"those people"

Stopped at a red light, sitting behind a huge SUV with a "US ARMY RANGER" bumper-sticker, I pushed my face deep into my hands - and screamed. At the top of my lungs.

Overwhelmed by frustration, I realized how insignificant and impotent a little creature I really am - this war is unending; no matter how much I disagree with it. I can vote, write, protest, dialog, and reasonably use all of my civil liberties; all to no avail.

Inundated by war, I am currently taking the classes "Psychology of war" and "Peace and social justice." The day of my car-incident, I had watched 90 minutes from a video that graphically showed combatants being shot in the face, burned alive, drenched in blood, coughing, choking, crying and then - in my next class had a 45 minute lecture about how an obscure Central American government committed genocide to their indigenous people by burning them alive on skewers over pits; men, women, and children all killed alike.

But the clincher (by far) came when I stopped to support the SMU chemistry club. They were selling homemade bath salts and chap sticks as a club fundraiser, and even though I have no interest in chemistry, nor a whole lot of extra money to throw around, I decided to be a nice lady and buy a tube of Chap Stick.

Making small talk, the chem club rep handed me my change, thanked me for my support, and then asked me if I belonged to any clubs myself. I smiled, said that I was on student government, but that I was often active with the SMU Social Action Club. Social Action Club is a student group that often organizes public speakers or demonstrations with the theme of social justice and peace. A really successful recent event was when SMU SAC invited retired Amy Chaplain James Yee, author of "For God and Country" to speak with the Olympia community about his experience working as a Muslim chaplain at Guantanamo Bay. Yee was later subject to harassment, imprisonment, and public humiliation for trumped up false charges created by the state department - only after Yee had established a reputation for trying to bring about reasonable systemic reform at Guantanamo Bay so that all inmates (including some Muslim children which are being held captive for months and years on accusations of being "terrorists") could have clean, humane living conditions.

I smiled back at the chem club guy, fingered the Chap Stick before sliding it into my pocket, then prepared to continue on my way. But not without a word of chem club guy's wisdom. "You know what? You know what I think? I think that those people who stand out there, protesting, in front of the capitol? I think that those people just need to shut up already and stop talking about the war, because they just don't know what they are talking about. I was in Afghanistan; I've got buddies in Iraq right now. And that protesting bullshit really pisses me off - I REALLY HATE THOSE PEOPLE!"

An imaginary flashing light should have automatically come on at that moment and warned me to get the hell outta that situation, but something foolish inside me preserved hope for the cause of tolerance. Extending my arm across the table for a handshake, I calmly said to the man "I am so sorry, for I have been very rude and not introduced myself. My name is Mo. I often protest for peace. I am one of 'those people' you just mentioned. I want to grow and better understand you and your opinions, and honor your service to our country. Also, I truly want bring the troops peaceably home. So, I just wanted to tell you that, I don't hate you. And I hope that some day you decide that you don't hate me. "

Deaf ears.

But "those people" this and "damn liberals" that, and 30 minutes of speaking without communicating. I squatted beside his chair, listened to every word he had to say, tried to illustrate our shared beliefs - like that we both think genocidal dictators should be removed from power, or that we both want the soldiers to be giver safe armaments, or that we both just wanted this damn war over. But I was steamrolled - his mind was closed and no amount of compassion could open it at that moment. I gave up when I realized that I would be late to work if I allowed myself to take even one more insult, so I excused myself, and left feeling wholly shat upon.

Understandably, by the time I got to that red light, looked up and saw a gas-guzzling SUV decorated proudly with army paraphernalia (my mind still a sea of images of human skulls exploding as bullets ripped young men's frightened faces in half, Burmese children frying alive over a pit of fire, and having a US Soldier call me the scum of the earth) I was overwhelmed with the evils of war. I cracked, I screamed, my limit had been reached.

There is no resolution to this story. But I guess that is the theme of our Iraq conquest, now isn’t it?