Define Fear and Courage

Blaise Bellew writes: Today being 9-11-09, I was sent a “Remember 911″ slide show that asked me to “Define Fear and Courage.” These are some of my thoughts:

Forget 911… no. Never. Forget Pearl Harbor… never. Forget the assassination of JFK… never. Forget the assassination of Bobby Kennedy… never.

But did the American People learn from 911? Its hard to say Yes. Has the Economic Bomb been good for America? I think not. Has the loss of life in those countries been worth it? Probably not because of the way we have gone about this war. Have the children that have lost a parent benefitted from this action taken by a small group of wealthy people? How about all the men and women that have lost their jobs, lost their businesses, lost their homes because of the extended tours? Have they seen a reason for all this? I won’t call the leaders that started all of this “Americans” or “Patriots” because the troops sent were simply not enough, under-trained, and under-supported. In all the years, did they get “The” guy? So what, in all this flag waving, rah-rah-don’t-forget, is this all about, really?

This is all about retribution and making money. It does not matter to the guys who started this that there are young men like your son that come home changed and hurt. They are fodder for a rich man’s gain. Not one of the Viet Nam vets I have known or worked with have been or are healthy. This I speak of not lightly nor without great respect for the men and women who walk away after that one last look of their loved ones, knowing that it can all change in an instant and probably will… the little girl or boy that doesn’t know who that stranger is that has returned after great anticipation. This isn’t “four quarters then hit the locker room to clean up” so you can go out for a few beers.

Yeah, I fucking remember. I remember the lies — the lies that were fabricated and the liars that spoke the lies to get this all started, and I remember who it affects. Everyday, I remember. Everyday.

One of my ancestors starved to death in the Andersonville Prison fighting for the North. He was the only male of that generation. He left a mother and child behind to fend for themselves in the 1860’s. He is on the Memorial.

Everyday, I remember. Everyday.

My father never spoke of the war… he is on the Memorial. WWII was spent on a destroyer in the Pacific. Of what little he ever said was that they made it through two typhoons. They were subjected to Kamikazes for 160 days straight. And stationed in post-war Tokyo, no one was allowed to know what the Japanese did with the reparations money. No one. Not servicemen, not civilians. He did say that the busiest place in Tokyo was the Tokyo Stock Exchange and that the “Big Board” was lit up by American companies being speculated on.

Everyday, I remember. Everyday.

When the North Koreans overran the Choisin Resevoir and all the American Forces, my father was the Chief Naval Admitting Officer for the Navy. His job was to decide who gets what level of care — who lives, who has the most chance of survival and who doesn’t. He was one of the privileged that served their country in “the hour of its greatest need” during WWII and signed a document that if there was an emergency he could be called up on very short notice. Underline “very short.” He got that notice. Four days later he left his young wife and children after literally handing over the keys, to the building manager, of his new and just-started Beverly Hills Eye Surgery practice. He did not have the time to sell his practice. He reported ASAP because there was an Emergency.

Everyday, I remember. Everyday.

My remembrance is deeper than what I had for breakfast. My remembrance is deeper than my hair appointment. Yes, I remember.

Everyday, I remember. Everyday.