Carolyn
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A Thousand Dreams
By John Cory
t r u t h o u t | Perspective
Saturday 11 September 2004

Where do soldiers go when they die?
Do they sail away across a patriot sky?
Or drift on the breeze of the lie
That killed them?

It is coming, and in Bush's words, We have turned the corner!

The numbers and names of the dead has reached 1,000 as the wounded, climbs above 7,000. At least those are the official numbers. This administration has always had a problem with honest numbers.

But numbers are numb. Numbers are faceless.

On August 10th, Lt. Commander Scott Zellem was killed. He was the pilot who flew Bush onto the aircraft carrier for that banner moment:

Mission Accomplished.

Sgt. Ryan Campbell was killed back in April 2004. His tour would have been over on April 25th but was involuntarily extended.

Go to thememoryhole.org and browse the photos of the wounded and maimed, now in recovery and learning to cope with the loss of limbs and eyes and brain trauma. Peer into the faces of Robert Acosta and Gary Boggs, PFC. Reed Rosenkranz, and Spec. Todd Rauch, Sgt. Gary Yoakam, or Spec. Edward Platt or Kris Atherton.

Find the faces of the dead and wounded, study them carefully and intensely, and what you see is the face of America, the face of faith and dreams, of love for family and home.

If you look closely, you'll also see the face of trust betrayed.

The price of war is not just the dead and wounded. While Bush robs the future by plundering the present, he steals our hearts and hopes. The economics of war is more than money and casualty counts. Ask Lila Lipscomb.

Study their faces, my friend, and you will see the stuff that dreams are made of, dreams that die in the far away dust of lies.

The dreams of men like Bush and Cheney have become the nightmare of America. They revel in the darkness of their chaos toys, and keep score in secret. Their dreams are made of grief and glory, of empires and profit and the bottom line. The ledgers of their lies have no room for the faces of futures lost.

A thousand dreams have died. Thousands of dreams swirl in painful confusion. And America asks, is this what dreams are made of?

Mothers Of The Disappeared

by U2

Midnight, our sons and daughters
Were cut down and taken from us.
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat.

In the wind we hear their laughter
In the rain we see their tears.
Hear their heartbeat, we hear their heartbeat.

Night hangs like a prisoner
Stretched over black and blue.
Hear their heartbeats
We hear their heartbeats.

In the trees our sons stand naked
Through the walls our daughter cry
See their tears in the rainfall.

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It's Kerry's Fault
By John Cory
t r u t h o u t | Perspective
Monday 06 September 2004

For several weeks now, our pampered press corps and millionaire pundits have continued to justify the slime of Swift Boat smears and GOP operatives, by saying that it is John Kerry's fault. Kerry made his Vietnam service the centerpiece of his campaign and therefore it is only fair that folks question that service. This is of course not true, but when has the media been bothered by the truth?

Setting aside the obvious lack of media credibility and its refusal to show the facts and reveal these liars for what they are; the essence of what is being said reminds me of an incident during my working days in Saudi Arabia.

Late one evening, I ran to the corner market for some milk and cereal. The neighborhood is not well lighted and traffic zooms through the intersection and around the corner without concern for other cars or pedestrians.

Driving in Saudi is a contact sport. Crossing streets can be lethal dodge ball, with success keyed to agility and razor-thin timing. This is especially true at night, when many cars fail to turn on their headlights.

Having made my purchase and completed the usual haggle with the shopkeeper over my wristwatch; he liked it and kept insisting I sell it to him whenever I entered his shop; I headed for home.

I heard the car before I saw it, broken muffler rattling and coughing engine, it zipped around the corner. I was in the middle of its path and nowhere to jump. The car slammed on the brakes - too late. I bounced up over the hood and ricocheted off the windshield, skidding to a stunned halt across the blacktop pavement.

The driver burst out of the battered Corolla, an older Saudi gentleman, pacing and shouting at me as I rolled on to my knees. He sounded angry and distraught and I felt sorry for him, for the fear and guilt he must be experiencing.

"I'm okay," I said, signaling that I was only bruised and slightly scraped. I tried to reassure him, but his shouting grew louder and angrier.

A small crowd of men had gathered now, and they were laughing. I was shaken and confused by the old man's fury and the crowd's laughter.

A Policeman appeared, sized up the situation and pointed at me. "American?" he asked. I nodded. He turned to the ranting driver and they exchanged a flurry of Arabic. I kept telling the officer that I was thankfully okay, and the old man needn't worry.

The Policeman turned back to me with a smile. "You are okay?" I assured him I was just bruised and shaken, but not seriously injured. He smiled again. "That is good, because he says this is your fault."

Seeing the scowl and shock on my face, the Policeman nodded at the old man, "He says it is your fault - that you are a foreigner. If you were not in his country, walking across his road at night, he would not have run into you. By being here, you have caused him to have an accident."

And there it was, that Alice In Wonderland moment, that Red Queen logic of life in the magic Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. If my ribs had not hurt so badly, I would have laughed.

This is the GOP smear machine logic of John Kerry's patriotic service to America. If John Kerry had just not shown up and been heroic, well, there would be no issue. Just look at George Bush.

You see, the GOP doesn't mind sending Americans to war; they just don't want to hear about it afterwards: especially if you survive, and become a force for truth and peace.

This is the level of political discourse and media coverage today. Pretty ugly.

But you have to understand - it is John Kerry's fault - he keeps showing up for his country.

Shame on the Swift Boat Veterans for Bush
John Kerry saved my life. Now his heroism is being questioned.

BY JIM RASSMANN
Tuesday, August 10, 2004 12:01 a.m. EDT

I came to know Lt. John Kerry during the spring of 1969. He and his swift boat crew assisted in inserting our Special Forces team and our Chinese Nung soldiers into operational sites in the Cau Mau Peninsula of South Vietnam. I worked with him on many operations and saw firsthand his leadership, courage and decision-making ability under fire.

On March 13, 1969, John Kerry's courage and leadership saved my life.
To read whole article Click Here

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The Ghosts of War
By John Cory
t r u t h o u t | Perspective
Thursday 12 August 2004

"They say, the first casualty of war is truth. They are wrong. The first casualty of war is reality. In war, the unreal becomes real, and truth becomes a lie."
'The Ville,' John Cory
It haunts us still. Three-and-a-half decades later, America cannot stop picking the scab of Vietnam. The wound has never healed and has now grown infected and poisoned. Plato said:

"Only the dead have seen the end of war."

The White House could stop this Swift Boat slander, but won't. George Bush needs the venomous attacks on John Kerry to distract the media and public from the failures of his leadership, and from the growing stench of Iraq.

There are veterans of all conflicts, who fall in love with the terrible sweet beauty of war. Men who polish their armor long after the parades have faded. Their glory is not in duty, honor, and country; but in the carnival mirrors of their own warped reflections. These are veterans who march with swagger and blaring brass, like small boys struggling to be seen and heard.

There are veterans who have paid passage through the heart of darkness; who dedicate their lives to eliminating the horrors that hide behind their eyes at night, when they dream. These veterans testify to the unreal and repulsive acts of war that forever wound the soul.

And there are veterans who let it go and never look back again. Not that they forget, they simply choose not to dwell in those memories. They seek peace of mind and hope.

But war is a ghost that haunts the living. Like guilt, war is the gift that keeps on giving, to paraphrase a song.

This GOP-funded anti-Kerry veterans group is getting lots of free publicity by major networks and cable shows, and lots of discussion about "truth" and "facts" and all the focus-group tested words. This is a group that prefers to tongue-polish the buttons of a war dodger and champagne National Guard frat boy in an effort to restore their battle honor by tarnishing a fellow veteran.

There were stories of Vietnam veterans returning to America, only to be spat upon by people who viewed them as an evil extension of a dishonest and war-mongering government.

Now fellow veterans spit upon one another.

America, love it or leave it-is back with a vengeance. Body counts are once again the measurement of successful warfare. Restricted VA benefits for the wounded, bodies returned in the dead of night and shielded from American eyes, a false and misleading premise for war, that daily, kills America's youth; John Wayne-patriotism is glorified and peaceniks are vilified: all of the old ghosts are back.

If Swift Boat veterans are truly concerned with truth and honor, perhaps they should focus on the numerous articles about Iraq veterans being billed for their hospital stays and having their disabilities downgraded so the government won't have to pay as much as they should; of veterans having to fight the VA system for benefits; of troops being short of bullets; of families having to take up collections for the purchase of body armor for their loved-ones, because the government fails to supply them; of Humvees poorly armored to protect our soldiers; and of course, the stories of high ranking officers who live well and distant from the grunts who bleed and die in America's name.

No, these men care not for the present, only their past. They have no concern for the living, only the fading of their glory days. They remember Vietnam through the prism of their own partisan patriotism, not the painful lessons learned by all who served.

My Lai was the result of a few bad apples. Abu Ghraib is not the same. Zippo raids are not the same as Iraqi civilians watching their homes destroyed by American forces. Innocent Iraqi civilian deaths are not the same as innocent Vietnamese deaths. The dishonest and misleading policies of LBJ and McNamara are not the same as Bush and Cheney and Wolfowitz.

Nothing is the same, even as nothing changes.

The ghosts of war are chained to America's ankles, as it marches onward.

I have a poster from the days of Vietnam. I have kept it all these years as a reminder of the politics behind war. It is a photograph of Arlington Cemetery, neat orderly rows of white headstones, on green grass, below a sunny sky. The caption reads:

We were a divided military, in Vietnam-lifers and draftees. We chewed the mud together when mortars fell, and clawed our way to each other through bullets and bullshit. No one questioned the other's patriotism. We were grunts, doing our duty, and politics be-damned on the battlefield.

The ghosts of war never need resurrection because they never die.

The poison of this Swift Boat organization does not hide the political puppetry behind their appalling deeds. Nor does it hide the sad and shameful embrace they and the White House have chosen.

As I said, the first casualty of war is not truth-it is reality. The unreal becomes real, and the truth becomes a lie.

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The Good Parent
By John Cory
t r u t h o u t | Perspective
Friday 03 September 2004

"It struck me as I was speaking to people in Bangor, Maine, that this president sees America as we think about a 10-year-old child," Card said. "I know as a parent I would sacrifice all for my children."
-- Andrew Card interview in Boston Globe
I came across the above quote this morning, and felt the pangs of my long ago childhood.

After watching the Zell Miller/Dick Cheney show last night, and hearing their vitriolic version of this campaign, I tried to figure out what Bush would say tonight, and then it hit me. The Miller/Cheney routine was the "bad parent-good parent" introduction, so Bush could show up in the role of the gentle understanding and kindly guardian. That's what this was all about.

I was not so much born into the great American family, but more or less left on its doorstep. I was a knock-around kid, passed through the welfare and foster home system until adoption. But that adoption was anything but salvation.

The old woman, who raised me for the next ten years, was a devoutly religious woman and respected citizen, who baked bread for sick neighbors and organized potluck dinners for mourning church members and their families during funeral occasions. She was also a dark disciplinarian with an absolute sense of right and wrong; a side that was never revealed to the outside world.

Her idea of discipline, would today qualify as criminal. In those days, it was a secret. And one of her favorite punishments for failing to live up to her standards or violating one of a multitude of life rules, was especially effective on a kid looking for a home.

Grades that were less than A+, childish lies about eating forbidden cookies, or just rowdy behavior, would incur the car trip at night. Loaded into the backseat of the gray Oldsmobile, I huddled on the floor, not allowed to look out the windows until she stopped the car.

Upon arrival at the secret destination, I was told to get out. Rolling down her window, the old woman scolded me for whatever sin I had committed. "If you can find your way back, I'll think about letting you in the house. But you have to learn to live by our rules and our standards. I can protect you from the world, but only if you adhere to what's right and good." And then she drove off.

I was nine years old, watching the taillights disappear into the darkness, in a neighborhood I didn't know, on a cold winter night street, in a frightening world.

Sometimes I fantasized, through tear-streaked eyes; picking a house whose mellow glowing light seemed to warm the darkness, that if I rang the doorbell, maybe they would love to have a boy like me. Maybe I wouldn't be lost and alone any more.

Of course, the old woman always returned, and warnings of how she was the only one who could protect me brought my promise to be good. Life went on until the next sin.

It would be years before I learned that real parents did not abuse or threaten to abandon their children. That there were parents who actually encouraged their children to go out into the world, and be rowdy, and bend the rules, and explore.

Watching and listening to this GOP convention and the Bush administration, reminds me of that long ago childhood. You're either with us, or against us. You either belong, or you don't. We'll give you all the love you deserve, as long as you earn it by doing what we say. The world is a dangerous place and only we can save you from yourself, and the evil that is out there. Anything less, well, you're on your own.

No matter what George Bush says in his speech tonight, the fear mongering and the self-righteous hypocrisy of the last three days echo across America.

And like that nine-year-old kid of long ago, I wonder if the warm light inside that Kerry house might have a place for a boy like me.

John Cory is a Vietnam veteran. He received the Purple Heart and Bronze Star with V device, 1969 - 1970 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the tyrant has disposed of foreign enemies by conquest or treaty, and there is nothing more to fear from them, then he is always stirring up some war or other, in order that the people may require a leader.
--Plato

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