I tabled today at a wimmin’s spiritual event.
Three desperate wimmin approached me at different times, all speaking of the same crime: their sons, their sons, their sons have been taken from them and trained to unlearn what they have taught them of charity, mercy, and love.
Each womon was so deeply wounded, so filled with despair, so hopeless. One womon, whose son has not yet deported, begged me to find a way to end war NOW so her son would not be one to kill and be killed; another womon whose son is already there, told me she cannot stand to think of him and his betrayal of her love; and the third told me we have 6 months before her son will be sent over so we better get in gear.
I told each one of these wimmin that their children were targeted a long time ago by a huge industrial military complex machine: none of their kids did well in school; each of them had juvenile records; none of them felt like they had a future that was meaningful – until the recruiters came to town!
I told each of these wimmin how the military and it’s machine has spent BILLIONS figuring out how to brainwash out children, to blindside us, to make sure they have the fodder they need to protect their interests abroad. BILLIONS! How to protect our children from this machine – it is nigh impossible – at least by ourselves.
I held each one of these wimmin, hoping to ease their pain, their fear, their suffering a tiny bit. There is no hope for their children to come back with their humanity in tact. I told them about the GI Rights Hot Line and about IVAW. That is the only hope for them.
Another womon approached me. She was so gorgeous I could barely breathe for a moment. She began to weep as well, to tell me how beautiful her country Iraq used to be; how when she thinks of Iraq, she thinks of gorgeous lands, brilliant sunsets, free health care, free education, good jobs, beautiful market places, but above all, she thinks of the gentle, loving people she grew up around.
As she spoke, I could see the beauty of her country reflected in her warm, sweet skin, her brilliant deep eyes, her stunning smile. And I wept with her.
I thought of the other mothers' sons destroying her country, her people as we stood there. I wept after she left.
Three desperate wimmin approached me at different times, all speaking of the same crime: their sons, their sons, their sons have been taken from them and trained to unlearn what they have taught them of charity, mercy, and love.
Each womon was so deeply wounded, so filled with despair, so hopeless. One womon, whose son has not yet deported, begged me to find a way to end war NOW so her son would not be one to kill and be killed; another womon whose son is already there, told me she cannot stand to think of him and his betrayal of her love; and the third told me we have 6 months before her son will be sent over so we better get in gear.
I told each one of these wimmin that their children were targeted a long time ago by a huge industrial military complex machine: none of their kids did well in school; each of them had juvenile records; none of them felt like they had a future that was meaningful – until the recruiters came to town!
I told each of these wimmin how the military and it’s machine has spent BILLIONS figuring out how to brainwash out children, to blindside us, to make sure they have the fodder they need to protect their interests abroad. BILLIONS! How to protect our children from this machine – it is nigh impossible – at least by ourselves.
I held each one of these wimmin, hoping to ease their pain, their fear, their suffering a tiny bit. There is no hope for their children to come back with their humanity in tact. I told them about the GI Rights Hot Line and about IVAW. That is the only hope for them.
Another womon approached me. She was so gorgeous I could barely breathe for a moment. She began to weep as well, to tell me how beautiful her country Iraq used to be; how when she thinks of Iraq, she thinks of gorgeous lands, brilliant sunsets, free health care, free education, good jobs, beautiful market places, but above all, she thinks of the gentle, loving people she grew up around.
As she spoke, I could see the beauty of her country reflected in her warm, sweet skin, her brilliant deep eyes, her stunning smile. And I wept with her.
I thought of the other mothers' sons destroying her country, her people as we stood there. I wept after she left.
posted by Xan @ 7:00 PM
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