Jun. 7th, 2004

urocyon: Grey fox crossing a stream (Default)
Note: I started this yesterday afternoon, but had to leave it because Ingvar was on call and needed the keyboard. (Yep, we're still sharing one for multiple machines, and my main box is unlikely to be here until after the trip in June/July.) At any rate, I'm no longer so worked up--and anyone who knows me well is familiar with how I can get worked up ;)--but still thought I'd post.

The madness of recent goings-on have been brought even closer to home the past few days, as publicity around the anniversary of the Normandy invasion has stepped up.

Bedford's example keeps popping into mind--and, unfortunately, it's far from isolated. Conscripted or called up from the Reserves or National Guard*, Southerners--but we hillbillies in particular--have been repeatedly used as cannon fodder at ludicrously disproportionate rates. This shows no sign of stopping. We may be moronic and morally suspect, but we certainly can fight (and die and be maimed, naturally). Even my grandmother who, erm, would like to have rose-colored lenses implanted on the front of her head has come to recognise this phenomenon, among others, on her own recently. I guess she's seen too much to deny it anymore.

It's difficult to ignore what looks for all the world like the near continual evacuation of West Virginia and Southwest Virginia by military convoy, practically every time one ventures onto one of the Interstates--both during the Bosnian mess and during this one. It's difficult to ignore that most families you know have at least one member in active service, many of whom have not fared well. Short of living in a cave with no contact with the outside world, it was impossible for even the truly oblivious to ignore the endless national and local interviews with Jessica Lynch's (local) torn-up family, as one quite prominent example.

Now, it is more than slightly disturbing that seeing and feeling the effects of an already truly horrible thing quite literally closer to home--directly affecting what I deeply consider "my people"--makes it seems so much worse. That still seems like weak phrasing. Humans do tend to react that way, I suppose. There's the irritation of that soupçon of good old U.S. governmental genocide ** thrown in, as well--but I really shouldn't get started on that one. Enough other people have done that at least I don't feel completely paranoid, at any rate.

Ah well, I suppose I shouldn't get myself worked up further, particularly about what is triggering me. *wry smile* As it is, I'm bad enough about worrying about "all the politicians makin' crazy sounds. . .And all the dead bodies piled up in mounds" as Lou Reed aptly put it. *g*

* The question of the traditionally high rate of people actually signing up is a complex one, too much so to go into here.

** We've been compared more than once to the Kurds, one important point being that we blend better superficially.

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