day and age

Ever wish there was a weeping/stop-weeping sort of pill or something? Something that would hold the weeping until a more timely moment and then let you release with great abandon? Delicious, yes, I think.

Needless to say, today was a very bad day. The smaller issues include: My chiropractor was out of the office and the sub couldn’t pop the nasty spot between my shoulder blades, a former underling said some unpleasant things about me on his blog—I’m refusing to allow it to actually hurt my feelings (the brat!), there is no food in my house.

The bigger issue, well…

I suppose most days I feel that the pro-war feelings that are moving shapelessly—or shapefully, I guess that’s possible-and likely-too—are amorphous and somehow very “Other.” The Republican Other. The Military Other. The Conservative White Unstigmatized Male Other. Oh, how I do enjoy turning the Other into the something that is not marginalized but mainstream, something that is merely Other-Than-Me. But come to find out, I work with a man who helped to pull Saddam Hussein from his little rabbit hole. Today, he gave a presentation that made me feel stupid and myopic for forgetting that myopic people like him exist and are, indeed, prevalent.

Among the highlights:

In response to the moanings of a very tired man having his hair pulled, the translator says, “I am Saddam Hussein, the president of Iraq. I would like to offer my surrender.” At this point, a soldier put his foot on Saddam’s neck and said, “George Bush sends his regards.” Many people in our group laughed. I gasped and swallowed hard.

He relayed an “inspirational” story of an Iraqi Christian who he encountered who claimed to have practiced his religion in secret. He used the phrase “smoke and mirrors” when he really meant “cloak and dagger.” This delightful anecdote was then followed by a blessedly short diatribe on American religious freedom, oozing, of course, with superiority.

At the end of the presentation, he unwadded an Iraqi flag. He had stolen it of a building and when 15 or so people noticed him stealing it and began to approach, he, yep, you guessed it, brandished his weapon. Smart little Iraqis back off when their national symbols are being besmirched by cocky Americans. He then offered us a variety of disparaging comments about the flag’s fabric—it was a translucently thin synthetic of some sort. I’m so glad to know that even our flags are just that much better quality.

And then I wonder, how is it the manner of extreme cultural and moral superiority with which this man spoke effect me to the degree to which it did? I have no doubt that he honestly thinks he, his religion, and his way of life are inherently greater, grander, more noble than any ol’ lowly Middle Easterner’s. I mean, I really don’t like crying at work. I feel stupid. How do I let myself forget, as I surround myself with so many likeminded people, that this guy’s out there spreading the American gospel in my name—and that there are so many like him, so many that think he’s in the right.

It’s never a good day when your own returning naïveté punches you in the belly.