Will Tears Ever Stop?
By John Gerassi
Guest Contributor
Article Dated 9/24/2001 |
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I can't help crying. As soon as I see a person on
TV telling the heart-rendering story of the tragic fate of their loved-one in the World
Trade Center disaster, I can't control my tears. But then I wonder why didn't I cry when
our troops wiped out some 5,000 poor people in Panama's El Chorillo neighborhood on the
excuse of looking for Noriega. Our leaders knew he was hiding elsewhere but we destroyed
El Chorillo because the folks living there were nationalists who wanted the U.S. out of
Panama completely.
Worse still, why didn't I cry when we killed two million Vietnamese, mostly innocent
peasants, in a war which its main architect, Defense Secretary Robert McNamara, knew we
could not win? When I went to give blood the other day, I spotted a Cambodian doing the
same, three up in the line, and that reminded me: Why didn't I cry when we helped Pol Pot
butcher another million by giving him arms and money, because he was opposed to "our
enemy" (who eventually stopped the killing fields)?
To stay up but not cry that evening, I decided to go to a movie. I chose Lumumba, at
the Film Forum, and again I realized that I hadn't cried when our government arranged for
the murder of the Congo's only decent leader, to be replaced by General Mobutu, a greedy,
vicious, murdering dictator. Nor did I cry when the CIA arranged for the overthrow of
Indonesia's Sukarno, who had fought the Japanese World War II invaders and established a
free independent country, and then replaced him by another General, Suharto, who had
collaborated with the Japanese and who proceeded to execute at least half a million
"Marxists" (in a country where, if folks had ever heard of Marx, it was at best
Groucho)?
I watched TV again last night and cried again at the picture of that wonderful
now-missing father playing with his two-month old child. Yet when I remembered the
slaughter of thousands of Salvadorans, so graphically described in the Times by Ray
Bonner, or the rape and murder of those American nuns and lay sisters there, all
perpetrated by CIA trained and paid agents, I never shed a tear.
I even cried when I heard how brave had been Barbara Olson, wife of the Solicitor
General, whose political views I detested. But I didn't cry when the US invaded that
wonderful tiny Caribbean nation of Grenada and killed innocent citizens who hoped to get a
better life by building a tourist airfield, which my government called proof of a Russian
base, but then finished building once the island was secure in the US camp again.
Why didn't I cry when Ariel Sharon, today Israel's prime minister, planned, then
ordered, the massacre of two thousand poor Palestinians in the refugee camps of Sabra and
Shatila, the same Sharon who, with such other Irgun and Stern Gang terrorists become prime
ministers as Begin and Shamir, killed the wives and children of British officers by
blowing up the King David hotel where they were billeted?
I guess one only cries only for one's own. But is that a reason to demand vengeance on
anyone who might disagree with us? That's what Americans seem to want. Certainly our
government does, and so too most of our media. Do we really believe that we have a right
to exploit the poor folk of the world for our benefit, because we claim we are free and
they are not?
So now we're going to go to war. We are certainly entitled to go after those who killed
so many of our innocent brothers and sisters. And we'll win, of course. Against Bin Laden,
against The Taliban, against Iraq, and against whoever and whatever. In the process we'll
kill a few innocent children again. Children who have no clothes for the coming winter. No
houses to shelter them. And no schools to learn why they are guilty, at two or four or six
years old. Maybe Evangelists Falwell and Robertson will claim their death is good because
they weren't Christians, and maybe some State Department spokesperson will tell the world
that they were so poor that they're now better off.
And then what? Will we now be able to run the world the way we want to? With all the
new legislation establishing massive surveillance of you and me, our CEOs will certainly
be pleased that the folks demonstrating against globalization will now be cowed for ever.
No more riots in Seattle, Quebec or Genoa. Peace at last.
Until next time. Who will it be then? A child grown-up who survived our massacre of his
innocent parents in El Chorillo? A Nicaraguan girl who learned that her doctor mother and
father were murdered by a bunch of gangsters we called democratic contras who read in the
CIA handbook that the best way to destroy the only government which was trying to give the
country's poor a better lot was to kill its teachers, health personnel, and government
farm workers? Or maybe it will be a bitter Chilean who is convinced that his whole family
was wiped out on order of Nixon's Secretary of State Henry Kissinger who could never tell
the difference between a communist and a democratic socialist or even a nationalist.
When will we Americans learn that as long as we keep trying to run the world for the
sake of the bottom line, we will suffer someone's revenge? No war will ever stop terrorism
as long as we use terror to have our way. So I stopped crying because I stopped watching
TV. I went for a walk. Just four houses from mine. There, a crowd had congregated to lay
flowers and lit candles in front of our local firehouse. It was closed. It had been closed
since Tuesday because the firemen, a wonderful bunch of friendly guys who always greeted
neighborhood folks with smiles and good cheer, had rushed so fast to save the victims of
the first tower that they perished with them when it collapsed. And I cried again.
So I said to myself when I wrote this, don't send it; some of your students,
colleagues, and neighbor's will hate you, maybe even harm you. But then I put on the TV
again, and there was Secretary of State Powell telling me that it will be okay to go to
war against these children, these poor folks, these US-haters, because we are civilized
and they are not. So I decided to risk it. Maybe, reading this, one more person will ask:
Why are so many people in the world ready to die to give us a taste of what we give them? For
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