(Prompted by Steve's comment about James Hetfield's obvious support for a few Marines -- fresh from Iraq -- who went onstage during MTV's tribute to Metallica:)
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It's hard not to respect someone risking their life for what they believe -- even if what they believe is a program force fed to them while they sit at attention receiving their download -- truth discernment disabled but eyes wide open. Even if they've never yet had to question what they believe or why they believe it or how they came to believe such nonsense in the first place. These young recruits don't have a friggin' clue what they've gotten themselves into. Yet to the extent we consider it unavoidable that a slice of our poor and a chunk of our youth must bleed and die to feed the government's insatiable war machine, I suppose we should at least TRY to be grateful to them for being stupid enough to waste the promise of their young lives so the rest of us can fart and burp and indulge ourselves all the more with our petty flag-sticker-on-the-bumper patriotism. Most of us never question any of it any more than these poor kids do before spilling their priceless blood in some third-world country most of 'em couldn't find on a map.
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Maybe they're signing up for a shot at college (like I did) or money up front for some new piece-of-shit car they've been having wet dreams about. (Never mind they won't be able to drive the stupid thing while making all those payments the whole time they're overseas but they haven't thought that far ahead.) Or -- in the case of our southern cousins -- they're signing up to get U.S. citizenship for themselves and their familia immediately instead of the usual five-year wading period (typo intended). There are those who feel compelled to serve like their Dad did -- or uncle -- or brother -- whatever -- it's all the same stupid wierd glory and honor shit. But the truth is they are ALL just like we ALL were as 17 & 18-year-old boys -- young, dumb and full of cum -- or for the girls: young, dumb and full of whatever it is that makes them do stupid shit. As if all this macho/macha bullshit is gonna' make the virgins go weak in the knees when they get back home anyway -- with their uniforms laden with parallel stripes and shiny medals and colorful ribbons. (Assuming these aren't pinned to their rotting corpse, that is.) Stoked on the hormones of youth invincible -- stronger than dirt -- with zero sense of their own mortality -- or the fragility of nerves and vessels beneath their young skin which keep their spirit clinging to life while they sleep.
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Steve mentioned his own boys and I flashed to "Legends of the Fall" -- an epic portrayal of a father's anguish as two of his sons insist on following in his footsteps. Ultimately, of course, he's unable to prevent them from going to the front. One son is killed and the other forever "damaged goods." The father suffers a stroke when he learns his youngest has been killed. I know it's just some stupid movie but war IS hell -- no one ever wins -- it's an inescapable loss of innocence, humanity, morality, decency, faith, and love. Strip away all those calls from the grave about honor and glory and valor and service for God and country and the rest of all of that horse shit and you're left with the reality of young dumb men killing other young dumb men for reasons they are absolutely incapable of comprehending and we ALL -- as a society; as a culture; as PARENTS -- are to blame for the level of their ignorance which permits them to feed their innocent lives into this gaping mouth of death. For what that they could possibly rationalize in their young lives? Cell phones and rap? Cruisin' main street with some spinners, a little chrome under the hood, a few beers in the belly? Trash-talkin' some little cutey into taming a wild boner? (Are YOU willing to risk death NOW for a shot at some of that later? 'Cause that's purely messed up my little brother.)
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It's an UNnatural act to pull the trigger and blast a hole in a beating heart. In WWII, the powers that be learned that only 15 to 20% of young men could pull the trigger with lethal intent -- and this was while they were being shot at! They might fire repeatedly in the general direction of the enemy, but only a small percentage would take steady aim with a calm focus which says, "Mother Fucker, you're going DOWN!" By Vietnam, that figure had increased to 85%. The way we protect our young sheep and then escort them to the slaughter house hasn't changed; only the methods of military indoctrination and programming -- in other words, teaching impressionable young minds how to HATE -- has changed.
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Their way of accomplishing this remarkable feat is simple enough -- stomp the new recruit's self-image and self-worth into the dirt. Break him down (physically and psychologically and spiritually) until he is lower than snail slime -- essentially nothing. Then rebuild him in the powerful image of his trainer -- as a mighty killer. Suddenly all his talents, all his value, all his image are centered around his ability to kill. He feels as if he owes his very existence to this goon who cloned him. Some guys (those with the lowest self-esteem to begin with -- usually because they had some stiff-necked prick, often-former-military, nazi tyrant for a Dad) take to it like a fish to water and many of them end up as our "disposable heroes." For a few years, someone will read their name out loud on Veteran's Day. Or a picture of what they once were will flash briefly on a TV screen for Memorial Day. The smarter and more confident individuals are reluctant but they're under INCREDIBLE pressure from their peers and trainers to conform to this fantasy of a soldier, a strong man -- one who knows how to kill stuff real good. One who could rip the enemy's pulsating heart out with his teeth and come up grinning from ear to ear with blood pouring off his chin. The trainer's use every resource to exploit "weakness" and reward every movement (no matter how small) towards their goal -- all the while admonishing the troops, "if you ever want to go home again -- to all that pussy, Mom and apple pie -- you better learn this shit; you better get it right." As one former soldier has shared from his marine training, they'll even have them stand in formation -- look to their left and then to their right -- and tell them that one of those guys they just looked at will be going home in a box. [What they don't tell the poor fuckers is half of them are going home in a box regardless of what they do or don't learn -- stray rounds, road mines and RPGs (Rocket Propelled Grenades) don't give a shit about who gets dead.]
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I was moved by an article written about the growing number of amputees who "survive" modern warfare. Thanks to flak jackets, many more soldiers survive injuries that would've surely been fatal in conflicts as recent as Vietnam. Another consequence of that enhanced protection is that due to advanced technology and voice-activated software, having all your limbs still attached to your body is not worth as much as it once was. Many of these amputees -- who have lost only one arm or "only" one leg -- are only getting 30% disability. Just a small token of how wonderfully our loving government can be expected to care for those it has knowingly placed in harm's way. It's been estimated that only HALF of veterans who are completely blind receive any benefits at all. The other half are unaware they're even eligible for benefits. I guess we can't count on Uncle Sam to track them down and tell them, can we? And now the government requires soldiers to make any claim for service-connected disability within two years of their date of separation when systems may not begin to show until many years later. It's been estimated this maneuver by the government will deny 90% of gulf-war veterans any claim to future disability. But I digress.
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Fresh home after their woundings, all the amputees are treated to guided tours of special places, expensive gifts and visits from famous people, photo ops with smiling war hawks and solemn actors. This all takes place at a special pre-release center for amps (amputees) prior to them returning to their home towns to become nobodies again (remember ALL their "new" self-image and self-worth revolves around their ability to kill and they're newly "retired" from the killing biz) and start cashing all those fat 30% disability checks. In the early days, all of the amps are honor-and-glory-speak: we're there (wherever "there" might be that week) for all the right reasons; doing the right thing by all these poor people; advancing freedom and democracy; blah, blah, blah. After a few drinks, one of the amps leans forward at a dinner party and whispers in the reporter's ear, "Of course we sorta' HAVE to believe that. Otherwise, this (glances down where his leg used to be) and THIS (holds up the severed stump of his right arm) was for NOTHING!"
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The weight and brutality of that spoken truth won't fully sink in until many months or even years later. But when that moment of truth slams the front door and comes stomping angrily towards his wheelchair, there won't be any of his "honor and glory" buds chugging champagne around some fancy dinner table to help defend him against this newest enemy. When MISERY comes knocking, he's gonna' be around for a good long while. The visits from actors and government leaders smiling for dollars will be a faint and distant memory. All that will be left forever are the disabilities: physical -- emotional -- psychological -- financial -- relational; a pounding disenchantment with the war machine who once so brilliantly disguised herself as his lover -- a dirty keyboard -- and that 30% disability check.
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sail4free
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"He who joyfully marches in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would suffice." -Albert Einstein
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"What is the use of physicians like myself trying to help parents to bring up children healthy and happy, to have them killed in such numbers for a cause that is ignoble?" -Benjamin Spock
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