One of the ancient prophets, Amos, is my favorite among the radical Hebrew prophets. (Please note that prophets don't magically "divine" the future; they see truth in the here and now that the rest of us mostly miss, and they tell it like it is, calling us to responsibility and honesty and community. By doing so, they seem to us to see clearly into the future.) Anyway, my favorite, Amos, has been called the Prophet of Doom, because he spoke absolute unflinching truth about the abject failures of the government and the people, and he said way too clearly for anyone's comfort where everything was leading to: a certain unavoidable doom. If you read Amos very carefully, you can find a minor thread of hope, a little almost undetectable turn at the end of the book, reason to go forward ... but not until after you've heard and felt the grievous condemnation and not until after you've confronted and feared and dreaded the certainty of total failure.
Cindy has been, and now again in a new voice, is our Amos. Most would not hear her. Those of us who could hear, well, as she says, some of us had our personal agendas, and we felt fed by her challenge, and tried to make our own use of her witness. A very few among us probably, felt what she felt, and saw clearly the utter loss that she saw: and not only the loss of a dear one, not only the mounting numbers of the killed and maimed -- she understood deeply and spoke plainly about the loss of direction, the loss of respect for our leaders, loss of our national reputation, of our own lifelines, loss of hope for our nation and world.... In the end, if now is the end for Cindy, she, like Amos, loses all faith in the people and the process, and cries out to us like another of the great prophets (Jeremiah),
They have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying, "Peace, peace," when there is no peace. They acted shamefully, they committed abomination; yet they were not at all ashamed, they did not know how to blush. Therefore they shall fall....
I wrote a poem on March 25, 2003 in which I said that already it was too late for us, that the die had been cast.
Ours will be the "spoils," all right.
I fear – no I know – that today’s butchery
will rebound on us.
I am the ancient prophet in this moment.
My word is true, believe.
To the victor belongs the spoils.
The line on the clock is not ours to draw.
The line in the sand is indeed blood red.
Crossing, we have crossed a more serious line.
Having crossed, we are in fact doomed.
Even at the outset of this war and occupation, in the hateful and violent acts of our government, committed in our name, we -- you and I and Cindy and all of us US folks -- became like the poor Iraqis, destined to reap horrors and to suffer. This observation, made in the way of the Prophet of Doom, is still true. The nations hate us, sister and brother have come to hate each other, our children are learning retribution and violence, and another war will come, and the cycle will begin again. Sometimes, at a particularly high or low point in the cycle, there comes a moment when change for the better seems possible. That moment is surely not now.
And yet, a world that takes slavery for granted no longer does so. I cling to that knowledge, even as I understand that slavery continues under cover in some places. One day, maybe war will be understood as the usless horror that it is, and world leaders who resort to mass violence will not be tolerated in their own country or at the table of the United Nations. For now, Bush and the timid members of our House and Senate have made war a plausible solution again. And it will take another forever to feel like we felt after Vietnam - that we'd learned a lasting lesson, that the world had a chance again, that we'd turned the corner on state-sanctioned international terrorism, that the world was, indeed, a civil place to be.
Well, sorry, this message has gotten way too long and preachy. But it really has everything to do with my good-bye wishes to Cindy.
To Cindy: Friend, you have stared into the blood-red eyes of the Beast, you have stood up to that gargantuan and heartless Killing Monster, been noticed by it and batted down for the time being. You have survived, thank God, and I want you to survive for another day, to take care of yourself, to spend good time in joy and peace at home. In the relative quiet of your retreat, who knows, you may come upon inspiration as Ghandi did, and suddenly see a way for a simple walk to the salty shore that coalesces us and changes hearts and minds. Or not. It's a gift of time and place, and not really up to you. The wisdom and the spirit and the truth that resides within will guide you and protect you. As so many have said, it's ok to step back, it's your life, and I think I'd do the same. You've done enough for now. We can only offer thanks and admiration.
Geez. I heard it on the radio earlier this morning. Then down at