I'm proud to have never served; The great plea for humanity.Submitted by The Pen on Fri, 06/07/2013 - 20:55
I’m sure this post will cause a gamut of emotions but I have come to a point in my life where I feel just as much warrant and right to declare my stance on war, and why it is I am proud to have never served.
If you cannot look at history and see that war is the perpetual branch in the spokes of spiritual evolution and humanity’s fullest potential, then you are seeing life as expendable if it aligns with a “right” cause. Look at the army of broken men returning home and the many thousands more returned before them. Look at the states of mind and the states of physicality of these men. Look at the families torn asunder and the children left parentless all in the name of vindication and retribution and freedom?
Are these men the victors? Are these men any more honorable than me because they adorn a purple heart or keep a uniform of tradition locked up in an old chest, only to be brought into the light on the most saddening of days; days we celebrate without understanding the true foreign policies and the lies by which they are upheld? Are these men any more fortunate for the limbs and wits they’ve lost, the years they’ve sacrificed away from their children, the codes they’ve upheld to see the fruition of grievances and stolen memories of men they have never met? Are these men more pure of heart than me in their complicity to bastardize children and make widows of women? Are these men fighting for God? Are the casualties and ravages of war the orders and knowledge we have of morality and sensibility?
War is plunder; hateful, devolving, destructive and engineered by the darkest recesses of our capacities. How long before we see that?
I would like you all to imagine for a moment that you have just returned home from work. You push the button of the garage-door opener and get out of your car. You see the garage door opening and know immediately it will be followed by, “Daddy!” as your son runs out to greet you in the driveway. You kneel down and give him a hug, the kind of hug you give only your son, the kind of hug that finds you completely vulnerable and alive in the moment. You rub his blonde little head and say, “I missed you so much today buddy” to which he replies, “yeah” (in a tone that tells you he understands what love means and that you are the one responsible for that understanding). You both race to the door and enter the house, greeted by the smell of red lemon potatoes, sautéed tempeh and kale greens. You make your way over to your 3 month old daughter who is drooling and mumbling little protests on the bopi pillow, playfully batting the colorful animals dangling from the arches above her. You pick her up and hold her close and whisper, “I missed you today little princess”, which is followed up by countless kisses upon her forehead, cheeks and lips.
As you all sit down to enjoy the dinner your wife has devoutly made out of love, you hear a wisp and suddenly your back is planted into the kitchen wall. Dazed and bewildered you fall to the floor after what seems an eternal peel from the imprint you left behind. Your eyes are hazy and filled with drywall. There is a deafening, selective silence as you’ve force the sound of detangling debris to reside for the panicked and innate desperation that finds you in hysterics as you look for your wife and children. You glance over to the living room where the recliner has leveled the entertainment center and reduced it to giant slivers of particle board. There is a puddle where your hand lands as you attempt to stand up. It has gathered under the heat of steam from a persimmon piece of metal lodged beneath the side of the refrigerator. You peer out the front door which has been completely unhinged and blown out on the road beyond the scorched front yard, now blackened with the fervent flickers of flame.
And then you see what I pray upon no man, woman or child…you see your life laid out before you in red and eternal rest. You see every single memory in a flash and drop to your knees involuntarily as if you had just been compacted with a sledgehammer between the shoulder-blades. And as you look upon the tattered remains of your family you begin to literally see red. You begin to contemplate things you’ve never imagined yourself capable of thinking. It sets in that you will never walk through that front door again and be tackled with a childish hug. You’ll never see the early smiles of the daughter you were just starting to find interaction with and you will never say, “I love you” and feel the response in breath upon your face of the same statement.
Can you imagine your rage being categorized and your intentions being reduced to a terrorist? Can you imagine what it would be like to be “collateral damage” and have an arrogant prick in another country disavow the traumatic emotional dilemma that you are faced with all because your government was in conflict with another government. Can you imagine your lividness as a man on television speaks for your family as if your loss was “just a consequence of war”?
There are those who will turn an indignant shoulder to the dead in another country, but put yourself in the shoes of just one man who has lost his whole purpose and reason for living and tell me to my face that you believe such an incident to be “just a consequence of war”! I dare you!
Peace and love always.