Pacifism Is a Verb

One Day at a Time

2007-07-11T00:41:00.000-05:00

The other day, Rob and I had to ask the Michigan Veterans Trust Fund for help. Our family support unit (which, generally speaking is far from supportive) referred us to them after it became clear that the Michigan economy and the accompanying job drought was slowly killing our family. I've been out of work for nearly a year now. Coincidentally, this is just about six months longer than we can afford for me to be unemployed. Thanks to a tremendous outpouring of support from friends a few months back, we were able to preserve our house after disaster struck while Rob was deployed. But it's been clear for several weeks now that Rob's income alone simply will NOT pay our bills. We are faced with losing our house once again. And so, we go to the Veterans Assistance office (conveniently located in the county welfare office) to ask for emergency assistance. We explain that we MUST make our house payment within 72 hours or else we risk defaulting on the repayment agreement we've worked out with them. We explain that we don't have the money-- that the soonest we'll have the funds is about 2 days after the deadline, and that our mortgage company has told us this is unacceptable. There is no grace period. And so, we ask for help. We come bearing copies of utility bills (many with warnings that they'll be shut off soon), car note (also late) and most importantly, Rob's orders; verifying that he has served in Iraq twice, under honorable conditions. It is the latter documentation, we are told by the Family Support office, that guarantee their assistance. Turns out, not so much.

Turns out that Rob doesn't qualify. His service in combat, supporting the fighter jets that provide vital air cover and protection to ground troops; his volunteer work at the base hospital, working with the dead and dying-- a task he undertook IN ADDITION to his regular duties; none of it matters. They told him he would have to go back to war for another three months before his service would "count" and we would be eligible for aid. Rob's cousin Walt was killed after just six weeks in Iraq. What does it say about our country and it's supposed support for the troops that if Walt had come HOME that day (instead of getting blown up) he would be told he that his service "didn't count yet;" but since he was "lucky" enough to die instead of coming home that day, he's a hero and entitled to every benefit his survivors can claim? What does it say about the state of Michigan that they would deny vitally needed emergency assistance to a Veteran and his family- even if saying no meant they might lose their home?

The Veterans Assistance program in Michigan has an inherent bias against National Guard veterans, particularly Air Guard. Because these service personnel are typically deployed for shorter periods of time than their brothers and sisters in arms, they are basically locked out of receiving service-based aid; unless they are "lucky" enough to have three+ deployments under their belts before disaster strikes. This is especially egregious when one considers that the office in charge of administrating this program (the Michigan Veterans Affairs Office) is run by an officer of the Michigan National Guard. As the Department of Defense relies more and more on Guardsman to perform duties that traditionally were reserved for Active Duty forces, the State of Michigan (and frankly, the Department of Defense in general) needs to reevaluate it's criteria for offering assistance to military families in need. Failure to do so is a failure to recognize the service that women and men like my husband have provided. It is a refuse to acknowledge their sacrifices. It is to tell them, as we were told that day, that they "don't count yet."

So, we're on our own. We'll pay the mortgage two days late and pray that the bank doesn't decide to proceed with punitive action because we've violated the repayment agreement. I'll keep searching, applying and interviewing for jobs. And Rob will put on his uniform every single day, go back to the base and serve his country-- knowing that even as he does, in the eyes of the State of Michigan, his service "doesn't count."

I'll bet the guy at the Veterans Assistance Office has a "support the troops" ribbon on his car. Too bad he doesn't mean troops like Rob.

Honoring Adam

2007-06-09T20:01:00.000-05:00

The men who participated wore uniforms stripped of patches, badges and insignia and carried themselves as if holding invisible weaponry. They marched through the crowd, stopping at times to act out mock drills and raids, even detaining imaginary insurgents, forcing them to the ground and placing bags over their heads. The idea was to bring the images of war home to those commuters heading home after a long day spent in office buildings a thousand miles from the front lines. It was designed as street theater and intended to shock, to raise questions. What made this act of protest different was that it was not conducted by disaffected youth or aging hippies. No, the men wearing these barren uniforms had earned them: serving time in the United States Military, most in Iraq or Afghanistan. These boys were exercising the same right of assembly and free speech that they themselves had fought in bloody warfare to defend. Now, some of them now facing punishment. And as the wife of an Iraq Veteran myself, I have to ask: is the military’s issue with their conduct or with their cause?
On June 4, 2007, a Marine Corp. panel recommended that one of these veterans, Adam Kokesh, be reduced from an Honorable Discharge to a General Discharge, under Honorable Conditions and be released from his IRR commitment two weeks early. The action may seem minor, but it raises a serious concern: why is there punishment at all for a lawful act that Kokesh engaged in as a civilian? Kokesh at no point claimed to be a representative of the Armed Forces, nor did he speak negatively about the military or its commanders. In fact, he has repeatedly stressed his love for the Marine Corps and the United States Military. The street performance was never intended to insult the military or to deter potential recruits. The goal of these men was to bring home, in a dramatic way, the sights and sounds of warfare and of their experiences. It is my belief that this, more than anything else, is what the Commanders objected to when they convened their hearing against Kokesh.
My husband has been to Iraq twice now. On his second tour he volunteered his time in the base hospital, off-loading wounded and dead service personnel and civilians alike. No one can hold the hand of a dying man and come away from that experience unchanged. The sights and sounds of death will linger within him for the rest of his life. My husbands’ cousin was killed by an IED in Iraq on February 2, 2006. He died in the same hospital my husband worked in. This time, our entire family shared in the trauma and pain of loss. We have been touched over and over again by a war that most Americans never have to experience in any personal, direct way. These were the experiences that Kokesh and his friends were trying to bring to the pedestrians around them that day. The message was simple: respect for the troops means understanding what the troops experience overseas. It means acknowledging the sacrifices and the suffering they endure. And yes, it means questioning the cause for which these sacrifices are demanded. A friend of mine, himself a Korean War veteran once said “The lucky ones who die in war. It’s those who live that suffer most.” We are blessed to live in a country that does not demand compulsory military service. Fewer than 2% of our fellow citizens volunteer to serve so that those of us who remain at home can continue to enjoy the blessings of liberty. It is only right that those so blessed should fully understand the nature of the gift that those in uniform give us. It is only right that those who have served be allowed to exercise those same liberties upon their return. More than anyone else, these men and women have earned this right. And it is unacceptable that the Marine Corps or any branch would work to punish them for exercising the gifts guaranteed by the Constitution and by their own service.
This is not an issue of whether or not one agrees with Adam Kokesh. This is about the fact that no one in America should be punished for speaking their minds about governmental policy- especially when they have experienced the results of this policy firsthand. The National Commander of the Veterans of Foreign Wars understood this fact and released a statement in support of Adam Kokesh and his comrades. Now as we battle for what our president has called “the hearts and minds” of those who oppose us, the Marine Corps and indeed the entire nation would do well to remember the advice of William O. Douglas, who served the longest term of any Supreme Court Justice, who said “it is our attitude towards free thought and free expression that will determine our fate. There must be…no limits on thought…No censor must preside at our assemblies.”

Rob's Gallery

2007-05-02T15:26:00.000-05:00

These are some of the beautiful shots Rob took in Florida. Post your "top two" favorites in the comments section to help us decide which ones to enter.

On a side note, can you tell that I just learned how to insert photos into my blog?

My Favorite Rob Photo

2007-05-02T15:16:00.000-05:00

Rob's discovered a new knack for photography when we were in Florida. I've posted a slideshow (below) of some of his best shots. Post your comments and tell us which ones you like best. He's going to enter a couple in the State Fair this year, but can only choose two. Help us decide!

Here's my absolute favorite:

Heartbreak and Irony

2007-04-02T08:46:00.000-05:00

So, I've heard through the grapevine that I'm a devil-worshipping, Satanism promoting, black sheep. Some of the harshest comments have come from those nearest to me, dearly loved by myself and my family and who claim a deep religious basis for their opinions. I find it ironic, given the fact that the behavior being exhibited is so far outside the example of Jesus. I have to wonder....have they all lost their "WWJD" bracelets or something? Because the Jesus that I know, love and have an abiding respect for didn’t roll that way.
Let me start by addressing the obvious concern: that my personal faith somehow makes me a baby-slaying, naked-dancing devotee of the dark one. Well, first of all, Satan is a Christian concept. In order to worship the Devil, you must first believe in one, which really just makes you a bad Christian. I don't believe in a devil, so to accuse me of worshipping him is to say that I also have a shrine set up to the tooth fairy and a wear "Sacred Santa" medals under my clothes. Do I believe in evil? Heck yeah! I believe that each human being has a capacity for truly vicious behavior, that secret place of selfishness and self-centeredness that makes us think it’s okay to hurt others if it furthers our own ambitions, desires, or beliefs. That can mean anything from stealing money in order to be wealthy, cheating on your partner because you desire another person, or acting out in petty anger because someone else doesn’t believe the same way you do. Each of these examples is an act of pure evil—and you don’t need a supernatural Devil to make them to occur!
So, now that we’ve covered what I don’t believe, let’s talk for a minute about what do. I’ll try and keep this short, since I could talk for hours and only leave more questions and more tangents to explore. Let’s start with the fact that I’m a Pagan. What does that mean? It means that I believe that the idea of God is too big for the human mind to wrap itself around. So, we each grab onto one tiny aspect of it- like facets of a diamond- that works for us, is relatable and helps us strive to be a better human being: more loving, more holy. My facet might not be yours…they might look nothing alike, and you may hate the very idea of mine. But each, your version of God and mine, are just mental constructs we’ve created to try and grapple with that bigger, ultimately unknowable, Godhead. Mine happens to be female. Why? Because I see mothers as being more nurturing, more loving, more patient and ultimately more God-like than fathers. Maybe this is because of my own messed- up relationship with my Dad. Maybe it’s because of the great level of respect and love I hold for the amazing women who raised me up….my mother, grandmother and aunt. Maybe, it’s simply because God loves me as the Child of God I am, and has chosen to have a relationship with me, in the way that I can relate to God best.
I also believe in prayer. I believe in the simple prayer found in most religions….quiet time spend talking to God, silently or aloud, about the events of the day, my concerns, my fears, my hopes. I believe in prayer through singing, chanting and even using prayer beads, if they help me stay focused. I believe that prayer is important enough that other people need to pray for me too. So, when I really, really feel concerned/afraid/hopeful/excited, I’ll call on others that I know believe in prayer. Some of these people, like my wonderful spiritual community in Michigan, have mental-pictures of God similar to my own. Others, like my beloved family, whom I also turn to for prayer support, hold different views about God and religion. But I believe in the power prayer. And I believe that all prayers reach the same ears. One of my favorite expressions is “the ocean rejects no rivers flow” and that sums up my view of prayer- it doesn’t matter who you are, if you’re addressing God, your prayers will be heard, no matter what name you call God by. I also believe in active prayer. This means spellwork, which is nothing more than a ritualized form of prayer, using objects and phrases to help focus your mind on the subject of your prayer…be it healing, prosperity or simply connection to God. A spell is simply a prayer with props. Usually, I don’t need the props. But when I do, I use them…and it’s still prayer.
I believe that one of the best ways that you can learn about an artist is by observing their art. In other words, to learn about the Creator, one should look at the Creation. To me, that means that if I want to know the nature and reality of God, I should look at the world around me, which God has created in perfection. In nature, we have both male and female. I believe that God transcends and encompasses both. In nature, we have many races. I believe that God transcends and encompasses them all. I could go on for hours. But the point is, I don’t need a sacred text, written (or transcribed, depending upon your theological bent) by humans in order to understand the nature and will of God. I must simply open my eyes and look, in wonder and love, at what God has wrought. This where the expression comes from “the earth is my temple and my body, the altar.”
I also attend a Unitarian-Universalist church. So, what does that mean? Basically, UU’s ascribe to the following tenants:
- Respect for the inherent worth and dignity of every person
- Justice, equity and compassion in human relations
- Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations
- A free and responsible search for truth and meaning
- The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large
- The goal of world community, with peace, liberty and justice for all
- Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.
That sums up UU-ism perfectly, so I won’t elaborate further. Sufficed to say, I find it a perfect fit with my Pagan practice. There, I hope I have defined myself to everyone’s satisfaction…at least so you know where I stand, even if you don’t care much for it.
Which brings me to the reason I started this post. I have to wonder what has gotten into some of the more Evangelical people that I love recently, to be so angry and hate-filled in their actions towards me. I seem to recall a Jesus who, when confronted with someone who didn’t meet his standards of conduct (prostitutes, tax collectors) or belief (the parable of the Samaritan…not quite a “confrontation” but you get the idea) embraced them, opened his table to them, and sat down for conversation. The only people Jesus ever condemned were the ones within his own religious and spiritual community. The devout who traded in the Temple, the righteous so eager to cast stones. Why in the world, if you truly seek to live by his example and follow the teachings of Christ, would you react with such hostility to someone whom you ostensibly love, who happens to have a different world view from your own? How in any way is that following the teachings or the example of Jesus? Those who love me, who watched me grow up and now watch me move in and interact with the world, know my character and my heart. They are fully aware that I am not a bad person, and certainly nowhere near approaching evil. Maybe “unsaved” in their book, but hey…how are you possibly going to save someone’s soul by insulting them and their family and then threatening never to speak to them again? Jesus would slap the spit out of someone who acted that way and said they were doing it for him!
To truly follow Christ is to model acceptance, love and patience. To toss someone out of your heart like so much trash, simply because you consider them to be a heretic or sinner, is to be exactly like the Pharisee’s he condemned. It is certainly not an act of the kind that Jesus lived every day. Wholesale condemnation was never the path of Jesus. When others turned their heads, he invited people to him. When others threw stones, he extended his hand in protection and mercy. When others crucified him, he offered only forgiveness. The ONLY condemnation he ever showed was to the self-righteous, holier-than-thou, “religious” people of his time. It’s a sad, sad, day when the Pagan girl down the street is living a better “Christian” life than those who claim to know him best. And yet, if you know a tree by the fruit it bears….just look at your own conduct in relation to mine. I wonder who Jesus is more likely to invite to dinner.

Addressing the Backlash

2007-04-02T00:51:00.000-05:00

It should be quite obvious by now that not only am I a military wife, I’m also an active part of the call to end the war in Iraq. I’d like to use this column to address what some perceive as a contradiction. Recently, my husband was featured in the press….a LOT of press. His comments, delivered as a member of Iraq Veterans Against the War, were passionately pro-military. He is not a pacifist. He is a member of the military committed to serving his country in times of danger. If asked, he would deploy to Afghanistan in a heartbeat. And, when asked, he has twice gone to Iraq. The first time, he was stationed on what at the time was the most attacked base in Iraq. He might have been working on aircraft, but he was far from safety. In fact, the barracks next to his were destroyed by a surface-to-ground missile one day. So yes, danger came close even to those who are “safe” behind base walls. He survived aerial attacks and falling shrapnel, even though he was in an open field at the time, with no real cover to speak of. On his second tour, he volunteered for duty in the base field hospital, where he off-loaded wounded, dying and dead soldiers and civilians. He has seen death close-up. He has held the hands of the dying. He has cared for Iraqi children with devastating injuries. He did this without complaint.
Because what many people don’t understand is that speaking out against an illegal and unnecessary was is NOT a complaint about military service. It is a cry for reconciliation and logic in a time when both seem to have fled the area. I have begged my husband to find a civilian job. But he says no….because the military is what he is. Does that mean that he has an obligation then, to obey orders blindly, or to stand by while his fellow service personnel are massacred daily on the altar of a failed foreign policy. In the words of another veteran- “the only conduct unbecoming of a non-commissioned officer, is to see the lives of the men around you being thrown away to and to say nothing.” We do not criticize the military….but rather, the politicians who use the military as a tool to settle personal vendettas or else increase political capital. The American soldier, who like my husband, is willing and ready to lay down his life when called upon to do so; deserves more respect for that sacrifice. Those who say they “support the troops” and then condemn the very voices of those who have been to the battlefront and know of what they speak are not patriots, but rather hypocrites and traitors. Honestly, if you have not served, then your opinion means very little. If you support the war- put on a uniform and stand up or shut up.
Is it wrong for an American service person to criticize military policy? The military itself says no. Department of Defense Directive 1325.6 in fact states that it is the policy of the military “to preserve military members' "right of expression… to the maximum extent possible, consistent with good order and discipline and the national security. Members of the military may attend demonstrations but only in the United States and only when they are off base, off duty, and out of uniform.” Our family is conscientious about adhering to these standards, as well as those we have set for ourselves, including refusing to participate in events organized by those with an anti-military message (such as the ANSWER Coalition) and framing the language of our speeches and comments in such a way as to make it clear that 1) we are proud to be a military family, 2) we support the American military service person and 3) part of that support means not wanting them to die in vain. Others don’t have to agree with our position, but unless they have experienced the reality of war, the hardship of military family life, and the devastation of losing someone in combat; they have no ground by which to condemn our actions. My family has first hand experience with all three of these, and I will not tolerate being told that I am disgraceful, disrespectful or unpatriotic for speaking out against the war in Iraq. Perhaps this column has been a bit of a “rant”, but it was something that needed to be said. I do not need everyone (or anyone) to agree with me, to know the truth of my experience. But unless you’ve shared a similar one, please, keep your opinions to yourself.

D.C. Redux Part I: The March

2007-01-31T16:18:00.000-05:00

A First Person Account of the January 27, 2007 March Against the War

I arrived in Washington D.C. on January 26, 2007, to join the Military Families Speak Out contingent in marching against the Iraq War. On Saturday morning, Stacy Hafley, the head of MFSO-Missouri chapter, and I made our way to the National Mall. The number of people was overwhelming. From the Washington Monument to the far end of the mall where United for Peace and Justice had set up their stage, it was an unbroken sea of people. Thousands of faces- old and young, all races and religions, families with babies in slings and strollers, had gathered together for the common purpose of ending the ongoing bloodshed in Iraq.
As military family members, we were placed at the head of the march, alongside Iraq Veterans Against the War and Gold Star Families Speak Out. This provided an optimal position for people watching and mingling while we waited the many hours between our arrival and the start of the march. In between speeches, I was able to meet Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon, both of whom were absolutely lovely people who told me to be sure to tell Rob (my husband, currently on his second tour of Iraq) that they were praying for him; Eve Ensler, the originator of The Vagina Monologues, and a major heroine of mine; Jesse Jackson, who was dismissive, distracted and rather rude; and Jane Fonda.
I need to pause for a moment here and talk about Ms. Fonda. She’s done a LOT of good for women and girls in Atlanta and around the country, and I respect her for that. I appreciate nearly anyone who wants to lend their voice to ending this particular conflict….BUT….Jane Fonda (or “Hanoi Jane” as so many still call her) is an incredibly divisive figure within the anti-war movement. Even though her purpose was the same as theirs, her presence was offensive to many of the Vietnam Veterans gathered at the rally and my heart ached for them. Honestly, while I honor her refusal to be silent in the face of another immoral and illegal war, I truly believe that her presence did more harm than good. This is evidenced by the amount of press coverage devoted to Ms. Fonda’s re-entry into the arena of peaceful dissent.
Military families were called to the stage to stand alongside Ehren Watada’s parents, as they spoke passionately and eloquently about Lt. Watada’s decision to refuse the order to deploy to Iraq. They outlined his position that, in order to uphold the Constitution and fulfill his Oath as an Officer, he had no choice but to refuse what her believes to be an illegal order. Shortly after they spoke, Mrs. Watada was taken to the hospital by ambulance, having suffered a small stroke on the stage. I will never forget, however, the sea of hundreds of thousands of faces, cheering and applauding the Iraq Veterans and their family members represented on that podium. What a change from the Vietnam era!!
A little while after One P.M., the march around the Capital Building began. Protestors from groups as divergent as Veterans for Peace, American Friends Services Committee, Code PINK, and United Church of Christ filled the streets of Washington. Media reports state that there were approximately 100,000 people present. I can state from first-hand experience that this number has been GREATLY de-flated. More accurate counts place the number closer to 500,000 (Fox News’ number) to 750,000 participants. Among this flood of people, I am so gratified to say that I did not see a single instance of Anarchist participation, or other intentionally disruptive and disrespectful presence. As always, there were hard-core Leftists’ represented…the various Communist tribes were stationed on many street corners, handing out their pulp-paper propaganda; and the handful of people that made me roll my eyes and sigh. These people, usually individuals trying too hard to be clever, engage in crude behavior (profanity on signage, carrying a hanging Bush-in-effigy) that makes it that much harder for responsible, respectful marchers to get their message heard. By far, my favorite people present were the trio of college students standing on the sidewalk and calmly reading the Constitution out-loud through a megaphone to the passing crowd.
We marched slowly through the streets, telling the stories of our loved ones- their experiences overseas, their current service, and in far too many cases, the details of their deaths. The military families contingent was met with applause and sympathy as we marched and sang cadence:
Military Families Speak Out
We know what we’re talking ‘bout;
Brothers, fathers, sisters, wives
Bring out loved ones home alive!

If you think that you must go,
There’s one thing that you must know;
They wave their flags when you attack
When you come home, they turn their backs!

The day could not have been more beautiful, and we were provided with a 50+ degree day for the long, long march up the hill and down again. When I finally returned to the hotel, my feet where blistered and burning, but my spirits were incredibly high.

Being a Pacifist

2007-01-08T14:17:00.000-05:00

I've recieved several comments from people who've heard Rob and I interviewed on The Story, on NPR. The comment I hear the most is "how can you be a pacifistic military wife?" The reality is that most people don't understand what true pacifism means. It does NOT mean believing in a utopian ideal where no one ever fights or experiences conflict. But rather a commitment to approaching conflict from a different perspective: one of mutual cooperation and respect. As Jonathon Larson said, "the opposite of War isn't Peace...it's Creation." I struggle every day to overcome my reactive nature (see my first post "Welcome to my Nightmare") and respond to life affirmatively and peacefully. A part of this process is working actively for organizations that promote peaceful ideals. One of these organizations, Military Families Speak Out, was linked by The Story's website. But there's another one I want people to be aware of, called Motive: PEACE. Rob and I sit on the Board of Directors and we strongly support the mission of this non-profit: to lift up the worth and value of peace, one action at a time. Check it out at www.motivepeace.org and then let me know what you think. I encourage you to get involved in your own community, and inspire creative, non-violent response to conflict within your neighborhood and yourself.

Three Thousand Faces....And Counting.

2007-01-06T03:25:00.000-05:00

http://www.nytimes.com/ref/us/20061228_3000FACES_TAB1.html

Monsoon Season

2007-01-06T03:05:00.000-05:00

Staring at the ceiling at three a.m., my mind races with the events of the past and next few days. I consider caffeine, but decide against, since those few hours of sleep that come (eventually) are precious. I am hyper-vigilant, unwilling to sacrifice the remaining hours before he leaves to something as trivial as rest…even when that rest brings blessed release from the anxiety that rests in the pit of my stomach like an ulcer. Rob came home in beige today, instead of the usual green; and I was completely unprepared for the sight. Everything is real now. My period of acceptable denial is over, and today I have to face the fact that he leaves- soon. I am not okay with this.
This is a funny statement for me to make, so pouty and irrelevant. We were interviewed by NPR the other day, and at one point I found myself saying it over and over “I am NOT okay with this!” as if my cooperation or willingness to send him away again matters in the long run. It’s cute how I think I have a voice, sometimes. When mostly, I am screaming against the howling wind. I have been able to put on a brave face this time; and I think he’s been reassured by this. No spontaneous bursts of crying, no morbid, overly romantic mooning. I’ve been remarkably stoic, actually. Which is wonderfully calming to everyone who doesn’t live inside my body. On the inside, I’m in great pain- both physical and emotional. Tied in knots, it hurts to breathe, and I feel as if I have electrical currents running through my head and arms. But I’m holding up remarkably well, to look at me.
I have coped with this whole process by mentally spending the money I know is coming in. I want to bring our bills current, pay down our credit cards, take Rory and Rachel to Disney. I want a new front door and a home security system. All of it, the bills and the Brinks, adds up to the same thing that I don’t have and can’t buy: I want to feel safe. But that’s not possible with my husband away. It’s a matter of hours now, and I'm not ready to let him go. Tomorrow I’ll get the taxes done, send a copy of his orders to our mortgage company, and pretend to smile again. Tonight though, while he's asleep, I brace for the coming storm.

The Reality of War

2006-07-22T21:06:00.000-05:00

The military community has been spending a great deal of time discussing the issues facing service personnel returning from Afghanistan and Iraq. The D.O.D. and the V.A. have been working overtime to provide resources and support to veterans with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), depression, addiction and a host of other worries that plague returning troops. When my husband returned from Iraq, we were offered five free “helping” sessions- they were careful to stress that it was not counseling or therapy- after which, we were on our own. In our first session, my husband talked about the nightmares, the sounds that would trigger a flashback or a rush of fear. Our “helper” chose to focus that particular session on….our financial situation. She was a civilian, working for an agency that handles mostly substance abuse cases, and was thoroughly unfamiliar with any of the issues facing military families, much less returning vets. We stopped going after three, not-so-helpful, sessions.
And so, my husband entered private therapy, at a cost of $85.00 a week which we often didn’t have. I was no longer a part of this process. The impact of his deployments on our family was no longer addressed. We were simply supposed to continue on as if nothing had changed. But we had been changed. Rob came back hardened, angry. I was angry myself, bitter and resentful. We both experienced PTSD. It wasn’t until two years after his return that I learned that there was a name for my new reality- Secondary Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; a phenomenon that is growing among military families, especially spouses and children. Any reminder of his deployment, such as hearing about a group deploying or returning from Iraq, would send me into sobbing panic attacks. I experience what I called “home-front flashbacks”, sudden overwhelming feelings of isolation, fear, depression, helplessness, triggered by commercials, news stories, or a particular song on the radio. What use were these “helping sessions” when our “helper” had no concept of what life was like for a military family?
I hear people talk about “the reality of war”. Unless you have lived it….unless your spouse or child has been deployed, the war is not your reality. At a speech given by a member of Iraq Veterans Against the War, it was said that this is the first time in history that the full impact of war has been borne by military families alone, and that it is brutally unfair to expect so small a population to bear such fear and trauma and grief alone. The average American puts a magnetic yellow ribbon on the back of their SUV and calls themselves patriotic. But to live, day in and day out with the true reality of war is utterly foreign to most of them.
This was my reality: to watch the news each night, praying to hear some news about my husband, while at the same time hoping to god I don’t. To see civilian friends drift away, stop calling, because they don’t know what to say; almost as if your husband is already dead. To be badgered by Family Support or Public Affairs, into demonstrating the idealized military family at media events, patriotically holding down the home front while the “head of the household” fights overseas- this exploitation is particularly difficult if you happen to be against the war. To watch the death toll rise, ever aware of the fact that any death could’ve been your husband. To be unable to distance yourself from these losses- to view each one as personal, each one is a near-miss, and each tombstone as your own. This hit our family especially hard when we lost my husband’s cousin to an IED. The PTSD triggered in us both, the reality of the fear brought up by this loss, was nearly unbearable.
To expect military families to go through this war alone is unconscionable. We are strong, yes; but we are not unbroken. Our children witness their mother’s tears and their fathers rage. As wives, we endure our own nightmares and flashbacks in silence, for fear of adding to our husbands’ burden. Our husbands are changed in ways we don’t understand, bearing pain we cannot ease no matter how desperately we try. There are no words to describe the reality of war. The fear doesn’t end just because your spouse returns. The nightmares don’t stop just because your “helping sessions” have run out. We need to find a better way. Military families can’t do this alone anymore.

Ponder Ghandi for a Moment...

2006-06-23T18:35:00.000-05:00

--Honest disagreement is often a good sign of progress.
--I cannot teach you violence, as I do not myself believe in it. I can only teach you not to bow your heads before any one even at the cost of your life.
--I object to violence because when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary; the evil it does is permanent.
--You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.
--Victory attained by violence is tantamount to a defeat, for it is momentary.

Procreation Versus Evolution

2006-05-22T20:47:00.000-05:00

We live in the age of Family Values. Beginning in the late 70’s and early 80’s there grew up a large political and social body convinced that families were on the verge of destruction and had to be preserved at all costs. The nuclear family was on the Endangered Species list, threatened by terrifying forces such as single parenthood, abortion rights, feminism and the growing gay rights movement. Quickly, agencies were established to combat these dangers: The Moral Majority, The Eagle Forum, Focus on the Family, Friends of the Family, the Christian Coalition. Each with tens of thousands of followers convinced that we were facing the extinction of the traditional family. And what was the focus of this fear? Who was so susceptible to these outside threats that they became the weak link in the family system? Why, it was Mom, of course! Mothers, those idealized June Cleavers who spent each day cleaning the house and grocery shopping and each afternoon baking cookies for the children returning from school and preparing supper for her man returning from work, were being slowly led astray by dangerous, even deadly new ideas.
When Betty Friedan wrote the Feminine Mystique in 1963, she sent shock-waves through the American culture. Claiming that women actually had abilities and aspirations beyond their kitchen walls was an earth-shattering idea. The only thing more scandalous than talking about the “problem that has no name” was the fact that more and more women were agreeing with her! After decades of being told by religious, educational and familial authorities that their place was in the home; women started to disagree. They gathered together to talk about these disagreements and dreams, and out of this quiet rebellion was born the women’s movement of the 1970’s. The American family would never be the same. The ability to control reproduction, through the use of birth control and the legalization of abortion; expanded benefits for working mothers and even social policy change allowing biracial marriage, single parenthood and eventually in some states gay adoption has radically changed what we mean by the word family. The battle to prevent these choices from becoming socially accepted is one that the religious right has fought for thirty years now, if not longer. Motherhood must be preserved in its accepted form: homebound, joined to a dominant male figurehead (also known as a husband), pregnant or raising children, and submissive to conservative, which in this case means male-dominated, cultural norms and practices. We are seeing this backlash against feminism in many ways, most obvious the recent roll-back of abortion rights in several states, but there is another, far more subtle attack on women occurring today- the debate over creationism versus evolution.
Allow me to digress for a moment. Throughout most of prehistory, the Earth was acknowledged as being conscious, feminine, nurturing…in short, a mother. Most cultures throughout the world viewed earth in this manner and ascribed any number of names to: the Greek Gaia, Roman Demeter, Sumerian Innana, Mesopotamian Astarte, Teutonic Nerthus, Hindu Prthrivi, Maori Raomoko, and even the ancient Hebrew Ashera, were all viewed as the personification of the earth. Women, by extension, were viewed in most of these cultures as the personification of the Goddess. In the Temple of Solomon, the altar of the Earth Mother was placed at the right side of Yahweh and she was worshipped as his bride and consort. This embodiment of feminine divinity coupled with reverence for the sustaining planet existed for millennia. Eventually, as we all know, it ended. Many historians and theologians, such as Marijta Gimbutas and Leonard Shlain, trace the decline in women’s societal status to a corresponding diminishment of the cultural acceptance of the divine earth. As monotheism crept in, and the Earth slowly changed from Goddess to Rock, so did women change from vessels of divine authority to mere receptacles of male progeny: the early ancestor of our modern “barefoot and pregnant” stereotype… Which brings us back to today.
The creation/evolution debate has as much to do with our own perception of women, especially their roles as mothers, as it does to do with science or theology. To deny the cosmic reality of evolution is to deny the autonomy of women both in regards to society and in their own bodies. If we seek to honor and respect our human mothers, those whose bodies knit us together, carried us in safety until we were capable of thriving, nurtured and protected us throughout our lives; we must also recognize the Divine Mother, who carries out those same endeavors on a grander, yet less perceptible scale. I want to tell you a creation story. Close your eyes, if you choose, and imagine this:
Imagine a tiny sphere floating in blackness. Cradled within an infinite womb it is warm, safe, and, as far as it knows, alone. Imagine that sphere starts to feel a pressure, an insistent urge to move. This gentle pressure builds and builds until it explodes in a burst of light and energy, rushed along onto paths unknown. It grows, changing slowing, growing and expanding, protected and nurtured by the same gentle, force, compelling it onward. It first grows in size, large and larger; it expands outward to fill the space around it. (Big Bang) Then it changes, the bones form and harden, the new life grows larger. (Archaeozoic) Stem cells multiply, building blocks of life, capable of becoming any number of new creations, fill in this new space and building up mass in this new creature. (Proterozoic) These cells band together, creating complex new groups, forming organs, muscles, hair and skin. (Paleozoic) Hair develops, and the body grows and its organs begin to function interdependently, fulfilling their roles in ways that compliment and support one another- circulatory system, nervous system, band together and begin to collaborate. (Mesozoic) Finally fully grown, this new entity pushes forth, seeking independence and autonomy in ways as yet undiscovered. It has become its own creature, and although guided and protected by the larger force that has sheltered it while it grew, it now breaks away and declares itself wholly its own. A new life has been created.
If you closed your eyes, now open them. Look around you at the faces of the Mothers in this room. Their eyes are softer, they smile a little. Because they recognize this story from their own histories- from the months of pride and queasiness. From the days spent reading their “What to expect” books. This is the story of every child’s growth and every Mothers journey. This is the story of gestation, a child, cradled in its mothers' womb until the final birthing moment, when this new life breaks away and becomes something unique and aware. This is also the story of evolution, the process by which our own planet has evolved from the time of the Big Bang. Is it any wonder that the ancients saw the mysteries of the Earth within the bodies of their women? Is it any wonder that the fundamentalists of today feel so threatened by evolutionary thought? To acknowledge that we are born of the forces of the Earth means also reclaiming the fact that women are inherently symbols of these forces and thus, deserve honor not just as lower-case mothers, but as representatives of the Divine Mother, the Goddess, the feminine face of God.
But the idea of Planet Earth as Mother doesn’t end with creation. Our planet fulfils the role of Mother to its inhabitants far beyond the point of creation. Dr. James Lovelock first expounded the “Gaia Hypothesis” in the mid-70’s, at the height of the free-thinking era and just before the conservative backlash. Lovelock hypothesized that on some level, the Earth itself had be sentient. That in some way, the planet functioned as a living entity, consciously maintaining the tenuous balance necessary to maintain life. I don’t want to spend too much time on this subject, but to give one example, if our orbit was just a little closer to the sun than it currently is, everything on earth would burn. If it were a little farther, it would be so cold that life could not exist. But somehow, we do exist in a perfect balance, exactly as we need to be. Lovelock theorizes that this could not be maintained without some sort of conscious effort- the Gaia effect. Much like a mother watching over her child, making sure they are safe and protected, the earth itself holds us exactly where we need to be in order to thrive.
This does not mean that anyone who accepts the theory of evolution is automatically a practitioner of Goddess Religions. It does not even mean that they believe in an external deity at all. But it does open a door to people of faith, those who secretly see God with a Mothers face, enabling them to recognize that patterns of oppression that have existed for centuries become null and void once we recognize the power of both planet Earth and mother’s womb. This is part of why the control of reproduction is such a necessity to those who view women from a patriarchal viewpoint. To allow control of the processes of conception and birth is to allow a measure of divine right to women- essentially, authority over creation.
To deny the reality of evolution is to deny the power and autonomy of women. When we recognize mothers on days such as this, it’s important that we not honor them as stereotypes or archetypes, but as the one who created us, who protected us, who sustains us even into adulthood. This further allows us to better appreciate the world around us, seeking to protect and preserve it as we would our mother. James Thackeray said that “Mother is the name for God on the hearts and lips of every child.” It is time that we reclaim the Divine Feminine, within our mothers, within our women and within the very earth itself. The creation/evolution debate is more than a scientific quarrel- it is a battle for hearts of children, the status of femininity, and the direction of our society. When the same debate raged in 1850, after the publication of Darwin’s “The Origin of the Species”, a Unitarian minister named Eleanor Gordon wrote “if all things are really evolving and people are not fallen angels but rather rising souls, then our corporate structure is also designed to reach higher levels. It follows then, that everyone who is a part of this changing universe is a reformer, collaborating with God in the daily process of natural progress.” This is the struggle today: do we view ourselves as capable of becoming more than the fallen creatures that the Religions of the Book hold us out to be? When we look at ourselves or at others, do we see the same hope and potential within that their own mothers see? This is the promise of evolution on the spiritual level- that we are not simply creatures of dust, created by a disapproving, authoritarian Father, willing to disown or even condemn us. Rather, we are the product of a Mothers loving creation and continued hope- capable of rising above our humble beginnings to achieve spiritual significance far beyond what the world expects of us. To recognize that evolution is a form of gestational creation, mimicking or inspiring the processes within our human mothers, is to recognize the potential for Divine Motherhood. And once we view the divine with a feminine face, it becomes easier to see her present in the faces of all mothers, all women. And when we begin to view women as well as men as faces of the divine, then can we begin to create a new paradigm within our religions, our culture and our world.

Our Experiences at Eyes Wide Open in D.C.

2006-05-18T20:59:00.000-05:00

We arrived in Washington on Thursday morning and went straight to the William Penn House, the Quaker hostel where we would be staying. After checking in, we took Rory to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, since we knew that it was going to be a busy weekend and we wanted to keep our promise to him to see the dinosaur bones. This was great fun and Rory was much impressed with the T-Rex, Triceratops, Stegosaurus, and Allosaurus bones. We also went through the gem room and saw the Hope Diamond, Marie Antoinette’s earrings and some other amazing jewels. After we left the museum, we decided to head over to the National Mall to see if the Eyes Wide Open display had been set up yet. As soon as we left the museum, a torrential downpour of rain began and we were all soaked. We tried standing under a tree for a while, but it wasn’t much bigger than Rob was and provided little actual shelter. We decided to make a break for the Military Families Speak Out (MFSO) tent.
When we arrived, we wandered through the rows of boots in the storm looking for Walters’s boots. His were stiff and brand new, with a laminated tag that read “Specialist Walter B. Howard, 35, Michigan”. Rob struggled to hold himself together and while he was visibly moved, he did not cry…yet. After staying there for a minute, to reflect and let the reality of the exhibit set in, we went to the tent that was being shared by MFSO, Iraq Veterans Against the War (IVAW) and September 11th Families for a Peaceful Tomorrow. There we met Rosemary, the MFSO staffer who’d arranged our scholarship and basically made it possible for us to be there at all. We did our best to dry off and when the rain stopped, we went back to the hostel to rest.
That evening, we received a phone call from Nikki, another MFSO staffer who told us that the candle light vigil had been cancelled due to a tornado watch. Rob, Rory and I left to get dinner at Quiznos, about 7 blocks from the hostel. On the way back, the rains poured down again, and while we’d purchased an umbrella at this point, and a poncho for Rory, we were not prepared for the incredibly bad drainage in D.C. and had to navigate huge (3’ across) streams of water at every curb. It was very difficult for Rory and by the time we got back to the Penn House, we were all soaked to the knees or higher.
Friday morning began our legislative visits. We were supposed to be catching up with Deb Riegal, the new Michigan MFSO chapter coordinator, but we somehow missed each other and so Rob, Rory and I made our way to Sander Levin’s office on our own. In hindsight, I wish that this had been our last stop, because I was very nervous and a little thrown off by having to speak entirely on my own about our concerns about the war. Add in the fact that the legislative aide that we met with was very hostile to our cause and more than a little condescending, and it made for a rough visit. I think that I was the embodiment of the express “speak truth to power…even if your voice shakes” at this office. I stuck close to our talking points; even through I was trembling from the adrenaline and nerves. There was one point, though, when I really feel as if I “got him”. He’d told us that “well, we can’t possibly pull out, because if we do, it’ll be all-out civil war in Iraq!” About five minutes later, I asked him when he did think that we’d be able to leave. One of MFSO’s talking points was the fact that about half a dozen arbitrary milestones had been set for withdrawal, and yet, whenever we reached the specified point, the administration would just set a new milestone. My question to Sander Levin’s aide was simply this: when did he see us leaving? At what point would we finally bring the boys (and girls!) home? He stated that the only way he saw that happening soon was if the situation in Iraq devolved rapidly into civil war, to the point where there would be no reason for us to continue to stay and risk our service personnel’s lives. AHA! I got him!
I said “so what I hear you saying is two things: first, we can’t possibly leave because then civil war is going to break out. And yet, the only way we’ll leave is if civil war erupts. Why then, don’t we speed this up, save some lives, and pull them all out now?” There was nothing he could say to that. As overwhelmed and anxious as I was, Rob and I walked out of that visit feeling pretty good. I decided, however, that I will never vote for Sander Levin again. His willingness to hide behind the argument of “I didn’t vote for the war in the beginning” and yet do absolutely nothing to prevent future deaths is completely unacceptable to me.
We quickly walked across Capitol Hill to Debbie Stabenow’s office, where we met with her Legislative Aide for Military Affairs. He was absolutely wonderful! Very concerned, kind, and receptive. He asked thoughtful questions and expressed a strong (perhaps stronger than his boss) anti-war position. I was so pleased with his responses and involvement that I was better able to exert our positions naturally, confidently and effectively. We were strongly encouraged to make contact with Senator Stabenow when she was in Michigan, and to push her at the local level for a commitment to bringing the troops home now, and to taking care of them when they get here. We were assured that this local action would be met with favorable responses from the Senators office and staff. This had proven to be an exhausting endeavor and we decided to stop for lunch between our 2nd and 3rd visits. Somehow, Deb and her friend chose the same spot to have lunch that we did, and we were able to meet up with Liz, the D.C. chapter coordinator, who decided to come along, so finally we had “reinforcements” for our third visit, this time with Carl Levin’s office.
I have to say, Senator Levin’s office was perhaps the most intimidating, just because, as Rob put it, “he’s Carl FREAKIN’ Levin, man!” His aide was very polite and courteous…and completely detached and non-committal. He listened to our stories for about an hour. Rob and I talked about Walter, why he joined the military, and how the effects of his death reach far beyond the reported casualty statistics that are tracked by the government. Deb spoke eloquently about Secondary Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and how the children, spouses and parents of deployed personnel are also left with lasting mental heath issues and psychological scars. Liz told the Aide about her boyfriend, and how he was an M.P. in Iraq whose watchtower was set in the middle of a known chemical waste dump. When he questioned his C.O.’s about why the tower was put where it was, the answer they gave him was “because no Iraqi would think that we’d be stupid enough to put a tower in a toxic waste dump- they won’t know we’re there and they wouldn’t be stupid enough to cross the area to get there if they did.” No one cared that the M.P.’s stationed at this particular watchtower were getting severe headaches within 30 minutes of arriving for duty….or dizzy spells within the first hour….or that they were expected to stay there for the duration of their 12 hour shift every day for the length of their deployment. No one provided follow-up care or ran any investigatory medical tests on them when they came home. Much like Agent Orange exposure, this group of M.P.’s probably won’t know for years if they are okay, or if they actually died back there in that watchtower. When Rob heard this, he walked out of the meeting, too overcome with anger and grief to remain.
We spoke extensively about the lack of family support. About how the parents of the fallen are completely disregarded when it comes to the funeral planning or moral support offered by the military. About how the “re-entry” counseling provided to the National Guard and Reserve troops is bare-bones, if it’s offered at all, and is usually provided by a third party contractor with no understanding of military issues. The Aide smiled politely, nodded often, and said very little. When we finally left, I had a sense of catharsis, knowing that even if it made no difference (and the Aide made it clear that it did not) I had at least had the chance to drive home exactly what they were doing to military families and personnel. I decided that my new mantra would be “if I can’t change their minds, I’m going to make them feel guilty for holding the positions that they do.” It seemed to work in Carl Levin’s case.
This was a very, very long way to spend a morning. Rory had been with us the whole time and had been incredibly good. Amazingly good, really. He finally fell asleep in Carl Levin’s office. We decided to do something more touristy and fun. Since Rory’s been obsessed with cemeteries recently, Rob suggested that we make a pilgrimage out to Arlington. We took the tour shuttle around the monument, and saw the Eternal Flame, with John and Jacqueline Kennedy’s graves, the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns, and Bobby Kennedy’s simple, white cross. One thing that occurred to me there was that when other countries accuse us of being “ugly Americans”, it’s not that we’re culturally insensitive…it’s that we’re truly crass, disrespectful and tacky people even at our own sacred sites. This was best highlighted by the woman smoking near the Kennedy’s graves, who threw her cigarette butt on the ground and then gave Rob the evil eye for having the audacity to pick up after her. It was the closest I’ve ever seen Rob come to punching someone in the face.
Saturday was a very busy day. We arrived at the Eyes Wide Open exhibit at 10:00 am, after stopping to have a picture of Walter laminated to attach to his boots. We also brought a rose to lay. I volunteered to help out the American Friends Service Committee as a mediator in case of any counter-protest or altercation. Unfortunately, they’ve had people try to disrupt the silent march/vigils in the past and now plan for such a circumstance. I was given an AFSC t-shirt and volunteer badge and wandered back over to the MFSO staging area. Rory was eager to hang out at the AFSC children’s area, and contributed to their “Children’s Response to War” exhibit by answering the question “What would you do to create a more peaceful world” with “No more world ‘doom’ination.” When asked to draw a picture of what a more peaceful world, he drew an ice cream truck.” The AFSC children’s coordinator asked Rory if he wanted to go with us, or stay and help out with the kids’ area, he elected to stay with the children. At the end of the event, they told us that Rory had helped hand out flyers, carried signs and marched in the children’s contingent. He was such a big help, that they gave him his own volunteers shirt and badge.
Meanwhile, Rob and I had been standing with the MFSO contingent when we saw the Iraq Veterans Against the War assembling. I told Rob to go up with them and he said no, that he didn’t feel as if he belonged with them. “They’re Marines and Army…people who did multiple tours. I’m just a Guardsman.” I told him that he belonged with them and that I wasn’t going to walk with him, so he might as well join IVAW. He went over and I watched as they each shook his hand, patted his back, or hugged him. He was immediately welcomed and accepted. It was wonderful.
The march itself was quiet and uneventful. I made a point of looking in the eyes of those who stood along the perimeter and watched the parade of wounded, killed, and walking dead go by. Many nodded in agreement. No one showed open hostility, and one man stood and clapped loudly as we walked by. One woman was sitting on the lawn with her family having a picnic. As she watched us walk silently by, she sobbed. It was so very emotional. At the end of the silent march, Rob and I saw Cindy Sheehan. I had already walked with her a little ways in the vigil and she had hugged me and asked about Walter. I explained that calling him Rob’s cousin was so inadequate. When Rob approached her, she extended her arms and said “I’m so sorry about your brother.” This was the moment when Rob finally broke down and sobbed. He cried in her arms for what seemed like a very long time as she held him and gently talked to him about how hard the loss is. It was an incredibly powerful moment. It meant the world to Rob and me. A cameraman filmed this entire scene, and I was speechless with disgust- this is the second time that Rob’s mourning has been filmed for public consumption. First at the funeral, and then at the closest thing to a graveside that we have for Walter.
At the end of the walk around the National Mall, there was a time for speakers. Gold Star mothers stood and talked about how the Army told them that their son had been killed by a bullet to the head fired by an insurgent. She later found out that he had stepped on a daisy cutter after his unit was sent at night through a field that had been laid with the landmines by the Air Force earlier that day, without ever being told of their presence. Another mother spoke eloquently of the long wait at the airport, when she arrived to receive her sons’ corpse. Because of military orders forbidding the presence of a flag-draped coffin during daylight hours at a public airport, she was forced to wait all day until night fell; when no other passenger might see the evidence of her loss. One father told us about how he was denied citizenship, even after his son was killed in action fighting in the United States Army. Another spoke of how his son was diagnosed with PTSD and hung himself 17 days after being released from the military hospital that had held him, with no treatment and no follow-up care. This man was especially moving, because he told Nancy Lessin, one of the founders of MFSO, told me later that this man had pulled her aside to tell her what a striking resemblance Rory bore to his son in childhood. He told her “when I see their little boy, it’s almost as if my son is alive again.” I cried when I heard this.
Many of the Iraq veterans spoke. Some told of how they were 100% in favor of the war when they first got over there, and of how their opinions changed when ordered to fire upon unarmed women and children. One went as a combat medic, a non-combatant, and yet many times when being transported from one location to another, had a weapon thrust in his hands and was told to scan the horizon for potential threats. This is a violation of the Geneva Convention. One of the most amazing things that happened on Saturday was the attendance of Richard Pearl, considered to be the Administrations architect of the war. He was the only administration official to stop by and observe the boots exhibit; and the IVAW members “jumped” on him when they saw him. Encircling this man, who’d made the decisions that had affected so many lives so profoundly, they demanded answers to questions that had no been sanitized by carefully controlled press conferences. They demanded a simple answer to a simple question: Did you send us to Iraq for a lie or a mistake? He could not answer them. The exchange went something like this:
“We had all the intelligence indicating WMD’s presented an immediate threat.”
“So it was a mistake”
“No! It was not a mistake!”
“Well then, it was a deliberate lie.”
“No one lied. We had the intelligence.”
“So then, you made a mistake.”
“There were no mistakes. We had the intelligence.”
“Intelligence the CIA told you was incorrect. So it was a lie”
“We did not lie! We had concrete intelligence.”
“Then you made a mistake.”

I still can’t stand this man, and I hold Richard Pearl partially to blame for the 2437 (as of Sunday) military deaths in Iraq thus far; but I will give him credit for this: he had the courage to show up and face those he’d damaged. Only one Congressman attended and not a single Senator showed their face. But Richard Pearl had the fortitude to look at the destruction he’d helped wrought. I know that seems melodramatic, but it’s very, very true.
Finally, Rob and I spoke. Rob stood in front of the 500 or so assembled people (not counting random passersby on the Mall) and took off his sunglasses. He said “I am a veteran of this war. I am still in service today, and I’m not afraid to say so. But I have a question for those sitting in the Capitol Building today. Look at this field, Congress! Look at these boots, Senators! This is your down payment, my President; my Commander in Chief. WHAT HAS IT BOUGHT YOU?” It was an inspired and passionate moment. Usually, I’m the speech crafter in the family, but he took my breath away. I don’t know what I said, but it wasn’t my top form. There was nothing I could say to follow him up. We left not long after that. Rory had been just about as good as he was going to be for one day. He, Rob and I were drained, physically, emotionally and spiritually. We took a breather and went to the Smithsonian American History Museum where we were just able to see the First Ladies exhibit before it closed. That night, we attended a meet and greet/national meeting for MFSO where more stories were shared, along with action plans, initiative ideas and other information. We laughed, cried, hugged and then went home and slept.
Sunday morning we woke at 5:00 am in order to make it to our 8:30 flight. After walking with Rory and all of our luggage the 7 city blocks to the nearest Metro station, we discovered that it was closed and had to walk another 8 city blocks to the next station up. We didn’t get on the train until 7:00 AM and had to run through the airport in order to get to our gate. Upon arriving, we realized that our flight didn’t leave until 11:00, and we finally, after three days of non-stop walking, crying, laughing, caring, talking, debating, educating and peace-making, were able to sit and just enjoy the stillness.

And then we came home.

Immigration Reform Fearmongering

2006-05-18T20:51:00.000-05:00

This is a true story of fear and trust. Many, many years ago, in a small frontier town, a wild group of Indians on the war path sent many settlers fleeing to a nearby fort for safety. Their tribal life ruined by the encroaching whites, the native people were desperate to reclaim their rightful homeland. Among to fearful settlers there was one man who, along with his family, decided to trust in a God who said “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” They did not have guns or other weapons, but just stayed in their little cabin.

In those days, the door was fastened by a heavy, wooden latch,
Raised from the outside by a thong of deerskin. This latchstring could be pulled in for no admittance. When the string was left out, all who came would be welcome. Trusting in the way of peace, this family left the latchstring out, day and night. One night though, the man began to fear for his wife and family. With a trembling hand, he drew in the latchstring. But, his wife could not sleep and she told her husband that she felt they were not truly trusting to the power of goodwill. The man sighed, knowing his wife was right. He put the latchstring out again. All who came would be welcomed.

Just then, they heard the cries of the Indian braves. Soon, the little cabin was surrounded. Suddenly, the latchstring snapped tight and the latch was raised by an Indian brave, pulling the string from outside. Astounded, the war party saw that the door had been left unlocked. The braves grew quiet. From their window, the family watched as they began to slip away into the woods. But, a tall chief held back and came strolling up to the cabin. He took a long, white feather and fastened it above the door.

There the feather hung, season after season, year after year and the family never again saw the warring Indians. One day, a friendly Indian who could speak English came by and he looked at the feather with a serious expression upon his face. Then, he told the family what it meant: this is the home of a man of peace. Do not harm him. Robs parents came to Michigan from the Ukraine in just after World War One. Refugees from Bolshevism, they settled in Hamtramck and raised five children in hard-working poverty. My own maternal family came from England in the mid-1800’s after migrating there first from Scotland. My father’s parents were migrant workers on farms throughout California. I’m sure most of you gathered here today could share similar stories. We have always prided ourselves on being a nation of immigrants. Regardless of whether we arrived here on the Mayflower, a World War Two coffin ship or through the harsh Arizona desert, the vast majority of our own families came here to escape poverty, oppression, famine or war. America is a country built on the hopes and dreams of far away peoples. This shared heritage is what makes the debate we are currently engaged in as a society at once both frustrating to me personally and vitally important to us all. Timely and vital issues have been raised, from National Security, to the rights of churches to offer humanitarian and charitable aid to anyone in need, but it seems that the basic struggle is with our own human struggle between extending a latch-string and building a wall. It comes down to a simple matter of trust.
But that’s an over-simplification, you say! In this post 9/11 world, trust is not something to be lightly given! We live in a time of imminent danger, war and fear. Let me come back to the story Stefani told earlier. During the mid to late 1800’s, the same could be said for the Settlers and the Native peoples. Both groups believed themselves to be under imminent danger at any moment from a terrifying and utterly foreign enemy. Both groups were mostly correct. Much like today, the Native peoples found themselves attacked by seemingly alien forces: utterly different from them in appearance, dress, and language. Much like today, the Native peoples were victims of Weapons of Mass Destruction- aircraft in our era, smallpox in theirs. Crazy Horse, the famous Sioux chief who defeated General George Custer at Little Big Horn explained their perspective by saying "I was hostile to the white man...We preferred hunting to a life of idleness on our reservations. At times we did not get enough to eat and we were not allowed to hunt. All we wanted was peace and to be let alone. Soldiers came...in the winter..and destroyed our villages. Then Long Hair (Custer) came...They said we massacred him, but he would have done the same to us. Our first impulse was to escape...but we were so hemmed in we had to fight. After that I lived in peace.”
The Settlers ironically felt much the same way. Many families came West seeking a new way out of poverty or a chance to own a parcel of land, something they would never be able to accomplish in the overcrowded, overburdened cities. Yes, they brought their prejudices and Manifest Destiny with them. We cannot forget and should not excuse the injustices the military and militias perpetrated on the Native populations. But we today, who are able to look back over the centuries with a more enlightened eye, cannot forget the cultural context of not just America at that time, but of the world as a whole. We must step outside our modern realities and consider the perspective of a settlement family in the Wild West. For the vast majority of pioneers, they too simply wanted, as Crazy Horse wanted, to live in peace.
Can you imagine the courage it would take for both sides, to leave that latch-string out? The level of trust in the basic goodness of humanity to extend a hand of friendship and welcome even as you know that the night is filled with angry and hostile strangers is astounding even today. Perhaps, most especially today. Much like the family in the legend, we are faced with a choice about whether to leave out our latchstring and place our faith in mankind’s desire for peace; or else build walls both literal and figurative in anticipation of the “others” worst nature. We don’t have forts we can run to when confronted with someone strange and unfamiliar anymore. I believe most of us here would see that to be a good thing. Unitarian Universalists are by their very nature more inclined to embrace the unfamiliar and see what there is to learn from it. We are more accepting of diversity and difference and better able to see the positive contributions rather than focusing on the divisions between ourselves and the outsiders. So what is the role of our community in this age of fear and mistrust?
Our first and most basic course of action is that of changing the language of the debate. Regardless of where each of us falls on the spectrum of the debate, I am confident that we each strive to fulfill our commitment to the inherent worth and dignity of every person, as stated in our UU principles. This means that we strive to set ourselves as role models of peaceful language and discourse as the most direct form of action. When I turn on FOX News, CNN or most talk radio stations; I don’t get a sense of respect for the dignity of the undocumented residents. The term “alien” is most commonly used, a pejorative that most in the community of immigrants both legal and illegal, despise. America has a long history of xenophobia and prejudice, and the term “alien” stems out of these class and race biases. It dehumanizes the other, making them less-than ourselves and easier to view as hostile. Among the definitions of alien are someone who is “strange”, an “outsider”, and of course “from outer space”. The verb form is “to alienate”, which means “To cause to become unresponsive; isolate or dissociate emotionally” or “To cause to become unfriendly or hostile”. Our very language becomes a wall between ourselves and those in our community most affected by this debate. The question of how best to handle undocumented residents will never be settled without cooperation, dialogue and input from both sides. To cause a large segment of the population to be isolated, hostile and unresponsive is not an effective strategy in creating change. History has shown that people most respect laws and policies that they have had a hand in crafting. If we want to reform our immigration policies we must work hand-in-hand with the immigrants themselves, respecting their insights and taking their concerns into consideration. Failure to do so only creates policies that are disregarded and disobeyed. The first step in resolving this crisis is to reframe the dialogue. Words, as we all know, have great power. Rather than defining this debate as between “civilized, rational, human beings” and “uncooperative, strange, hostile aliens”, let us honor the dignity of those we seek discourse with and about and thus extend a hand of peace.
Our Second step as UU’s considering the immigration debate is to reaffirm our common heritage, rather than reinforcing superficial divides. A recent Slate.com article stated that if any individual on the planet were able to trace their genealogy back to the year 1000 B.C., they would discover that they were directly related to every single human being alive at that time. Now, 1000 B.C. is not such a long time ago. So, if you will allow me to get a bit New Agey for a moment, we really are, biologically and genetically, one large family, intermarried for millennia and united by a common ancestry. Not that this argument will carry much weight in the political and economic debate, but it’s important that we realize just how close we are to the Hmong cleaning lady at our office, or to the Columbian gentleman working at our corner store, or to the people sitting right next to us here today. When we can recognize that these people are not alien to us (in every sense of the word) but rather extended cousins; we can start to trust that their motives aren’t much different than ours- peace, security, love and community. When we can begin to trust our extended family in the same manner is which we trust our spouses, siblings and community here; we are then able to discuss solutions that don’t involve building a 700 mile long wall along our Southern border.
But genetics aren’t our only bond. America is a nation crafted out of strongly disparate backgrounds and cultures joined together to make something new and uniquely, well, American. Those of us who grew up with Schoolhouse Rock no doubt remember “lovely Lady Liberty and her book of recipes” and the message reinforced over and over that we are a melting pot of assimilation. Many today are questioning that analogy and comparing our society to tossed salad instead; made up of lots of different and distinct parts that do not blend into one another but rather join together to create something new. The tossed salad analogy has been used by Canadians politicians and by Jesse Jackson to describe North American society, although in some ways I still think that my mother in law has it right when she says America is most aptly described as a fruitcake! Joking aside, it is true that what we consider to be “American” is actually a unique blend of contributions from around the world. Halloween, a holiday considered a thoroughly American event by the world community, was brought here in the 1800’s by Irish and Scottish immigrants and enhanced by Mexican and Native American practices before evolving into its modern form. The more that we as a religious community can remind those around us that our way of life is not threatened by the presence of new voices; but rather enhanced by new perspectives and cultural realities, the more that we will continue to flourish both nationally and globally. When we honor and recognize the dignity and value of the other person, we create a relationship wherein trust can begin to grow.
At this point you’re probably wondering when I’m going to talk about the elephant in the corner. You’re saying “cute story Rob and I agree with you in theory, but we live in a different world now!” and it part, you’re correct. We do have to acknowledge that we live in a time where jobs are scarce and fear is high. We are at war, confronting a faceless enemy in a battle without clear rules. Believe me; I know that better than most. But I have to ask, as a veteran and as a Unitarian; at what point do we acknowledge that we can’t stop the fighting until we stop the hate? Our borders are not secure, that has been proven through government testing and by the sheer number of people entering the U.S. every day. We would be wrong not to ask ourselves “what if?” There comes a point at which we have to acknowledge that we can never do enough to minimize the risk completely. It’s boxing at shadows to think that we will every make our borders completely secure and if and when we do, rest assured, those who truly mean us harm will find another way.
The issue of jobs is an important concern as well, especially in an economy such as Michigan’s. There has been a great deal of talk about “jobs Americans won’t do”. Usually, this is because the wages are below subsistence level, the task is especially dangerous or demeaning, or because the average American is overqualified for the position. US News and World Reports ran an editorial recently stating that the job crisis is not a result of immigration so much as it is an issue of education. Most Americans have at least a Bachelors degree, whereas 50 years ago, the majority of American males completed their education at the High School level. This has caused a crisis in qualifications, where many Americans are overqualified for menial jobs such as housekeeping, dishwashing or fieldwork and yet under qualified for many professional fields such as engineering and medicine. By producing so many bachelors’ level graduates, we have effectively created a nation of middle-managers. The answer, the writer said, was not to limit immigration, or to define jobs as being “beneath” an American worker, but rather to rethink how we educate our population. In the meantime, we must actively work to promote fair labor practices among these low-esteem professions. We must call not for immigration reform, but for better regulation and enforcement of labor laws, especially as they relate to hourly wages and worker protections. Once again, we are re-framing the debate, restoring the dignity of low-esteem workers and promoting change that creates equitable change without isolating populations.
So the question then, becomes one of social justice. Are we really protecting ourselves from terrorism when we suggest making it a felony for churches and charities to leave water in the desert, or offer food and housing to a hungry migrant family? Is it truly a benefit to our economy to have millions of undocumented workers wages that don’t allow them to be self-sufficient? At what point does the balance shift from protecting ourselves to harming others? And is that harm ever justified? Albert Einstein said “In matters of truth and justice, there is no difference between large and small problems, for issues concerning the treatment of people are all the same.” There is no issue that better defines this than that of immigration, a debate as large as our economy and as small as one child crossing the Rio Grande on his mothers back. But in these times when many options seem right, often for very different reasons, Einstein had the best barometer: how does the issue concern the treatment of people? Are we placing the abstracts of fear, pride and mistrust over the cold reality of people’s lives? Are our actions as a nation in keeping with the principles we espouse, those of dignity, justice, compassion and equality? When we enact policy at the national level through legal reforms or take action at the local level through groups such as La Raza Unida and the Minute Men, are we keeping the greater interdependence of humanity in mind?
In closing, let us stand together as liberal people of conscious, committing ourselves to working for peaceful reform that preserves the dignity of our family worldwide and protects the values of inclusiveness and equality that America was founded upon. Let us act as role models in our community, re-framing the language of the debate and calling others on their own use of slander and slang. Let us actively strive for social justice and policy that acts not to isolate and persecute an already minimized population, but rather positive change that benefits everyone, regardless of their class, background or status. Let us work to resolve these difficult issues not by isolating ourselves in fear, bolting our door with heavy wooden beams, but by leaving out our latchstrings and hang the peace feather, trusting in the goodwill of mankind and the rational logic of those most affected to resolve these issues collectively and with respect.

An Army of One

2006-05-18T20:34:00.000-05:00

I have been married for eight years. My husband Rob, a civilian technician in the Air National Guard (a position I like to describe as “just like Active Duty!!...with none of the benefits”) has served in three war zones since September 11th, 2001. But thankfully, I had never had to attend a military funeral until recently when we lost a family member to an IED outside of Ashraf, Iraq. Corporal Walter Howard was more brother than cousin to Rob. They grew up across the street from each other, went to the same schools from kindergarten through high school and participated in Civil Air Patrol together. Walt was the one who beat Rob up on a regular basis- and defended him should anyone else attempt to do the same. The loss, as all are in these circumstances, was unexpected and devastating. But what I’ve been thinking about isn’t Walt, who has been eulogized so beautifully over the past few weeks; or even Rob, who had been slated to return to Iraq in the very near future. My thoughts have been on Jamie, Walt’s wife of only two years…and myself.
In my research, I found a lot of writings on military wives, most of it saccharine sweet and full of the same kind of “support” that usually results in the affixation of a magnetic ribbon to one’s SUV. To be fair, there were many eloquent words written by wives themselves, much describing how devoted they are to being a support team back at home for their beloved who has been so often far away in recent years. I do not fit neatly into either category. I am a military wife adamantly against the war, who sits powerless and heartbroken as she waits for this time of rash aggression and foolhardy attempts at diplomacy to be over. I am reminded every day that the fate of my husband and my family lies in the hands of an administration run by people I personally wouldn’t trust with a pet rock. I feel powerless. Most military wives feel this way at one point or another- usually more often than any of us would care to admit. We are not angels of patriotism, tying ribbons around trees and baking homemade cookies while we wait for “our men” to return to us. Most wives that I have known are grateful simply for surviving the day without fixating on the terror of not knowing where he is…if he’s safe…what the day (or worse, the night) will bring. We often become more isolated, cutting ourselves off from friends because we don’t have the energy, or the childcare, or because it’s awkward to participate in “couples” activities when our own spouse exists in circumstances very different from hat most of our social circle can comprehend. We experience a jolt of terror whenever a car we don’t recognize parks in front of the house or uses our driveway to turn around…always afraid that it might be bearing an officer, a chaplain, and the end of the world.
The night we heard about Walter’s death, my husband left the house to be alone, to process, to grieve. I remained huddled on the couch, sobbing uncontrollably- it wasn’t about Walt really; it was the closest I’ve ever come to my own worst case scenario and the proximity to tragedy terrified me. At the funeral, I was transfixed by Jamie- the beauty of her composure and her grief. It was like watching my own life unfold in an alternate universe: it could just have easily been my Rob and her Walt. There is no logic, no safety, no respite in was. “There but for the grace of…” I was overwhelmed by the interchangeability of it all. If Rob were killed, it would’ve been the same six men in the honor guard, the same Chaplain wearing the same black stole. The same twenty-one rounds fired into the same blue sky. The same flag carefully folded into the same stiff triangle. The same empty shell casings tucked inside. The same words spoken by the same officer kneeling before me on the same knee. As we gathered to mourn Walter’s life, the military ceremony only reinforced the anonymity of all the lives so needlessly lost in this conflict. So many taken from us that we don’t even hear their names on the television anymore, the way we did at the start of the war when each combat death was treated as an unexpected shock by the national news.
My husband has often accused me of not supporting his career since Walt’s death. He says that I hate his job and that he thinks I’d be happier if he’d never enlisted. I tell him that he’s right. Any loving wife is going to have serious issues with a career field that puts her husband in immediate danger. Any supportive partner is going to worry and pray and yes, at times of weakness even beg them not to go. The ceaseless fear and the strain of constant worry that the military wife endures is its own form of combat. But I am proud of what he does. The military and those who choose to live within its world have made unimaginable sacrifices to protect and defend our nation. And our nation is worth defending. I question the leadership often and the purposes for which they choose to exploit the military and I’ve even questioned the motivation for Rob’s enlistment at seventeen and that very crucial “half”. But I don’t question why he serves. I am proud of the uniform he wears, even as it terrifies me with its symbolism. I am proud of his service overseas and hate it when he leaves; yet I am never prouder than when he returns from a vital mission accomplished.
There was a moment at Walt’s funeral when the flag that had draped the casket was being folded by the honor guard and all those in military service stood at attention and saluted. Rob was so stricken with grief that his whole body shook with sobs. My father in law, himself a veteran, stepped up behind him and gently placed his hand beneath Rob’s elbow to support him in maintaining his salute of Walter, his fallen brother in so many senses of the word. It was a moment breathtaking in its agony. In that moment, my eyes met Jamie’s across the coffin that cradled the father of her fifteen-month-old daughter and I recognized that the sacrifices we as military wives are asked to make are never fair and are nearly unbearable. But only those who are capable of leading the life of a military spouse are strong enough to see that life end. I am not a good military wife: I am worried and selfish and too often come across as anti-military because of my personal views on the war. But many others in this unusual sorority would admit the same if asked. We are all flawed, we are often angry and we are always fearful- but if we are anything, we are strong.

Religion in the Military

2006-05-18T20:29:00.000-05:00

This is something I wrote several months ago that was published in Air Force Times: “If I had my way, you people wouldn’t even exist here.” Those were the words that an Army wife and I heard when we introduced ourselves to our base Chaplain and offered to serve as points of contact for other minority-faith believers. Both of our families are Pagan (or as it is misspelled on my husbands dog-tags “Pagen”), an umbrella term for several religious traditions that revere nature as a Divine Revelation and view Deity/God as both Father and Mother. We’re used to being misunderstood- my own mother feels squeamish about the word “Pagan”, which actually comes from the Latin root “paganus” meaning country-dweller. But much like Buddhists, Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus, we are present in the military today and our numbers are increasing.
Unfortunately, this response was neither unusual nor completely unexpected. The military is traditionally a very conservative environment and the idea of being dramatically different often does not set well with the rank and file. In Iraq, my husband was bombarded with bootlegged copies of “The Passion of the Christ” by well-meaning Christians who saw no irony whatsoever in using stolen copies of the Easter story as an evangelistic tool. While it’s true that there are no atheists in foxholes, there are very often Hermetics, Agnostics and Unitarians. Everyone is entitled to honor and serve God/dess in whatever way they are called to do so; but it does take a toll on individual morale when it seems as if everyone around you feels compelled to serve their god by “saving” you.
Admittedly, many Chaplains today are becoming more aware of the diverse nature of the personnel they are charged to serve. In some ways this is a great change, since it encourages them to broaden their depth of understanding when it comes to smaller, perhaps less-traditional faiths. There has also been a backlash amongst chaplains and fundamentalist politicians who advocate a policy of what I see as religious intolerance through First Amendment protection. Their approach is to claim that requiring military personnel to curb evangelistic activities or to refrain from voicing their disbelief in (or in some cases disrespect for) other faiths constitutes an unfair restriction on freedom of religion. It is my belief that when a minister makes the decision to accept a call to serve such a diverse flock as that of any military unit, they must be comfortable with the idea that not everyone there will practice their brand of religion and be willing to minister to the needs of the troops, regardless of their private practices. If this is contradictory to their faith and they want a community that is entirely consistent with their own doctrine, then perhaps they would be better off serving a church of their denomination rather than a combat unit.
It is difficult to serve in the military today, heartbreaking to be a military spouse and traumatic to be a military child, especially in a time of war. Every soldier hopes that they will never have to leave their families behind to worry and wait while they once again don Kevlar and take up arms. Whether they are Baptist or Wiccan, a practicing Santero or a devout Jew, they each pray for a lasting peace. It should not matter what we envision in our minds when we pray and the last concern on the battlefield should be trying to convince each other that ones spirituality is flawed or evil. Faith is what transforms a soldier into a Warrior. Spirituality gives a higher purpose and a comfort to the family members left behind. It is time that we stop debating whose religion is scripturally true or politically valid and simply recognize one another as honorable people of faith. For Pagans, the idea of trying to “convert” or “witness” is doctrinally prohibited and is usually seen as offensive and rude. For others, evangelism is a vital part of their religious practice. These differences should not take precedence over the mutual support of brothers and sisters in arms working together to complete their mission. Battlefield evangelism and spiritual isolation at home hurts morale and diminishes retention. To this end, it is my hope that we can each act according to the wise suggestion of Keteri Mitchell who wrote “Our first task when approaching another religion is to take off our shoes. Otherwise, we may step on something holy and forget that God has been there long before our arrival.”

Welcome to my Nightmare

2006-05-18T19:56:00.000-05:00

So, the subject line here isn't very creative, but it's the most accurate and realistic one I could think of at the moment. This is a journal of my life an ardent pacifist military wife. A life of worry, conflict and contradiction. "Pacifism is being willing to acknowledge our own capacity for violence and to struggle against it every single day; in much the same way that an alcoholic fights every day not to take that drink. Pacifism is nothing less than a series of choices make every day, every hour, every minute to resist our violences and reject our privledges." This is my piss-poor paraphrasing of a Utah Phillips-quoting-Amon Hennessy quote. But it explains my mindset and my choices and my name for this blog. I hope you come along with me...