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First of all, I want to give a shout out to all those who are speaking their convictions against the war. With the current climate, media manufactured fears and retaliations, it takes quite an act of courage to speak out today. So, I’m reminded of a bumper sticker I saw recently, which read: Speak your mind, even if your voice cracks. So, I’m representing all those whose voices are just a little too cracky today, but would otherwise be here.
War is hell. I am immensely bothered by the efforts to try to convince us that war is not hell. You know, all the whitewashing and softening of the images and language. Women have been particularly targeted for exploitation in this whitewashing, softening campaign. Just having women soldiers on the front lines is one method. Another prime example is the Pentagon spokeswoman who kept saying she couldn’t refer to the Iraqi paramilitary as such because that was too “nice” a word; she insisted on using the word “thugs.” In the corporate board rooms, women’s emotionality is disdained and considered a liability—in the corporate-backed wars, it’s considered an exploitable asset.
One highly visible woman in this war machine that particularly perturbs me is Condoleeza Rice. How could it happen that a black girl born in 1954 Birmingham, Alabama, whose classmate was bombed to death in the infamous church bombing, grew up to be a stark supporter and proud promoter of the same violence now perpetuated against others? Fundamentally, there’s no difference between murdering children in Birmingham and murdering children in Baghdad.
With that in mind, I wrote this poem. I call it A Prayer for all the Condoleezas.
Carletta Bullock
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