All We Are Asking

By June Labyzon

We sat surrounding a fountain
in our Country's capital
linked together chanting
"all we are asking is give
peace a chance".  
 
We were a small nation
of sitting militants,
"sit-in, speak-out,
lock-in".
Coming towards us sprinting
down the mall, five
or so blocks away, were
tens of  "law
enforcement officers"
sticks in hand; their
actions sanctioned by the state.
 
We scattered the peaceful
generation that we were.
We weren't buying bus tickets
to our own funerals. 
My husband, Ed always
the minute man,
grabbed my
hand and together we made
a run for it, giddy with
the danger, puffed up
with virtue.. 
We didn't get arrested,
not that day . Hand in hand
we made it to our VW van
and made love mingling
our tears with our desires. 

My activism was born from my groin 
in those days, nurtured.
We  were resilient;
not open to compromise.  And we
were everywhere, $100 a plate dinners,
having our own 25 cents rice dinners
across the street, inaugurations, impeachment
rallies, political celebrations, election days.
Yes we meant to be seen and heard,
"Hell no we won't go".

Our cries became louder more desperate
as the war waged on year after year
after year.
Legislative strategies ended
the war eventually,
after millions of stanzas were
sung and almost as many young men
died. 
Time has not refined the animalistic
instincts of our leaders. 
On National TV last week in a display of
the worst form of political hysteria I've ever
witnessed, the president announced
War on Iraq.  

 "We will have victory and bring peace and
freedom to the Iraqi people. However a result
of this victory will mean that some
of our military personnel come home in
body bags."  The stink of imperialistic
nostalgia regurgitates my anger   
I go to bed livid,
"Mr. Bush, that's my body
in a bodybag." 
In the righteousness of the night,
I dream of Bush's severed head laying in
a body bag next to body bags
filled with the bodies of "children"
I've taught over the years. 
 
My family members are proud of their
president "we have no
choice, war is the only answer".
Philosophic dissentions from
ethics collide with the principles
of the individual.
My mother
in a second of compassionate
emergence rises from her
demented inertia
"that's because they don't
have sons the age to go".
And I think perhaps she isn't
as crazy as she seems.   

 Humanity shouldn't be one of life's big
questions. Our children aren't cervical
specks to be disposed of at our
leaders' wills, to fight their battles,
soothe their egos.  The  media
reports that "a significant number of the
soldiers in Iraq are African American";
These  racial constructionists plot to
kill off the promise of smart kids,
planning the system their way.
The  world's game is not just a game.
There's a possibility we may never
know the specifics.  With national
steam, strength of awkwardness,
pushing aside our fears and
neuroses we need to revolt against
this counter culture of war. 

This war
will be exposed for what it is,
a destructive fatal obsession with power. 
Laundering our fenced in fears
will not whitewash this dirty bombshell
called war.  We
must scoop our dreams off this glassy
surface of economical ownership.
We know what's wrong;
we know what to do.
Thirty years later we are still linked
together in chant
"all we are asking is give peace
a chance".

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