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Politics Aside PAGE
TWO: By the time I emailed back, he was offline. Weeks later I was shocked to find Joe on an ancient version of Instant Messenger. His computer kept freezing. After two hours of false starts, I asked him one question: "Can you tell me something that would shock me?" He wrote back: "They want us here." November, 2003, President Bush announced a serious "step back" in the number of troops deployed. Conflicts and serious combat quieted down on the news. Like most people I knew, I took my denial wherever I could get it, turned off CSPAN, tuned back into The West Wing and pretended Martin Sheen really did have everything under control. (If nothing else, at least we knew he was watching soldiers' caskets flown home in the middle of the night.) It seemed -- almost -- like there may be an end in sight. I kept sending postcards but secretly planned on Joe being home by Fall. November 19, 2003 -- Elisabeth, I am back at the airfield because I am trying to pass a kidney stone. Aren't you proud? It's bad enough I'm in the desert.... If there is a God he/she is a sadist with a great sense of humor. They got Saddam's two sons. That is progress. My brigade lost three soldiers a couple of days ago to an ambush on a road not too far from where I'm at right now. They did not catch the Iraqis that did it. I have not been able to find out the casualties' names. Whether I know them or not they are still members of 327th getting killed. We are up on our guard right now. I don't know what the repercussions will be for the death of Saddam's Sons but the Iraqis are growing some balls. They attacked another one of 327's installations with mortar fire a few days ago as well. It is still war, that is for sure. I don't tell you these things to scare you. It's stuff I can't tell most people with a clear conscience, but I can tell you. Elisabeth, take care of yourself, Joe My Jewish Mother instinct was to hop on a plane with cheesy '80s movies and chocolate-coated anything to make it better. But I couldn't. Instead, I gathered my own troops. Since the day the War in Iraq began, my five-foot tall TV production coordinator friend, Sara Weir, forwarded information about anti-war rallies, and diligently created snarky poster slogans for protests she attended, proudly wearing her "Bush or Chimp" t-shirt. But after learning how thrilled Joe was to hear from everyone, she rallied in a different way: It looks like Elisabeth's friend, Joe Callahan, will be in Iraq until at least next February, so keep them coming if you can -- show fliers, headshot postcards (very popular -- our dear friend Andrea Stone now has several fans in the 327th), cereal box cutouts, recipe cards -- whatever. In a world gone mad, sometimes I feel like human connections are all we have. Sara. Sara was certainly not the only person who objected to the war. But no one let that stand in the way of reaching out to Joe, offering to send just about anything: girlie magazines, footballs, themselves... I would mail you a cake but I haven't the means to do so. Also, I don't know if you like chocolate or vanilla… I heard soldiers can give out kids' clothes to Iraqi children, so I'm sending you some boxes. Had the van packed to take them to Goodwill, but am so happy to send them to Balad instead! Hello from Moorestown, New Jersey! My sophomores just finished reading To Kill A Mockingbird where Atticus Finch advises his daughter Scout to practice empathy by climbing into another person's skin and seeing things from his/her point of view. I asked my students to put themselves into your shoes for a few minutes… No one ever heard back from Joe. No one expected to. And most of them didn't need to. They didn't know him or miss him the way I did; they didn't mind the one-sided conversation. But it didn't stop them from feeling connected to Joe in some way. After a while, politics and emotions crept to the surface. People say they don't want war, but they support the troops. I support the war and most of all, I support the troops. Come home ASAP. I think, perhaps somewhat naively, that this war is only about oil, and I'd switch to a fucking bicycle if I thought it'd bring you guys home. Compared to you, I'm sure my head is just way up my own ass. I hope you guys are safe and warm and not too fucking bored.
I'm feeling woefully inadequate to affect the change I know is possible,
so I'm writing local politicians, the Red Cross...
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Elisabeth
-- I've received a postcard from Holland boasting "Hookers
for Weed," Mardi Gras cards, movie ticket stubs with reviews
written on the back, does Santorini really look like that? Did I
spell Santorini right? Damn, I need a dictionary! Our library here
is made of discarded Michael Crichton and John Grisham novels. Then
there was the Lascivious Andrea Stone and her headshot. People were
always asking me in Hillah, "Hey, Callahan show me that chick
licking her lips again." I have the sneaking suspicion you
had something to do with this... I think the generator is going
to go out so I'll send this quickly. But I'm okay. I wanted you
to know that. Take Care. Joe.
