War and such

So, I was reading this article this morning in the New York Times about the troops in Afghanistan, and it reminded me of a poem that I read on Sunday. Both of them also resonate with how I have been feeling about this endless, amorphous war in the Middle East. Everyone seems to know a soldier who has been deployed in this war, and yet there is a feeling of distance about it, as though it doesn't really affect us. If we really thought it affected us, I suspect we'd be more intent on ending it. Of course, it does affect us, in a number of ways: the death toll, the mental health of returning soldiers, the ever-increasing national debt, etc. But somehow we've been numbed to these effects, and to any real sense that we might bring an end to the war. I'm probably going to be called unpatriotic and told I'm not supporting the troops for saying so, but I tend to be of the opinion that trying to keep them alive and emotionally functional is being supportive.

(And then there are the various race and class issues involved in the military, which are mentioned in both the article and the poem, but which I am just not feeling the mental stamina to address. Another day, another post.)

the con job
by Charles Bukowski

the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here.
the U.S. ground troops were
largely
made up of
Blacks, Mexicans and poor
whites
most of whom had joined
the military
because it was the only job
they could find.

the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here
and the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
as on tv
and on the radio
the fat white rich newscasters
first told us all about
it
and then the fat rich white
analysts
told us
why
again
and again
and again
on almost every
tv and radio station
almost every minute
day and night
because
the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
at dawn
in a desert land
far enough away from
here.