Haiku

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Prosies

If you like me,
you'll like them too:
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Bitter Girl
Dooce
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Green Fairy
Jay
Jeanette Winterson
Jen Langley
Maganda
Sooz
Zeldman

Happy Veteran's Day. A.K.A. Armistice Day. What's that, you say? You didn't know it was a holiday, but you were wondering why the dry cleaner was closed and all those cops were downtown standing around traffic barriers? Yes, poppets, that's right. It's time for the holiday originally created to celebrate the veterans of World War I. Remember World War I? Also known at the Great War, or the War to End All Wars. Or maybe that was World War II.

Ha. Whoever named it that was overly optimistic. We just kept getting bigger and better with our wars. And then, when we got sick of having wars, we decided to just have arbitrary military actions. Korea. Vietnam. The Gulf War. Afghanistan. Iraq.

And don't forget those numerous sneaky attempts to destabilize regimes we don't like. The Congo. Panama. El Salvador. Chile. Interestingly enough, we seem to favor nasty dictators over genuine reform-minded democratic-type rulers.

And eventually, the honored dead are forgotten. Just as the "honored" veterans of all our past wars are forgotten, oftentimes before they even kick the bucket. Here's a daunting statistic for you: one in five homeless men are veterans. Way to honor our brave fighting men and women!

It doesn't look like that trend is going to change anytime soon, either.

Gulf War Syndrome followed on the heels of complaints about the effects of Agent Orange on Vietnam Vets. That's not even taking into account the psychological effects of participating in a war. They used to call it shellshock. Then they called it battle fatigue. Now they call it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and they've begun to realize that it's a disorder that affects all kinds of people who have lived through intensely traumatic experiences, like sexual abuse and beatings. So we're gladly sending our troops off to do stuff that will affect them the same way a rape might affect an 8-year-old? I just want to make sure I understand.

My mother's long-term boyfriend was a Vietnam Vet. As a result, I got to know a lot of Vietnam Vets. Looking back, I can see how all of them were broken men in one way or another. Some of them used their anger for a good cause—one of my brother's first after-school jobs, actually, was for a Vet's organization that advocated for Agent Orange victims and for the return of POWs/MIAs. I used to wear the POW/MIA patch on my jacket, and had a POW/MIA bracelet. I don't know if that man's remains were ever found.

So when I hear all this rhetoric about supporting our troops, I just cringe. Sure, I support our troops. They're human beings who are in a difficult situation. The military offers economic opportunities to people who often don't have many. I considered joining up myself, drawn by that promise of some chump change for college. But it's no coincidence that the poorest soldiers are usually the first to be sent to the front lines. The first to be affected by these syndromes. The first to be exposed to whatever new chemical is being used in warfare. And the first to end up shellshocked, alcoholic, homeless, or functionally dysfunctional after the war.

I question war's necessity. I suppose I always will. Maybe that's like questioning the necessity of evil, or capitalism. It exists, so therefore it is necessary.