six years on
Suds and I were sitting in the cab of one of the company Chevys listening to Radio K (think low rent KEXP) when Danae came running over yelling "Turn on KQ! Turn on KQ! We've been attacked!" By "KQ," Danae meant the morning show on KQRS, Minnesota's most popular classic rock station, hosted by Tom Barnard.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Suds laughed. Danae was one of those semi-rural Midwestern women who like chincy Harley-Davidson accessories and smoke Marlboros on payday, but GPCs the rest of the time. Exactly the lite-beer demographic Barnard takes to the bank every morning.
"Turn on KQ!" she insisted, "They attacked those buildings in New York!" Danae leaned through through the open passenger window, and rested her elbows on the door, affecting the pose, as she often did, of the construction worker she so dearly wished she was.
"They attacked those two buildings. . ." Suds hushed her. As Barnard and his crew described what they, and the rest of the country, were watching on television. My first reaction was that is was a stupid shock-jock prank, but when Barnard described the second plane hitting the tower, reality finally sunk in, and there I was listening to Tom Barnard, professional bigot and towering jackass, as he reported the most horrific event on American soil since Pearl Harbor. Surreal.
That evening, my band played a show at Boomer's Bar in River Falls, Wisconsin in front of a thin crowd of locals and friends. Rumors had spread that gas would be $10/gallon by morning. Boomer's owner took off to wait in line at the gas station to stock up. Other people walked around stunned and staring down at their drinks, as if they weren't sure they should even be out. Some folks didn't want to talk about it. Some folks didn't want to stop talking about it. It was as if we'd all lost a parent or sibling in a sudden, unexpected accident right in front of our eyes.
The ensuing years are a study in national madness as fear of Islamic Terrorism became the focus of our lives, never mind that the last two terrorist attacks on American soil were committed by American right-wing lunatics, Timothy McVeigh and Eric Rudolph. Orange alerts, duct tape, the eerily-named Department of Homeland Security, shoe-bombers, dirty-bombers, anthrax, and a President determined to go to war with a tin-pot dictator, Saddam Hussein, spurred on this national insanity, as I watched, stunned.
Middle-Americans, who on September 10, 2001 probably shared with Osama bin Laden the same opinions of New York City's decandence and excess, conjured up their cheap sentimentality, declared their solidarity with New York, and threw their support behind the invasion of Iraq. Never mind that the mastermind of the attacks was still a free man, despite the President's macho "dead or alive" proclaimation, and was not, in fact, anywhere in Iraq.
Our Congress signed away our war-making powers to the President, and set about giving the President everything he asked for, all in the name of fighting "terror." The news media curled up in a corner, quivered in fear, and dutifully transcribed everything the President and his surrogates gave them, rarely raising a question or concern for fear of being branded a traitor or appeaser. You're either with us, or you're against us, after all.
Now, six years on, more Americans have died in Iraq than died on Septmeber 11, 2001. We have General David Petraeus giving a dog and pony show in front of Congress in support of the deeply unpopular and disastrous occupation. We have a President who, by his own admission, is merely coasting until November in an attempt to make the next Republican candidate more comfortable with staying in Iraq, and is openly speculating about the lucre he'll make on the lecture circuit once his term is over. And that's just scratching the surface.
Where the fuck did we go so wrong?
"What the hell are you talking about?" Suds laughed. Danae was one of those semi-rural Midwestern women who like chincy Harley-Davidson accessories and smoke Marlboros on payday, but GPCs the rest of the time. Exactly the lite-beer demographic Barnard takes to the bank every morning.
"Turn on KQ!" she insisted, "They attacked those buildings in New York!" Danae leaned through through the open passenger window, and rested her elbows on the door, affecting the pose, as she often did, of the construction worker she so dearly wished she was.
"They attacked those two buildings. . ." Suds hushed her. As Barnard and his crew described what they, and the rest of the country, were watching on television. My first reaction was that is was a stupid shock-jock prank, but when Barnard described the second plane hitting the tower, reality finally sunk in, and there I was listening to Tom Barnard, professional bigot and towering jackass, as he reported the most horrific event on American soil since Pearl Harbor. Surreal.
That evening, my band played a show at Boomer's Bar in River Falls, Wisconsin in front of a thin crowd of locals and friends. Rumors had spread that gas would be $10/gallon by morning. Boomer's owner took off to wait in line at the gas station to stock up. Other people walked around stunned and staring down at their drinks, as if they weren't sure they should even be out. Some folks didn't want to talk about it. Some folks didn't want to stop talking about it. It was as if we'd all lost a parent or sibling in a sudden, unexpected accident right in front of our eyes.
The ensuing years are a study in national madness as fear of Islamic Terrorism became the focus of our lives, never mind that the last two terrorist attacks on American soil were committed by American right-wing lunatics, Timothy McVeigh and Eric Rudolph. Orange alerts, duct tape, the eerily-named Department of Homeland Security, shoe-bombers, dirty-bombers, anthrax, and a President determined to go to war with a tin-pot dictator, Saddam Hussein, spurred on this national insanity, as I watched, stunned.
Middle-Americans, who on September 10, 2001 probably shared with Osama bin Laden the same opinions of New York City's decandence and excess, conjured up their cheap sentimentality, declared their solidarity with New York, and threw their support behind the invasion of Iraq. Never mind that the mastermind of the attacks was still a free man, despite the President's macho "dead or alive" proclaimation, and was not, in fact, anywhere in Iraq.
Our Congress signed away our war-making powers to the President, and set about giving the President everything he asked for, all in the name of fighting "terror." The news media curled up in a corner, quivered in fear, and dutifully transcribed everything the President and his surrogates gave them, rarely raising a question or concern for fear of being branded a traitor or appeaser. You're either with us, or you're against us, after all.
Now, six years on, more Americans have died in Iraq than died on Septmeber 11, 2001. We have General David Petraeus giving a dog and pony show in front of Congress in support of the deeply unpopular and disastrous occupation. We have a President who, by his own admission, is merely coasting until November in an attempt to make the next Republican candidate more comfortable with staying in Iraq, and is openly speculating about the lucre he'll make on the lecture circuit once his term is over. And that's just scratching the surface.
Where the fuck did we go so wrong?
posted by poverty at 2:26 PM
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