Waking up Los Gatos

Los Gatos, CA is a relatively small town in the South Bay part of the San Francisco Bay Area. Population about 28,000, with an median income of $94,ooo. Average age? about 41. 83.3% of the folks in this little burb are white.

I tell you this because Mike, one of the members of Mountain View Voices for Peace (we're up the road about 20 miles) thought that we should take a walk down Santa Cruz Avenue, the main drag in Los Gatos this evening with signs for impeachment and for ending the war in uraq. Tien, of course, had his "Mend your Fuelish Ways" sign, too. Close your eyes and think about the street in your town with all the cute$t and coole$t boutiques. Don't forget the fully stocked Lamboroghini dealership on the corner. Yeah, it's that kind of street in that kind of town.

Los Gatos has not been a hotbed of protest about this war and I was afraid that that we would find that no one from this part of the Bay area even knew that the good old U of S A was involved in a war over there in Iraq. They have not suffered any casualties, so I wondered if they had been touched by this 4 year old war.

There is good news and bad news. While we found the town to be a little sleepy, especially for a Saturday night, we were able to raise some voices and garner some reactions to our signs demanding IMPEACH & OUT OF IRAQ. The reactions were mostly positive, but Los Gatos, I have to tell you that you have a couple of real mean eggs in your town. A middle aged woman was strolling down the street chatting with her friend. She couldn't miss us, all 11 of us, as she approached. With the closest thing to a Snidely Whiplash sneer, she suggested that we all be put in jail and then that we should GET A LIFE! I told her that I would like my son's life back and she told me WHO CARES? Our people were surprised, perhaps horrifed at what she said to me. Her son was killed in Iraq, they told her. WHO CARES? she repeated. Who cares, indeed? It's really kind of sad.

We decided to walk over to the overpass over Highway 17/880 to assess the situation. YES!! The road was filled with vehicles with people returning from a great sunny day at the beach over the hill in Santa Cruz. Heavy traffic was at a slow crawl when we hoisted our signs. The honking began immediately! What a great reaction! Full disclosure, there were a few people who didn't like our signs, but overwhelminglly they were in support of Impeachment and ending the war.

Trip summary? Yeah, it was a good evening. We got our point across and made people in Los Gatos realize that they aren't alone in their disatisfaction towards this president and his war and that it is okay to raise your voice.

We think we're on to something. What town nearby needs a wake up call? Los Altos, we're on the way! Campbell? you're on the list, too.

Note to readers: Proper etiquette when one passes by a demonstration or protest that you agree with would be to HONK and honk wildly in support of the cause. Don't be shy! Roll down your window and flash a Peace sign! Your honks energize the marchers and makes us feel one with you and we appreciate it!

No Apology Necessary

Barack Obama said it a few weeks back "We ended up launching a war that should have never been authorized, and should never been waged, and on which we have now spent $400 billion, and have seen over 3,000 lives of the bravest young Americans wasted."

John McCain said it last night on The Late Show We wasted a lot of our most precious treasure, which is American lives over there." I heard him make that comment, but frankly, there was no blip on my radar.

Our bravest young Americans, our most precious treasure "wasted". How can you fault anyone and demand an apology when one is speaking truth? Obama apologized immediately, "It is not at all what I intended to say, and I would absolutely apologize if any (military families) felt that in some ways it had diminished the enormous courage and sacrifice that they'd shown." saying he was upset with himself for using that word. McCain backpedaled saying he regrets the comment, “I should have used the word, sacrificed, as I have in the past,”

I don't know why the Democratic National Committee is howling about McCain's use of the word. Is sacrifice a better word? According to dictionary.com sacrifice means Forfeiture of something highly valued for the sake of one considered to have a greater value or claim. Wasted means to be consumed, spent, or employed uselessly or without giving full value or being fully utilized or appreciated.

Using the apparently preferred word sacrifice implies that this hideous war has more value than the life of my son, Lt Ken Ballard and the 3164 casualties from Iraq and that his death was for the greater good. I disagree, as do many of the members of Gold Star Families Speak Out. And I think this media maelstrom is a bit overdone. When you have these kinds of disagreements about semantics; you are taking your eye off what really counts. And when you have these kinds of disagreements about simple words, you are buying into the Bush administration who is excellent at hiding the true cost of this war. They want us to believe that there is a better outcome ahead and that our loved ones lives were not wasted. But, these lives were wasted. Any life cut short is wasted, but a death because of this war is a huge waste to the family, friends, and this nation. This war will never have been a greater value than the lives of our loved ones.

I'd rather we work on the plan to get our troops out of Iraq, and how we can take good care of them when they get home. I'd rather worry about the condition of the Veteran's Administration as it related to the care given to our troops. I'd rather work on providing these soldiers on the ground in Iraq & Afghanistan with the proper training, and supplies that are necessary to keep them safe until we can get them home. There are so many other things to worry about. This argument is irrelevant.

And I really don't need or want an apology when someone is speaking the truth.

Promises to Keep

I'm turning this over to John Cory today. John is a Viet Nam Vet.

Thanks to truthout.org for posting Promises to Keep

###

What the hell can you say? Veterans tossed aside like broken toys, discarded in the schoolyard of war. And everyone shouts, "This can't happen in America," when they should be shouting, "This can't happen in America - again!" There it is.
See, the dead are at peace, buried and gone. But the maimed wander the streets forever, reminding us of our sins. Support the troops over there so we don't have to support them over here.
That's the thing about survival; you've committed the ultimate sin and returned, dragging the dusty ghosts of war around your ankles and behind your eyes. Your lips taste of the cordite and sulfur and worse yet, you smell of need.
And now you're a stranger in a strange land. Everyone speaks a foreign language while your native tongue is Grunt. You speak security perimeters, RPGs and IEDs and how to "light 'em up." The System speaks bureaucrat, flinging form names and numbers that translate to deny, decline and delay. Counselors and "advisers" speak in acronym sentences that obfuscate and avoid. A grateful nation - sort of.
Then you wander into your previous life, where they speak of things that you have no clue about. Their language is familiar but alien at the same time. Lives have continued while yours was suspended somewhere between the duffle bag rag and death takes a holiday. They kept living forward while you spent ages every day living your life backward, remembering yesterday just to have a reason for making it into tomorrow.
A war veteran. That's what you are now. Don't mean nothin'. A pawn for politicians, a piece of your former self. Your songs are silent syllables and your dreams are closed doors without handles. Out there you rely on your Six, you trust the Point Man, and you know "Abilene" and "Racine Bob" have your back. But here - here, they shake your hand with a smile that measures you for out-of-sight shelf space. The discount rack. Your name, to be whispered when the children are not around. And you hear the phrases: "Oh, he hasn't been the same since he got back, just drifting and distant. Not the friendly guy he used to be. Not the same." Like a poor, crazy relative come to visit, to be tolerated until it's time to leave.
And still others want to know what it was like? Must have been hell, huh?
Hell? No. Hell is a dark room shared with rats and cockroaches while praying someone will come by and roll you over so you don't keep getting bedsores. Hell is counting the flakes of peeling paint on the wall just to kill time, to take your mind off the pain. Hell is paperwork in triplicate requiring proof that you did not intentionally run into that bullet in your spine but can provide the name and description of the alleged enemy who allegedly shot you. Hell, my friend, is hearing that your spouse and high-school-age kids working three and four part-time jobs make just enough money to disqualify you from financial aid, but not enough to make ends meet. There's a war on, you know. Budget cuts and tax breaks for the wealthy; that's what fuels the war effort. You act as though you've given an arm or a leg for your country. But if you do get disability pay - Buy Bonds! After taxes, of course.
Cowboy up, man! A little gunfire never hurt anybody.
They'll glue you like a hood ornament to the front of a parade float to raise money for politicians or make stirring pious patriotic speeches and then turn away with embarrassment while you gyrate and hobble and scootch into your wheelchair. They'll try to hide it, but you can see that look: it's pity, not patriotic pride. It's that "oh poor thing" blush while whispering thanks to the gods that it's you instead of them.
A war veteran. One night alone is too many, and a hundred nights alone is not enough. Try putting that into words that others can understand. Try explaining why the Fourth of July takes you back to Haifa Street or Vin Loc or the Ashau Valley or any of a thousand little villages in a thousand days of war. Offer up a tale of how the last explosion blew someone apart so powerfully that it embedded bone fragments through the metal roof of a truck. Then watch the reaction. Lost in translation, man. Watch the eyes go blank and hear the rush of rationalization, "It's over. Let it go and just get on with life. At least you're alive."
Don't you get it, Vet? You make them uncomfortable. You remind them their kin is safe and clean while they blow the trumpets of glorious war. You are the face, the name, the body offered up on this sacrilegious altar of lies and doom. You're the truth, the in-your-face reality of every falsehood uttered between their lips. You dared survive and now they must be held accountable. And all they can do is squirm.
Here's the deal, and it is simple.
Every Congressional office should be flooded with phone calls and email demanding not only an investigation, but also immediate funding and corrective action of the treatment of our veterans. Viewers should require every media outlet that has dedicated untold hours and resources to the Anna Nicole Smith story to cover the failure of this administration to prioritize the healing and medical support of our troops and the wounded and their families. ABC, so willing to air slanderous 9/11 material, should send their Extreme Makeover Teams to every VA hospital and regional center in the country to show their support of the American military and veterans. And every multinational corporation that has profited from the war, or will reap ludicrous benefits from tax cuts, should be inundated by consumers to donate time, money, and material to the very souls who have paid for their greedy lobbying. And every Democratic candidate must utilize each and every public appearance to speak out on behalf of veterans and push Congress to pass immediate legislative solutions. Surely the five-day workweek could be enforced long enough to take care of our most precious resource - our fellow American citizens, our friends and our family.
Veterans are not looking for anything special, just the decency of a promise kept. No one owes anything more or less. A promise kept - duty, honor, and country.

Let us plant gardens of stone

In this sandbox of war

And irrigate the furrows with tears.

Let us grind marrow to meal

Between bullets and pavement

And moisten the noonday soil with blood.

Let us whisper their names on the windT

hen watch them swirl like orphans

Blown by devils and dust.Let us speak in silence

Let us turn away

Never make us face them

Please just let us pray.

We've paid no price

But feel their pain

Now let us pray

Just to forget.

Oh no, my friend

Let us pray

For our souls

Shamed by our sins of omission.

It is they who have paid the price

With a pound of flesh

And a ton of pain

So go ahead and pray

Just pray

That you never forget.
Amen.