America's Forgotten War Dead

I’m hardly one of those self-righteous folks that would lament the widely held notion that Memorial Day is the “Unofficial” Kick-off of summer. (Side note: how long must you call something “unofficial” before it becomes “official”?) Not in the least. In a nation where we’re over-worked and underpaid as a general rule, anytime you can take a break for a couple of days and kick back, fire up the grill and pack a cooler is fine by me, no matter how solemn the occasion is on the books.


For ½ my life now, Memorial Day Weekend has been one of the highlights of the calendar every year: A perfect storm of availability, invitations and indulgences that’s led to some of my more memorable and enjoyable life experiences. This doesn’t overlook the fact that we celebrate Memorial Day for a reason, but if you’re capable of walking and chewing gum at the same time, I don’t see any reason why you can’t celebrate and remember over the span of 72 hours as well. This year in fact, I’m making a conscious effort to do so.


Historically, Memorial Day has been a day where we honor our War Dead: men, women – and yes, children, who have given their lives in the pursuit of American liberty. We remember those who gave it all so that we could freely grill those burgers, deep-fry those Twinkies, blast that Springsteen and pour that frosty Budweiser. Men and women who frankly, have more balls than I’d have in ten lifetimes.

But there’s a popular misconception that we’re all prone to believing, and that’s the notion that all of the wars fought to make America what she is today were fought on the battlefield, in defined military conflicts, against enemies foreign and domestic. While these sacrifices should never, under any circumstances, be diminished, they do not account for all of the blood shed in the name of forging that More Perfect Union.


The US of A has been fighting wars since the Shot Heard ‘Round the World and continues to do so today. On top of the ongoing conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq, we continue to fight the same war that it seems some have been waging since the last signature on the Declaration of Independence had dried: The War on Intolerance. We did not evolve from a confederation of states ruled solely by white land (and people) owning protestant males to a Superpower with an African American President and a Speaker of the House who happens to be a Catholic grandmother, by accident. Skulls were broken. Blood was spilled. Necks were cracked. These sacrifices are no less important than any other.


For every Battle of Trenton, there was a March on Selma. For every Stonewall Jackson, a Stonewall Inn. Each Ulysses Grant yields an Elizabeth Cody Stanton. Every Normandy, a Haymarket Square. Okinawa. Los Gatos.


Regardless of your political beliefs, we must never forget the bravery of the 5,000 Americans that we have lost in service this decade. Likewise, teach your children about the 5,000 Americans lynched for simply existing.


Reflect on the all-too-short lives of James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman. The former, a local African-American civil rights worker in Philadelphia, Mississippi. The latter two, college kids from Jewish neighborhoods in New York, that travelled down to Lauderdale County to simply register local voters. All three were slaughtered at the hand of the Ku Klux Klan in their early twenties. They died to ensure that the most fundamental of American rights: The Right to Vote would be guaranteed to all, not the select chosen.


This year, think not only of those who lie beneath a white cross, but those who died in front of a burning one.


Think of the 146 people, primarily women, who perished in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire. A sweatshop that was criminally negligent in the most basic of safety regulations, so much so that management locked all doors during work hours. Their deaths paved the way for a revamping of workplace standards that we enjoy today.


Likewise, never forget the countless collection of workers who died during organized rallies and strikes – often at the hands of private security firms backed by management – demanding fair wages, a 40-hour workweek and suitable working conditions. Think long and hard about this the next time some bigwig, or the politicians in their pocket, chides “lazy unions”.


Read up on the 1948 plane crash at Los Gatos, California – where 30 migrant workers perished while being deported back to Mexico, not coincidentally AFTER their services in the fields were needed. Over 60 years later, we still use undocumented workers for every ounce of sweat they can produce while demonizing them as a political scapegoat, to the point where we might as well change the inscription on the Statue of Liberty from “Give me your tired, your poor…” to “Show Me Your Papers”.


Pause to remember Matthew Shepard, a college student who was fatally beaten, tortured, and strung up on a fence like a scarecrow. Simply for being gay. The grisly slaying brought to light the gross, Nazi-like hatred that the gay community still faces in the 21st Century.


More recently, remember the 15 Emergency Medical Technicians, 23 members of the NYPD, 37 officers of the Port Authority, and 343 souls from the FDNY who gave their lives so that thousands more would survive the 9/11 attacks. Proving that despite the caricature, working class Americans stand ready on a moment’s notice to serve the greater good – and at the end of the day, it’s not the politicians, nor the management that’s responsible for our safety, security, and education - it’s your neighbor.


Obviously I’m leaving off thousands of people who gave their lives for rights that we take for granted. And again, this is in no way to diminish the ultimate sacrifice given to this nation by the brave warriors from Lexington & Concord to Fallujah – and all parts in between and across the globe – not only for American liberty but for that of the entire human race.


Much like the glorious melting pot that America is today, the rights and freedoms we enjoy today were provided by a diverse collection of people who would not take “No” for an answer, the miniscule minority willing to Walk the Walk. People of all faiths, genders, orientations, ethnicities, races and political ideologies have stepped to the front of the line when History came calling. Most of them braver than you or I could ever imagine being.


On Memorial Day, we remember each and every one of them

My 30 Best Albums of the Decade: #4

If my dear friend and former bunkmate found it absurd that Eminem was ranked higher than Bruce, I fully expect a gasket to be blown this time...

#4. American Idiot - Green Day

Poignant. Telling. Reflective. Captivating. American.

I could probably describe American Idiot with paragraphs full of one word sentences (no, really I can’t, the above took me five minutes) because the album itself conjures up many different emotions. But what gets me the most about the album in its entirety is the picture it paints of early decade America. Post 9/11. Pre-Katrina.

I first heard the title track like many other people (or, I should say “men”) – as it was included on the soundtrack for the Madden 04 Playstation game. Really, this was a stroke of genius for bands to promote their work – the song would play as you were shuffling through the game options: franchise set-up, trading, stats, schedules, everything but the actual game itself. And because Madden was more addictive than crystal meth, you’d put in your good 5 hours a day and hence, become one with the songs without even realizing it.

After about 2 weeks of playing Madden, I was like “Hey, this is Green Day. Didn’t I used to listen to them back in 1994?” Which led to “Wait a minute? Is this song actually speaking out against the masses?”

And that it was. The long story is that Idiot in its entirety is a critique of all aspects of suburban society, from the plastic entertainment options available to the easy way out solutions of prescription drugs. And fine, I’ll take that for what it’s worth at face value. The album as a whole follows the protagonist, “Jesus of Suburbia” on a long journey of unfortunate discoveries about reality. But surprise, surprise, what really hooked me with the entire disc is how Suburban America got called out on the carpet.

I mentioned earlier how many Americans selectively forget what the nation was like in 02-03: many of those chanting “Yes We Can” last year were also referring to French Fries as “Freedom Fries”. And for crying out loud. Was there ever a more petty, nonsensical, bigger display of immaturity in history? Renaming side dishes? Really? Well open a newspaper pal: France 1 – You 0.

What killed me here was being backed into having to defend France though. France versus the Cavemen was the most difficult match to watch since the Lakers and Bulls squared off in the 1991 NBA Finals.

The high water mark of the album is probably the spoken verse in “Holiday”:

Sieg Heil to the President Gasman, Bombs away is your punishment

Pulverize the Eiffel Towers, Who criticize your government

Bang bang goes the broken glass and Kill all the f*gs that don't agree

Trials by fire setting fire, Is not a way that's meant for me

In four short sentences, they manage to summarize everything that was wrong at the time, and in some cases still is:

· The propaganda tactics that would have made Joseph Goebbels blush

· The childish demonizing of France

· The rampant homophobia that’s been a stain on our search for a More Perfect Union

· The absolute intolerance for anyone who thought “Um hey…this might not be the best idea”

The most precious American value is our natural right of Free Speech, and in a time dominated by the steamrolling of Dixie Chicks albums and the unfortunate pouring of French wine and vodka down the sewer (alcohol abuse!) it was comforting to see someone take advantage of this sacred responsibility.

Like many albums, there’s some tracks that just don’t pass the smell test. “Wake Me Up When September Ends” is one of the more annoying tunes of the decade and about as useless as tits on a bull to the flow of the rest of the album. It’s deficiency is more than compensated though, from the “Jesus of Suburbia” suite, to the deeper, anthemesque “Give Me Novacaine”, all the way through the dramatic conclusion of “Whatsername”.

The album as a whole is a masterpiece coming from a very, very unlikely source. Combined with beer, “The West Wing”, and my wife’s sanity/love,I don’t know how I’d have gotten through the 1st part of the decade without it.