But it was. And it is.

In the bright but cool lot at the truck repair shop this morning I met a small older brown man bundled in dark blue thick sweats & winter coat with matching hat pulled low over his ears & forehead, who strode across the asphalt to shine a near toothless smile as he thanked me for welcoming refugees and my heart broke again into a thousand little slivers.

"I escaped death" he declares softly, dark eyes staring into mine, as he tells me the country he fled, his home, his life, almost 50 years ago, was bombed by the u.s. more times than we bombed both Germany & Japan combined.

Every 8 minutes 24 hours every day for 9 fuckin years we bombed this tiny country and I choke out how sorry I am we did this to him, to his land, to his people, and his kindness wells up as he rushes to emphatically assure me it wasn't me.

I could tell him I didn't know, I was young, I thought it was Viet Nam and maybe later (or earlier) it was Cambodia. But I didn't know until much later, maybe a few years ago.

But here we are, bombing the hell out of at least seven countries, a couple for the last 17 years. And here we are, deposing democratically-elected leaders, backing military coups, installing ruthless dictators as 7000 refugees flee our u.s. policy-fueled violence of their land to face more u.s. policy-fueled violence on our border. And here we are making weapons and military training our number one export around the world.

And we know, we all know.

I shake my head and mumble, my country, into his deep kind eyes as  I want to hold him and hug him and throw myself at his feet and tell him how deeply sorry I am and as he continues to wave at my truck and claim it wasn't me.

But it was. And it is. All of us who reap the benefits of hegemony, world domination & exploitation, war every year of our existence but 17.