What the war has cost us

This is from 2003, only the younger victims:

Muhsen Numan Mmusa al-Ardawy 2 weeks Male shrapnel Basra 4/1/2003
Frsa Gwad Kathem al-Asbae 1 month Female burns al Zawea 3/23/2003
Bnet Hmed Hade Unes 2 months Female shrapnel Thrmston 4/30/2003
Tabarek Hamzaa Taleb 4 months Male missile al Salaam 3/29/2003
Nethem Hbeb Gsem Alsaade 4 months Female shrapnel al Shala 4/5/2003
Noor Saad 6 months Female missile al Naser 4/5/2003
Mohamad Marzuk Farhan al-Ajme 6 months Male bullets Najaf 4/6/2003
Mustafa Ghanem Johe 6 months Male shrapnel alJazeara 5/4/2003
Aumar Mahamed Jaasem 8 months Male bomb Basra 3/23/2003
Zmen Alabden Klel Thaef 8 months Female aircraft attack al Hmam 3/25/2003
Mohsen Basem Naji 8 months M shrapnel al Jazeara 5/4/2003
Ali Talb Gwad Abas 8 months Male al Jrewea 3/28/2003
Rkea Hmza Mnshad Alhgebe 8 months Female shrapnel Kreat 3/28/2003
Yasser Farouq Foaad 9 months Male broken in his head (bomb) 3/25/2003
Zuhair Alali Hussien 9 months Male as result of shock al Baker 3/25/2003
Fatma Khalel 9 months Female missile al Furat 3/26/2003
Rkea Hmza Mnshad Alhgebe 11 months Female bullets al Shrta 3/26/2003
Mstfa Alaa Gasem Algmale 11 months Male tank attack al Ngef 3/28/2003
Tba Ali Hasan 1 year Female shrapnel al Salhea 3/23/2003
Reath Gbar Sbke 1 year Male tank attack al Tthhea 3/25/2003
Heder Ali Abrahem 1 year Male shrapnel al Thraf 4/4/2003
Mahdi Ahmed Mahdi Alanze 1 year Male shrapnel al Gdeda 4/7/2003
Tmara Mahdi Srhan Alankome 1 year Female shrapnel al Dewanea 3/26/2003
Nathem Hamed Mshkwol 1 year Male shrapnel al Sheok 3/30/2003
Zaid Ali Kadem Hamza 1 year Male shrapnel al Markaz 7/26/2003
Mahdey Abed al-Atheem 1 year Male missile Basra 3/23/2003
Mhmed Fleh Mhasan Alshwele 1 year Male bullets Rfaae 3/26/2003
Lwae Sbar Sbe 2 years Male 3/24/2003
Bahaar Ali Kadem 2 years Male missile al Kefell 3/20/2003
Karar Hameed Abed AZi 2 years Male missile Basra 3/22/2003
zayen al-Aabeadeen 2 years Male bomb Basra 3/23/2003
Fatma Mged Mgde 2 years Female aircraft attack Ngef Hedrea 3/26/2003
Ftema Amged Hmada 2 years Female shrapnel al Malmenm 3/26/2003
Mohamed Aalawi Dadem Hamza 2 years Male shrapnel al Kadeimaa 3/26/2003
Mohamed Ali Kadem Hmzaa 2 years Male bomb al Kadeimaa 3/26/2003
Mrttha Adel Mahdi Alaskrat 2 years Male shrapnel 3/27/2003
Murtadhaa Aayad Taleb 2 years Male missile al Salaam 3/29/2003
Mhmed Adel Abas Alashbal 2 years Male aircraft attack Basra 4/2/2003
Eeaser Farwk Fwad Alkfage 2 years Male shrapnel Kmas 4/4/2003
Lela Nama Mke 2 years Female shrapnel Baghdad 4/5/2003
Hasan Heder Saed 2 years Male shrapnel al Tagi 4/7/2003
Mntther Heder Saed 2 years Male shrapnel al Tagi 4/7/2003
Raafet Sami Hirat 2 years Male tank attack al Rashiddia 4/7/2003
Ikbal Aussien Gameel 2 years Female missile al Sader 4/9/2003
Ahmed Amaar Abed 2 years Male burns al Naseria 4/19/2003
Mohamed Baaker Ali Kadem 2 years Male missile Kefell 7/25/2003
Thha Heder Slman Abed 3 years Female shrapnel al Rfaae 3/25/2003
Zhraa Dham Kasem Fleh 3 years Female burns al Nasrea 3/25/2003
Tkea Hnmed Ghed Fthan 3 years Female Hedrea 3/26/2003
Haider Ali Khelaan 3 years Male shrapnel al Sader 3/28/2003
Heder Gwad Shrge Alarthe 3 years Male tank attack al Krm 3/28/2003
Mstfa Hasan Twfek 3 years Male burns al Gdeda 3/28/2003
Hanan Trky Aoda 3 years Female shrapnel al Wahda 3/30/2003
Zoher Dakhel Lafta al-Daamy 3 years Male burns Karbala 4/1/2003
Amar Mohamed 3 years Male missile al Naser 4/5/2003
Abed Ala Raja'a Abed 3 years Male bullet Baya'a 4/7/2003
Zaynab Mosleh Ali 3 years Female bullet Massyab 4/7/2003
Zenab Heder Saed 3 years Female shrapnel al Tagi 4/7/2003
Zina Ali Hirat 3 years Female tank attack al Rashiddia 4/7/2003
Hussin Ali Hassen Hameed 3 years Male shrapnel al Sader 4/9/2003
Samea Raad Hmod Almoswe 3 years Female shrapnel Thrmston 4/30/2003
Maitham Haseeb Jasem 3 years Male missile al Shulla 5/4/2003
Ali Shaker Abed al-Hassan 4 years Male missile Basra 3/22/2003
Kfran Alaa Krem 4 years Female aircraft attack al Mhmod 3/24/2003
Rream Abd Alslam Shnn 4 years Female shrapnel al Shewk 3/24/2003
Mhmed Kathem Abd Hashem 4 years Male shrapnel al Thhea 3/25/2003
Fatma Aesa Atea Albsare 4 years Female tank attack al Gmalea 3/26/2003
Hsen Fleh Mhsen Brea Alshwele 4 years M bullets Stret 3/26/2003
Alk Mhmed Hgem Alarean 4 years Female burns al Nser 3/27/2003
Abd Ala Hsen Lelo 4 years Male shrapnel 7 al Sheok 3/30/2003
Mrttha Wathek Gaseb 4 years Male al Hndea 3/31/2003
Hba Shhab Ahmed Alflahe 4 years Female student shrapnel al Kearen 4/1/2003
Hsen Abas Kathem Alhsebe 4 years Male tank attack Basra 4/5/2003
Mohamad Abass Abd Ali Rahan 4 years Male missle attack al Husseneia 4/15/2003
Alaa Muneer Jabbar 4 years Male 4/17/2003
Resel Mohamad Rathe al-Ardawy 4 years Female shrapnel 4/28/2003
Gasem Mhmed Hmod Gmrat Almoswe 4 years Male shrapnel Thrmston 4/30/2003
Karrar Haider Hamza 4 years Male missile al Zeghaye 3/31/2003
Fatmaa Shaker Abed al-Hassan 5 years Female missile Basra 3/22/2003
Khaled Ghally Hasun 5 years Male missile al Bathaa 3/23/2003
Mhmed Gasem Gabir Alasbhe 5 years Male tank attack al Zawea 3/23/2003
Saad Agel Gbar Haef 5 years Male tank attack al Ngef 3/23/2003
Sajad Wisam Hasan 5 years Male sliver in heart Stret 3/23/2003
Sgad Wsam Hasan al Abraheme 5 years Male shrapnel Stret 20 3/23/2003
Abas Zore Agel 5 years Male burns al Shate 3/24/2003
Ahmed Saber Salih 5 years Male bullet al Biqa'a 3/24/2003
Ashref Katjhem Gasem 5 years Female shrapnel al Shrkea 3/25/2003
Noora Fatah Ismael 5 years Male bullet in head al Saif 3/25/2003
Sajad Jasem 5 years Male bomb al Sader 3/25/2003
Wrda Kald al Zbde 5 years Female shrapnel Stret 20 3/25/2003
Mmhmed Flah Kathem Htab Altae 5 years Male tank attack 3/26/2003
Muktada Abas Nahey 5 years Male bomb al Baker 3/26/2003
Mhmed Abd Alhsen Easen 5 years Male bullets Klat Sker 3/27/2003
Mksm Nthem Abd Alrzalk Hsen 5 years Male shrapnel al Shamea 3/27/2003
Nor Hamed Mshkwol 5 years Female shrapnel al Sheok 3/30/2003
Mhmod Abhem Hashem Alnaeme 5 years Male shrapnel al Thadeen 4/1/2003
Mrem Adel Awda Alhmrany 5 years Female bullets al Usfea 4/3/2003
Asmaael Ohab Asmaael 5 years Male shrapnel 4/5/2003
Hend Ali Abed Alrahman 5 years Female missile al Naser 4/5/2003
Neemah Juadd Kazem 5 years Male shrapnel al Edarah 4/6/2003
Zhraa Abd Gasem 5 years Female shrapnel Kan 4/6/2003
Lena Ali Hirat 5 years Female tank attack al Rashiddia 4/7/2003
Sgad Heder Saed 5 years Male shrapnel al Tagi 4/7/2003
Husien Ali Hasun 5 years Male al Sader 4/9/2003
Ali Hussain Majeed 5 years Male bomb Areedo 4/10/2003
Theaa Smer Gbar Maged 5 years Male shrapnel al Hawe 4/17/2003
Mohammed Taher Ali 5 years Male bomb Laylan 4/28/20

Here are some of the faces.

Here are some of the personal losses of a single Chicago Tribune employee:


1. Media Majeed, 27, sister, killed April 13, 2006, in Baghdad's Dora neighborhood, by police responding to a nearby attack by insurgents.
2. Fuad al-Ghazzawi, 34, cosmetics shop owner, primary school friend, killed by gunmen in 2006 in Dora.
3. Mohammed Obeid, 33, book and stationery store owner, high school friend, killed by gunmen, 2006, in Dora.
4. Thaer al-Shemmari, 33, bookshop and stationary store owner adjacent to Mohammed. Shot by gunmen in 2005 in Dora
5. Raad, 29, plumber and neighbor, shot by gunmen, 2006 in Dora.
6. Salman Khalaf, mid-40s, friend and former army officer, kidnapped 2005, still missing though the family paid ransom.
7. Col. Karim al Mihyawi, 40s, friend, assassinated, Dora, 2005.
8. His brother, Saad al Mihyawi, mid 30s, real estate broker, found shot dead behind the wheel of his car in Dora, 2006.
9. Abd al-Zahra, 40s, dairy products store owner, shot dead 2006 in Dora.
10. Aamer Abu Abdullah, late 30s, friend, shot dead in his grocery shop in Dora, 2006.
11. Retired police Col. Saad Naeem al-Samarraie, father of an old friend, kidnapped 2006 and still missing.
12. Salam Sarteeb, 37, street vendor and neighbor, killed in Dora in August 2005.
13. Najim Hilal, 38, friend and oil factory employee, shot dead in Dora on June 5, 2006.
14. Waad, 32, businessman, friend and neighbor, shot dead in Dora, 2006
15. Adil Abu Qaisar, 40s, CD shop owner, neighbor, friend, shot dead in Dora, 2005.
16. Mohammed Ali Hamza al-Assadi, 60s, university teacher and father of a close friend, shot dead in Baghdad's Saydiya neigbhorhood, 2005.
17. Yasser Abdul Amir, 39, agricultural college teacher, friend and neighbor, killed by a suicide bomb in Baghdad's Zayouna neighborhood, January 2008.
18. Qasim, late 30s, barber and neighbor, shot dead in Dora 2006.
19. Ashraf Abdul Qadir, 22, cousin, shot by U.S. soldiers in Tal Afar, April 13, 2006.
20. Hameed Mohammed Saleh, 40, uncle and taxi driver, and his son, Mohammed, 10, killed by unidentified gunmen in Tal Afar, Mosul province, June 11, 2006.
21. Abdul Ghani Aslan, 47, uncle and taxi driver, killed in an explosion aimed at U.S. forces in Tal Afar, June 2005.
22. Abdul Basit Mohammed Saleh, 35, friend, taxi driver, shot dead in Dora in front of his wife and child, May 8, 2006.
23. Zainalabdin Mamdouh, 32, engineer, friend, shot dead in Baghdad's Washash neighborhood, March 2006.
24. Basil al-Qaisi, late 50s, retired army officer, father of close friend, shot dead in Saydiya in 2006.
25. Atheer Faisal, 30, neighbor, grocery store owner, shot dead on the way to Baquba in 2006.
26. Mohammed Wajih, 33, friend, English teacher, shot dead in Dora, 2006
27. Dhurgham Rahim, 30, neighbor, state employee, killed April 13, 2006, by unknown gunmen, a few hours before my sister was killed about 100 meters away.
28. Ayad Saleh, 35, engineer, a close friend, kidnapped October 2006 in Salman Pak and still missing.
29. Ali Abdul Salam, 18, hotel worker blown up in an explosion aimed at the compound housing our bureau in 2005.
30. Omer Abdul Khaliq, 8, cousin, killed when an American tank opened fire in Tel Afar, May 25, 2005.
31. Hussein Luqman, 8, cousin, killed in the same incident.
32. Abu Ayad, 60s, pickle seller and neighbor, shot dead in Dora, 2006.
33. Adel Naji, 30s, neighbor and fellow journalist, killed in Ameriyah in 2006.
34. Abdul Jabbar Abdul Sattar, 36, engineer, college friend, shot dead in Dora, 2004.
35. Sheikh Qassem, 35, electrician, friend, killed in Ramadi, Anbar province 2005.
36. Emad Saif, 31, friend, barber, shot dead in Dora 2005.
37. Issam Mahmood al Jaaf, 36, shot by gunmen in Dora 2006.
38. Jamal Salman, 30s, electrician, friend and neighbor, shot dead in Dora 2006.
39. Rowayed Fa'ez Hanna, 7, next-door neighbor, killed in 2005 when Americans opened fire on his vehicle.
40. Ramen Fa'ez Hanna, a few months old, brother of Rowayed, killed in the same incident.
41. Dr. Tareq Mohsin Haider, 32, friend and neighbor, chemistry teacher, killed Sept. 3, 2006, when U.S. convoy opened fire on his vehicle, along with his mother and two sisters. His wife was left crippled.
42. Saad al Lami, 30s, neighbor and store owner, 2004, killed as he lay in his bed by shrapnel from a bomb aimed at a U.S. patrol.
43. Ammar al-Lami, 34, cousin of Saad, killed March 2008 on the road to Amman.
44. Nassir Jassem Akkam: 38, friend and businessman, killed in a suicide bombing in Karradeh, March 6, 2008.

For more recent updates, check the Iraq Body Count site.



The next time you read about the money, the oil, the president who keeps talking about bringing freedom to little Iraqi girls, freedom to work, for instance, who talks about the buildings we've built and how grateful the Iraqi people are to us and the strides forward they've made, shouldn't they be grateful, think about these Iraqi people. I mean, (warning, following link is of pictures) it's not like we killed them ourselves, right Dana? I mean, not that we're counting. And the refugees?

Shhhh.

Are they not, in a way free? Have we not brought them freedom?

They can no longer say we have not given them freedom.

I cannot fathom our president; what's he's thinking, how he can live with himself. I want to send him to the Hague, so that the parents of these children, their brothers and sisters, their grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and every single person left in the smoking ruin we have made of their country may come and bear witness. I want them to be given a time to tell him and every single member of this administration exactly what this war has cost them. There is not enough shame in the world to cover this.

I bear witness, and I will not stop doing so. I am an American, and this is what has been done in my name.

in case of slander, break glass

What makes someone step over the line from just not liking you to actively trying to ruin your career and life?

I've been trying to amuse myself by making jokes out of this, but in the end, I don't think the situation is funny. Best response I've thought of so far is a guilty conscience. She most definitely has a dirty conscience. And dirty hands.

If the person I'm thinking of actually has a conscience, anymore. I'm deliberately trying to assume good things of her, to assume this is all some kind of misstep or that perhaps I reminded her of someone else or some kind of mental hiccup, but it is an uphill battle.

Let me, in a cloaked way, talk about interactions and the creative process.

I have had a terrible life. If you've read the blog, you are aware of this. I am trying to reconstruct my life for the sake of a non-fiction manuscript, which means I have to write about abuse, violence, drugs, drinking, reaaaaally bad relationship decisions and trying to make something of yourself after the people close to you have gone to considerable lengths to make sure you know that you are worth nothing and better off dead.

It means I turn in stories to workshop that make people uncomfortable. I am not actively trying to make them uncomfortable; these are the stories I have to tell, and they are heavy and they weigh me down and tire me out and I want to tell other stories, but I've been stuck with these stories and silence for so long that they have to come out.

I am often expected to apologize for 'bumming people out.' I have to listen to them disparage my choices, discuss whether or not it's possible for anyone to experience what I have experienced and shrug off the pain in the story as deep but not necessary (that sucks but you should have done this instead. Perhaps. Didn't occur to me at the time.)

I wonder, sometimes, if that unreadiness and resentment about having to deal with stories that contain these events contributes to some of the willingness of my fellow students to pass rumors, believe ridiculous innuendo, and, most often, to behave as if they fear me.

Yeah, I'm an angry person. I'd be worried if I didn't come home and cry at my partner, instead of plot something or do something crazy. But I come home, exhausted from rehashing something painful in front of a group of people who often seem happy to act as if I've been up to something heinous and who honestly believe that anyone who experiences my kind of life is obviously just trying to be unhappy (my ex-girlfriend and I had a huge fight one time about that; she asserted that my life was bad because I was asking for it), and then I cry for about an hour, or wait for the stomach upset to pass (being on campus for more than an hour or two often causes me to be sick to my stomach.) Perhaps the most terrible side-effect of dealing with a fundamentally happier population is the fact that they see the difference between their experience and yours, and have no problem attributing everything from the JFK assassination to UFO visits to you, because if your life is that far outside their experience, obviously you could do anything.

I'm being sarcastic so that I don't have to curl up in a ball on the bed and shake for awhile. As I informed a particularly harassing group of girls the other day, I am not in college for the popularity contest, I'm here to learn. So sorry you don't like me. Sarcasm is most definitely not the most mature reaction to harassment, but it is one of the best I know how to generate on short notice.

My university experience has been terrible, thanks to this woman and the quality and quantity of things she is willing to say about me. At the end of the day, after I've looked at the differences in our experiences, tried to figure out what I've done that might have annoyed her and otherwise soul searched, I am left with the fact that someone I trusted has done everything in her power to ruin my professional career and alienate me from my classmates. She has behaved in an insane fashion, doing things that make no sense and are obviously lies and lapses of professional judgment. Things that don't make any sense.

I asked my partner last night why he thought I was having this problem. He said it was because I don't back down. I don't even know what she might be upset about. I've asked. Perhaps it is the inability to back down. So far, no one has been able to beat it out of me, and everyone from my folks to strangers have had a go at it. On some fundamental level, I have hope. As long as I have hope, hope that my behavior matters, hope that I may, someday, make things better for someone; as long as I have hope, I can stand on my decisions. While the last few days have done much to extinguish that hope, to dent and smear my sense of place and self, it only does so in a way I understand. I have been here before (first time in my life I've been glad of going to private schools), and I can last it out. And perhaps, because despite my overwhelming cynicism, a small corner of me believes that it matters. It matters if I try to do the right thing and not if anyone notices. It matters that I try to do the right thing and if I continue to try and be kind.

Hell, so far this hasn't been all that bad. No one's even taken a swing at me yet. I mean, I wanted to work with kids and the slander attached to my name will probably keep me from doing so. I was volunteering down in the valley and teaching a free creative writing class, as a remedy to the lack of holistic thinking that is a result of having to 'teach to the test,' and now I can't. I have no way of knowing whether or not I'll be able to teach adults thanks to this. I had to switch dissertation directors, and even though I am not happy about the subjects I can't discuss, if he hadn't picked up my dissertation, I'd be unable to graduate. For the last two years, I've been temporarily homeless twice (can't take very many hours at jobs), I've been treated like dirt and taken shit from my family, from people I thought were my friends, and my ex-husband's family, because going to school is obviously a sign (that they were looking for one or anything) that I don't love my kids, because I haven't run out and gotten a real job.

I could go on. I suppose I could view this as a chance to know what's in me; they say that when you are under pressure, you find out what's in you. Who am I, then?

Hopeful. And insanely determined. The rest someone observing me would have to speak for, since the emotion most often running through me at this point is stubbornness (which tends to make it hard to listen to other emotions.) I've given up much to go to school, and I will graduate.

I'm not sure what I'll do then.

I am a booze snob.

97%ALCOHOLIC

The life of Troy Davis

I am on the Amnesty International email list for various concerns, including this kind, the death penalty. I won't recap the macro-arguments against it, as I'm sure anyone reading this will be familiar with them. I wish to concentrate on Mr. Davis, who has been sentenced to die, despite local and national support for him.

Mr. Davis is sentenced to die for the death of a police officer, Mark Allen MacPhail, at a Burger King in Savannah. There's a little problem with it, though; actually, there are several.

There is no physical evidence against Mr. Davis, including the lack of a murder weapon. None. Period.

The other problem is that out of nine witness, seven recanted utterly, and one of the other two was the prime suspect. Two of the seven who recanted came forward with affidavits swearing that they were coerced by police officers into testifying against Davis.

The last problem is the most troubling and the most likely of the reasons for Davis to have been railroaded. Mr Davis is black.

Yes, this is going to be one of those posts.

Mr Davis is black, and despite the fact that he was slated to go into the Marines, despite the fact that he was a Police Athletic League coach and ostensibly doing everything he had to do in order to be a 'good' member of society, he was still both black and convenient. In the rush to blame and convict a cop killer, Davis ended up on death row before anyone had time to do much but say 'huh?' Davis appealed the verdict in 2004 and today, using the seven recanted testimonies as well as the affidavits sworn by the two bullied witness. These affidavits also implicate the prime suspect, one of the witnesses who has not recanted. Davis was turned down both times on technicalities pertaining to jurisdiction and is now waiting for another execution date.

Davis has been on death row for 16 years.

Much can be said of a nation based on how those who need help are treated. And Davis needs our help. There are many things going wrong in this election season, many things which distract us and frustrate us and make us fixate on the things immediately around us or so far outside our reach we feel helpless to change them. As a nation, we are frightened for our futures. We are scared for the people we love, for our next meal. We are afraid for our homes and bank accounts.

But there is a bright side to these uncertainties: in great uncertainty, there is great opportunity for change. We can shape our future out of the uncertainty of right now.

What kind of nation are we? We have been a nation with great moments and great people, from casual kindness to strangers in donations of money and time, donations to countries in need because we wished a stranger on another continent well. We have been changed by fiery speeches and sermons which motivate us to care for one another, to stride into the future shouldering the burden of equality and hope. And it is a burden, a work that is difficult to accomplish. We have been people, individual people who have decided to make the world around us a better place. We have had many reasons to be proud.

We have also been a nation of shameful secrets, of torture and war, of lynchings and the execution of men who were clearly innocent, simply because we said we would, or to fulfill the appearance of being interested in justice. Is justice what you can call this convenient execution? We have been a nation more interested in the appearance of being right than of doing what it takes to be right because we were tired, or we felt overwhelmed, or we were wounded and afraid, threatened by a loss.

But this can change. Today, right now, this can change. Do not listen to the voice of cynicism which tells you to be complacent, that nothing will ever change and we will soldier on into a bleak future. Do not ever listen to the voice which whispers that the death of a few will not affect the lives of the many. Do not live in the comfort of knowing that you will not be affected, because it is a lie. Do not listen to the voice of fear which tells you that you should not even try to change your lives, that nothing means anything, anymore. Do not retreat, pulling your anonymity over your head.

This time of change, this tumult is an opportunity, and every single gesture you make brings us all closer to an America of equality and justice, or an America which continues to cannibalize the lives of LGBT people, of minorities, of the poor and middle class. This is an unprecedented time, in which it is possible to save a man's life with a sentence and a mouse click, without ever seeing him face to face. Justice may be served, made clear and within the reach of everyone, no matter their color, their sex, their preferences. It can be made clear by you and me and our commitment to the future. This is a time to stand up, as everything falls down due to greed, to apathy, to hopelessness and do every little thing you can to build a different kind of tomorrow.

I believe in this. I believe that we can change Troy's life, that these gestures and actions can change our own. I am sick to death of apathy and hopelessness. I am sick to death of watching people die for no reason, of watching the people around me drown in apathy and fear. I will not have it. I will not have you afraid to leave your homes, afraid to speak to one another. I will not have you paralyzed and weakened by those who would take advantage of you. I will not have Troy Davis executed over nothing. This cannot be allowed.

If you follow the link from the top of this post, you will come to the Amnesty International site on the death penalty. Davis' case is the top issue. I urge you, in the strongest way I know how, to begin making these gestures, to begin to stand up to the fear and the hopelessness and refuse to have it, both for your own sake and for his. We can be a nation of heroes without leaving our chairs and I yearn for it. I yearn to see us unafraid. But we have to do even little things, practicing one by one the actions which will free us. And what a thing to do, to try and save a man's life. We can be a nation of heroes, a nation of the great.

why writing is easily as much work as anything else...

even though you don't necessarily sweat.

I just finished writing the blow by blow of being molested, the fallout and one of the ways I chose to deal with it. It took me two weeks, and I cried and shook and was ill (including insomnia, nausea, more irritability than normal and now homicidal rage.) I have written about it before, summarized, on the blog, but never in scene (meaning the blow by blow, so to speak.) I just turned it in and it goes up for discussion in workshop next week because I am insane, and to my dissertation director in two days.

In order to do this, I had to research, spend a lot of time trying to remember things that (frankly) I never want to think in that kind of detail about, again, and try to keep an audience in mind while thinking about being molested, the equivalent of juggling with nitroglycerin (messy in terms of self-esteem and prone to blowing up in my face.) I have been exceedingly lucky to have been remodeling the house my friend left in the mean time, giving me something to do with myself while I thought (other than take care of the kids, which occasionally brings up memories as I try not to be the asshole I know how to be.)

It's dark back there. I've tried (I think successfully), to go back and be, mentally, that nine and ten year old, with the same feelings of helplessness, despair and awkward inability to be loved, so that I can convincingly write about it. The result of which is hard to read, I hope in an emotional but not technical sense.

When I turn these things in, it is always with the feeling of exploiting myself. To some degree I am, because I am sharing my own experiences (better exploiting me than exploiting you) and because I am sharing really, really unpleasant experiences with an audience. I joke sometimes that I might as well be flashing people, for all the privacy I strive to show myself. I'm getting better, as I understand it, at not writing a martyred story. It is a terrible thing, but necessary, to ask someone who has been abused to sympathize with their abusers. It is something I've never even had anyone admit is hard, or really trying, to me. You spend your entire life asserting (especially, if like me, you tried to tell and no one cared) that something did happen, and then you have to go and try to humanize someone that you don't know as human. Literature demands, no matter how much it wounds you, that you be fair to everyone. Implicate, implicate, self-implicate. You're dirty, too.

Even though it's never that simple. We're supposed to expose everyone's warts and let the reader decide.

Ever try to explain evil? It is not easy, and I am invested in maintaining that evil, since so much of my personal damage stems from being cast as evil and trying to maintain the pretense of being secretly good. I think a lot of my drive to try and make the world a better place comes from being accused of being inherently evil.

I hope that the stories will turn into something that people with similar experiences can read and feel as if they are not alone and people without those kinds of experiences can read and understand something of those experiences (other than that some people are 'just fucked up.' I hear that, I feel like a failure, even though sometimes that's as deep as the reader can go.) It is my understanding, from the theories I've read, that believing you have a particular effect on your readers is a little naive.

However, I contend that there's no reason to write, otherwise. Why bother? I want anyone who picks me up to be affected. I want to change your life. Or else, why bother? (My inner writer's workshop insists, at this point, that I add the fact that I do write for myself, but only because I have a jones for your affection and a control fixation.)

goddamn, I don't know who you are, but I love you

(yoinked from IamTRex, thank you.) I love this woman. She is taking no shit from the guy heckling her; mace in one hand, shoe in the other. Watching her be fierce gives me a warm happy, especially in the current political climate.

shoot me. now would be good.

My parents were just here. I restrained myself, with enough effort that it was not pretty, to yelling and cursing. Relationships have a character, after a time. Gestures that would not, to a neutral observer, seem what they are to the people in the relationship.

Probably the nastiest thing you can do to anyone is to pretend to be reasonable while front and end loading your comments with insults. Tonight's beauts were:

When we called you an axe murderer and said that's what we thought you would be to the family therapist while we were arguing over custody, what we really meant was we were worried for you. You just took it wrong.

Your (oldest) daughter is depressed and we notice that when she comes back from your house, she seems agitated. 'Things' are there that weren't there before. (For the record, my parents are homophobic, religious wingnuts. That might have something to do with it. My father kept talking about the 'difference of atmosphere.')

They entered my house through the door without waiting to be asked in.

My father tried to enlist my partner and any time he was in the room, my father talked to him and pretended I did not exist. This is nothing new.

We apologize to you all the time. What, do you want us to commit suicide? Would that make you happy? (I pointed out that I often get variations of 'I'm sorry but you made me,' 'I'm sorry but none the stuff you remember happened,' 'I'm sorry but you took it the wrong way,' 'I'm sorry but here's an insult to remind you of your place, you slut.' But those don't count and neither of them remember anything like that.)

We came here to enlist you in a team (despite the fact that we've decided she needs to be on meds and refused to look at any of the studies you sent us showing the dangers and unanswered questions around giving a child going through puberty psychoactive drugs that have never been tested on girls going through puberty. Oh, and the therapist who's been seeing her thinks she's doomed and won't listen to any contrary opinions. More drugs! The therapy is working great!)

We don't understand why you might be angry; you're just holding on to things and we're trying so hard to get along. (I mean, we've been polite and everything. We even showed up smiling. As my father put it, isn't the right to be happy in the Constitution?)

Those of you who have the passive-aggressive parents will recognize these kinds of things. Perhaps the part that is most frustrating to me is the portion with the exasperated, 'but we've apologized. What else do you want?' I don't think I'll ever outgrow the desire to be loved, but everyone on earth will have to pardon me if I am reluctant to take a half-assed apology from a pair of people who have spent my entire life, thus far, insulting me (no one will ever love you, fatty; you're not pretty, you're interesting looking. sometimes a guy will like that, but make sure to let him feel superior and hide your brains), wrestling with custody, reminding me that, as my father put it in front of my ex-husband, his father, his step-mother, my kids and everyone who was within range of his voice, I was such a slut they needed to install a revolving door on my bedroom and who wants a kid to be raised by that?

And the sad thing? The really sad thing? If I ever thought they were actually sorry, I'd give it try number 12, at this point, and try to talk to them.

Maybe, as my dad reminded me, I just need to grow up.

As far as I'm concerned, not hitting them, breaking anything or drinking after they left means I'm ahead of the game.