When I first saw the image below, I was heartbroken -- torn up at the thought of innocent babies STILL being killed by American bombs five years into this mess. But the feelings have mutated into much more than just sadness. No, I'm mad as hell, fed up, pissed off. I can't avoid it any more -- I can't blog about happy things, when children continue to die because of MY COUNTRY -- presumably on MY BEHALF.
NO, No, No.
Two-year-old Ali Hussein is pulled from the rubble of his family's home in the Shiite stronghold of Sadr City in Baghdad, Iraq on Tuesday, April 29, 2008. The child, who later died at the hospital, was in one of four homes destroyed by U.S. missiles. More than two dozen people were killed when Shiite militants ambushed a U.S. patrol in Baghdad's embattled Sadr City district, bringing the death toll in area on Tuesday to more than 30, a U.S. military spokesman and Iraqi officials said. (AP Photo/Karim Kadim)
I didn't want this war. I spoke out against this war. I voted against the President who brought us this war. I have written letters trying to convince the Democrats to grow a spine and end this war.
And yet, I know that I cannot escape the creeping stain of blame...that I haven't done nearly enough. I have remained largely silent, stunned, as this horror has continued to unravel with its demonic insistence. I should have been marching in the streets, refusing to pay my taxes, throwing Molotov cocktails.
I will look back on my behavior in this decade with some shame.
In surveying the media I have often wondered "where are the voices of dissent" "where is today's peace movement, our generation's John Lennon or Abbie Hoffman or Phil Ochs. Where are the college kids? But that's just an attempt to shift blame, because deep down I know that I could be doing more to raise the noise.
Damn, damn, damn.