Dear Mr. President,
I am an ordinary American, facing the same set of difficulties a lot of other Americans face today.
The cost of my family's health insurance has more than doubled in the last five years, as well as out of pocket costs. With multiple pre-existing conditions in our home, (testicular cancer, rheumatoid arthritis & respiratory illness) we have amassed considerable debt and remain fearful of losing our insurance altogether.
We see our family, friends and neighbors struggling to make ends meet, some without access to health-care at all. We worry about job-security and are saddened by the inability of our elected representatives to accomplish meaningful reform in a timely, cooperative manner.
These are desperate times, Mr. President...but the struggling economy, sky-rocketing health care costs, and lack of civility in Washington are not what keep me awake at night.
What worries me most, sir, is that America is continuing the practice of indefinate-detention, maintaining black-sites and now openly excusing the practice of torture. And though I am willing to accept a lot of other short-comings where our nation is concerned, this is a deal-breaker for me Mr. President.
It's a deal-breaker because we can talk all we want about the principles and ideals of our country sir, but if we refuse to address our use of torture and indefinate-detention - these are only words and they are MEANINGLESS.
The world is watching us closely now, to see if we have indeed changed our course. The world is waiting to see if we will restore those principles and seek justice for those who have been treated wrongly.
The corrupt endeavors of the previous administration are well documented. Individuals within the Bush White House have stated publically that "threat-levels" were manipulated to exploit the fears of the American people. Others have admitted that Iraq was invaded on false pretenses.
We also know that individuals who once claimed torture was necessary, limited and successful, now admit they were lying. Many of the detainees who were tortured turned out to be completely innocent of any wrong-doing, and have since been released. Others are still waiting for a chance to prove their innocence. How long must THEY wait, Mr. President?
What else is there to do now, sir, but address the illegality and immorality of these practices? If we are to continue declaring ourselves a free nation, a just nation, we must give remaining detainees the same due process we would ANY other prisoner. Our judicial system should be up to this critical task. If it is not, then we can no longer declare ourselves a just nation. And certainly no one is free.
Please, Mr. President, I urge you to call for a Truth Commission to publically address the criminality of torture, and to require individuals of the Bush Administration to answer for their part in these practices.
I realize many of your opponents will claim that such an inquiry is politically motivated. But these same individuals are also the ones who regularly and openly support the practice of torture. This is precisely why we must face them down and require them to publically answer for their part in these crimes.
We can lay no claim to freedom or justice until we see this through. And I do not want to call myself an American anymore if we are unwilling to protect and defend such a fundamental principle of our democracy. It is time to put ALL politics aside, and do what is right.
Sincerely,
Amanda Goode
31 January 2010
20 January 2010
Three Kinds of Medicine: A Monologue
The best kind of medicine is the kind that actually cures you. This kind of medicine is extremely rare and very expensive. It is also only available to some people, so if they offer you this kind of medicine - take it. Show up early, wait in line and dance for it. Take it no matter how big the needle is, how long the recouperation or how noticible the scars when it is over.
Take it even if it means you have to sit, chained to a pump for days and days, watching it drip slowly into your veins. Even if the concoction is so venemous it melts everything inside you that isn't tied down. Take it even if it means you have to lay on the tiles of the bathroom floor for months, listening to the sound of the world going on outside, or for a gentle knock at the door.
Take it even if it leaves you nothing but the ability to be grateful for the simplest of things....a cup of warm broth...a saltine cracker...a kind word. Take it because it will make you grateful for these things. And you will be amazed at how good they really are. More filling than steak, sweeter than ice cream, softer than velvet.
The worst kind of medicine is the kind that will only treat your symptoms. This kind of medicine lulls you into a false sense of security and gives you a bunch of new symptoms. New symptoms that require more medicine. This kind of medicine gets offered to everyone. They pass it out like candy at Halloween. We bottle feed it to our babies and spoon feed it to our elders. This kind of medicine is packaged in brightly colored boxes and hand delivered to doorsteps for 19.95 plus shipping and handling.
Guards pass this kind of medicine through iron bars, teachers write it on blackboards, and ministers speak it over shiny gold pulpits just before they pass around the collection plate. Desperate people peddle it on street corners, or shout it from soapboxes or fire it through the barrel of a gun and powerful people put it in textbooks, broadcast it on airwaves or meet behind closed doors and write it into law. And the people who own everything...they just drop it like bombs and spray it from overhead like pesticide. They blanket the fields and mountains with it, or dump it into the oceans and rivers.
But nobody ever escapes this kind of medicine.
The last kind of medicine is the kind they will offer you when all the other kinds of medicine have finally made you so sick that no one can fool you into believing that any medicine will make you well again. This kind of medicine serves only one purpose. This kind of medicine helps you forget. It erodes the memory of all other medicines and their side-effects. It obscures any remaining images of your former self and clouds any reflection of your decay. It erases the lines between you and the cosmos.
So when they offer you this kind of medicine...and they will surely offer you this kind of medicine - REFUSE IT! Hand it back to them and say you've had a long-standing appointment with your pain. Tell them you invited suffering over for dinner and a vicious game of Scrabble. Tell them that you and Death have made plans to flip through the pages of your address book and call old friends...or look through the Rand McNally Atlas together and weep over the beautiful places you always wanted, but somehow never got the chance to visit. Welcome the agony....it will set you free.
Take it even if it means you have to sit, chained to a pump for days and days, watching it drip slowly into your veins. Even if the concoction is so venemous it melts everything inside you that isn't tied down. Take it even if it means you have to lay on the tiles of the bathroom floor for months, listening to the sound of the world going on outside, or for a gentle knock at the door.
Take it even if it leaves you nothing but the ability to be grateful for the simplest of things....a cup of warm broth...a saltine cracker...a kind word. Take it because it will make you grateful for these things. And you will be amazed at how good they really are. More filling than steak, sweeter than ice cream, softer than velvet.
The worst kind of medicine is the kind that will only treat your symptoms. This kind of medicine lulls you into a false sense of security and gives you a bunch of new symptoms. New symptoms that require more medicine. This kind of medicine gets offered to everyone. They pass it out like candy at Halloween. We bottle feed it to our babies and spoon feed it to our elders. This kind of medicine is packaged in brightly colored boxes and hand delivered to doorsteps for 19.95 plus shipping and handling.
Guards pass this kind of medicine through iron bars, teachers write it on blackboards, and ministers speak it over shiny gold pulpits just before they pass around the collection plate. Desperate people peddle it on street corners, or shout it from soapboxes or fire it through the barrel of a gun and powerful people put it in textbooks, broadcast it on airwaves or meet behind closed doors and write it into law. And the people who own everything...they just drop it like bombs and spray it from overhead like pesticide. They blanket the fields and mountains with it, or dump it into the oceans and rivers.
But nobody ever escapes this kind of medicine.
The last kind of medicine is the kind they will offer you when all the other kinds of medicine have finally made you so sick that no one can fool you into believing that any medicine will make you well again. This kind of medicine serves only one purpose. This kind of medicine helps you forget. It erodes the memory of all other medicines and their side-effects. It obscures any remaining images of your former self and clouds any reflection of your decay. It erases the lines between you and the cosmos.
So when they offer you this kind of medicine...and they will surely offer you this kind of medicine - REFUSE IT! Hand it back to them and say you've had a long-standing appointment with your pain. Tell them you invited suffering over for dinner and a vicious game of Scrabble. Tell them that you and Death have made plans to flip through the pages of your address book and call old friends...or look through the Rand McNally Atlas together and weep over the beautiful places you always wanted, but somehow never got the chance to visit. Welcome the agony....it will set you free.
18 January 2010
All the Wrong Fucking Words Are Profane
"The problem with Iraq see..." said the man "...is that they haven't allowed our military to do what needed to be done from the very beginning. Which is turn the entire place into a glass parking lot." And in spite of the afternoon heat of September, my blood went suddenly cold and my entire body shuddered visibly. I should have known better. We were, after all, on his turf. A homeschooler's playgroup, on a League City, Texas playground....really - what the fuck was I thinking?
I can't recall what started it. But from that mind-bending sentance on, all I could think about were the films, articles and first-hand accounts of post-invasion Baghdad. This was not death and destruction enough? But those are all things I am sure to this very day, this man has never bothered to look at or read. Yet here we were...Me: heart-pounding, teeth-clamping to tongue, choking back profanity. Him: unapologetically exhorting complete annihilation, and chuckling about it. "Oh, I'm not saying do it without warning...heh..heh...you know, drop some leaflets. Give 'em three days to pack-up and clear out...then bomb the hell out of it!" Then he just...sort of...shrugged. Yeah. No biggie.
The coffee and milk I chugged in the car now sat churning in my stomach, my palms sweated, and I trembled. I even briefly contemplated leaning over and ever so politely puking on the ground next to our table. I wonder if he would have even noticed? But even if he had, this "Christian" man, I am sure, would have assumed no responsibility in the matter.
Mind you, I actually did know better. I grew up here. I grew up knowing and listening to LOTS of people like this. But one incredible husband, four years of college and ten years in the Pacific Northwest had been enough to detox me from those "formative" years. No way was this conversation a good idea. But times being what they were, I got cocky and thought I could handle it. After all...I had been keeping up with things.
But there's no talking to folks like this, their minds are made up. Their reasoning is inscribed neatly, chapter and verse, on their cold, dead hearts. This is all just part of God's plan...which if not for a few, spineless, godless people like myself, they would have already managed to execute. Fitting word, execute.
The short of it? I stumbled all over myself trying to convince this man...this "Christian" man, he had no claim to the high-ground whilst advocating something so completely immoral. Never mind all the information about Iraq he lacked. But if I had this moment back today, I tell you, I'm almost positive I would just unclench my teeth and free all those curdled profanities. Because they are still hung up in the back of my throat today. "Fuck you, pal." I long to say, each time we nod politely from opposite ends of the playground. "May all our lovely children somehow escape the suffering you so casually invite on the children of Iraq. Heh...heh...yeah...that's right, I said FUCK you!"
What neither of us knew on that sweltering September day was that Hurricane Ike was days away from rearranging the entire landscape around us for miles and miles and miles. And do you know what? That asshole actually had the audacity to complain about it. All the wrong fucking words are profane.
I can't recall what started it. But from that mind-bending sentance on, all I could think about were the films, articles and first-hand accounts of post-invasion Baghdad. This was not death and destruction enough? But those are all things I am sure to this very day, this man has never bothered to look at or read. Yet here we were...Me: heart-pounding, teeth-clamping to tongue, choking back profanity. Him: unapologetically exhorting complete annihilation, and chuckling about it. "Oh, I'm not saying do it without warning...heh..heh...you know, drop some leaflets. Give 'em three days to pack-up and clear out...then bomb the hell out of it!" Then he just...sort of...shrugged. Yeah. No biggie.
The coffee and milk I chugged in the car now sat churning in my stomach, my palms sweated, and I trembled. I even briefly contemplated leaning over and ever so politely puking on the ground next to our table. I wonder if he would have even noticed? But even if he had, this "Christian" man, I am sure, would have assumed no responsibility in the matter.
Mind you, I actually did know better. I grew up here. I grew up knowing and listening to LOTS of people like this. But one incredible husband, four years of college and ten years in the Pacific Northwest had been enough to detox me from those "formative" years. No way was this conversation a good idea. But times being what they were, I got cocky and thought I could handle it. After all...I had been keeping up with things.
But there's no talking to folks like this, their minds are made up. Their reasoning is inscribed neatly, chapter and verse, on their cold, dead hearts. This is all just part of God's plan...which if not for a few, spineless, godless people like myself, they would have already managed to execute. Fitting word, execute.
The short of it? I stumbled all over myself trying to convince this man...this "Christian" man, he had no claim to the high-ground whilst advocating something so completely immoral. Never mind all the information about Iraq he lacked. But if I had this moment back today, I tell you, I'm almost positive I would just unclench my teeth and free all those curdled profanities. Because they are still hung up in the back of my throat today. "Fuck you, pal." I long to say, each time we nod politely from opposite ends of the playground. "May all our lovely children somehow escape the suffering you so casually invite on the children of Iraq. Heh...heh...yeah...that's right, I said FUCK you!"
What neither of us knew on that sweltering September day was that Hurricane Ike was days away from rearranging the entire landscape around us for miles and miles and miles. And do you know what? That asshole actually had the audacity to complain about it. All the wrong fucking words are profane.
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