done: “Average,” “typical,” “ordinary” would be words unavoidable in hundreds of reports, articles and media spots.
Is that what the kids want to say? Charley is the common American “everyman,” the shining, immortal embodiment of the American ideal who eagerly goes off to war and pays the ultimate price?
Charlie Jones was white. Had a race card been played that the media had missed? The Children’s Campaign topped out at $2,030.658. Had he been African-American or Hispanic or Asian-American, would the ‘Children’s Campaign’ have fallen far short?
Facts had proven otherwise. Dollars came in from across the board: all creeds, races and colors and parental origins. From kindergartners to high school seniors, Amish kids, home-schooled kids, even Muslim kids paid their share.
What were they getting for their money?
Spring is the season of youth and the renewal of life after a long, cold winter, and it was in the air. At exactly noon, the Blakesville High School band struck up the national anthem. One hundred thousand hands went to their hearts, but there were only a few salutes by the Kansas State Police and two county cops.
Standard Operating Procedure mandated the Pentagon to turn out the troops for ceremonies far smaller than this one, supplying an honor guard representing
the four armed services, but there was not a single soldier, airman, sailor or Marine to be seen.
Veterans’ group of all stripes attended similar such functions, but not one was here. The Children’s Campaign had insisted that the Department of Defense and politicians local and national stay clear and all of them did. Today would be the children’s day, their hero’s day.
On the reviewing stand set up in front of the stature covered with a red, white and blue tarp, Peter Cooper and the family of Charley Jones requested a moment of silence and all complied.
Charley’s parents spoke first. Then his younger brother and older sister. It was all typical stuff the media had reported to the nation from a hundred funerals coast to coast, but dry eyes were at a premium.
“Thank you for coming,” began Peter Cooper, a short, slight boy with unruly dark hair. “You’ve worked very hard for this moment and at long last it has arrived.”
Sensing an historic moment was at hand, the audience became quiet and still.
“As much as we want to praise the memory of Marine Corps Private Charley Jones, it is the meaning of the man his statue will convey to all Americans for as long it stands.”
With that, I glanced around. The children were enthralled, by like me, the adults were perplexed. Where was this going?
“No one involved with the ‘Children’s Campaign’ has the learned qualifications and academic credentials to evaluate or interpret the war recently ended,” said
Cooper with a building fervor. “But one day we will…
“No one who helped create this memorial to Charley Jones is old enough to vote or to fight in a war.
“But one day, we will be.”
Directly overhead, the sun shone like a universal spotlight, and Peter Cooper was the master of ceremonies set to introduce the star of the show.
“No one represented by a single dollar donation is yet old enough or mature enough to enlist and wear a uniform, not deemed ready to fly a plane or drive a tank or shoot a rifle or drop a bomb, not legally able to fight and kill or be killed ourselves,” he said, projecting the confidence of youth which much have touched only those about his age. “But one day, we will be…
“And when we are, we are going to remember Marine Corps Private Charley Jones. Not who he was, but who he is, and who we will make sure he will always be.”
With a fluid, unhurried motion, Cooper tugged on a single cord and the red, white and blue tarp fell away, revealing the life-size statue of a young man who never seemed more alive.
“Charley Jones, born May tenth, nineteen-eight-six, an American Marine, was the last US serviceman killed in the Iraq War on April twenty-ninth, two thousand, fifteen, while providing security for the Defense Attache Office in Baghdad. The American evacuation was completed the next day, including a coffin containing the body of Private Jones.”
Again I looked around and understood that Cooper wasn’t talking to me or anybody else my age.
“We children have spoken,” he said. “And if even not one adult in all America bothers to listen to us, nothing will change until the day we can vote.
“And as we grow older, I want every American boy and girl to look at Charley Jones and think just one thing…Not grief or guilt or fear…one unbreakable promise: That’s not gonna happen to me!
“Private Charley Jones will stand forever because united together we will make him what he must always be…The last American killed in a foreign war ever!”
From the future ballots of babes…
(By Eric Brail [APC staff reporter] Extracted by Kevin Ahearn)
(A decorated Vietnam veteran, Eric Brail’s father was wounded and disabled in WW II. On March 23 2006, his only son, Private Thomas Brail USMC, was killed in Iraq.)
Always remember Private Charley Jones. Always.
1 комментарий:
Отправить комментарий