Open up the wounds
let the heartache flow again
watch me turn to my addictions
and let temptation be my guide
I'll quell the pain with thoughts of lust
drown the tears in temporary joys
as I'm tripping up the stairs of life
falling on every step I climb
It's a blind charge through endless repetition
running into doors I've closed
with a history of lies
I can't do the things I love anymore
I only love one thing now
and it calls to me
at times like these
like a lover lost in the night
it finds me with open arms
and pulls me aside
Am I strong enough to win this fight?
Can I do this all again?
As my strength cracks and breaks
I see how I've lied to myself
about the twisted merry-go-round I'm riding
and how long I can hold on
before I'm hurled aside for good
Because even though there's determination
lurking within my eyes
I can still feel myself fading
disappearing within my mind
There is no exit from this place
There is no victory to be found
Just another day of trials
another day to watch myself grow weak
It's just my fate
and the cross I bear
watching life turn around
spinning with the hands of the clock
opening up everything that was old
memories I tried to forget
become new again
and I'm sliding
as I’m racing to the end
holding on as strong
as my shattered will allows
waiting until I finally slip
and drift into nothingness
losing myself for good
and forever ending
this senseless repetition
When the photographs of American soldiers abusing Iraqi prisoners came out, I wasn’t shocked. I was heartbroken, sad and even a bit bitter, but not shocked. Simply put, I understood going into this war that these types of things happen in war and that, no matter how many conventions you hold, no matter how much you try to civilize war or how much you try to humanize the enemy, war, fundamentally, is a brutal struggle that invariably brings out the worst in mankind.
Instead, what I’ve found shocking is the surprise from the rest of the country. More than any prisoner abuse scandal, I find the naivete of my fellow Americans far more surprising. It’s become painfully obvious that, most of those who were in support of the war, felt we were going in to fight a John Wayne war where we would liberate the people of Iraq, kill the bad guys, be lauded for our efforts and go home heroes.
If that’s the case, then clearly America has a very short memory.
After all, if Korea and Vietnam hold any lessons for us, it’s that our past attempts to “liberate” other nations by force always wind up becoming a mutual contest of disturbing behavior that shows exactly how low people can sink when their lives are on the line. Be it throwing a grenade into a schoolhouse or torturing Iraqi prisoners with electrodes in hopes of extracting information, the concept is the same, survival at any cost.
On a related note, I’ve also observed, but am not shocked by, the lack of outrage from the Arab world over the brutal deaths of Mr. Berg and other Americans killed in Iraq, even though the American abuse of Iraqi prisoners had made headlines across the globe. Though the lack of condemnation and outrage is regrettable, it isn’t shocking either.
After all, what else should we have expected when we go alone to invade an Arab country, overthrow its leaders and then fail to find proof of justification for that war. No one, Arab or otherwise is saying that Saddam was a great man, but those much harped-on WMDs never turned up and the entire justification for this brutal war fell through.
Instead, what’s become painfully obvious to me is that America was not prepared for this war. Our gung-ho mentality, especially among our leaders, hid the fact that we had long since forgotten what actually goes on inside a real war. Perhaps the first Persian Gulf War with its speed and multinational support had softened us to the harsh realities of an ongoing conflict, perhaps we, as a nation, gave in too easily to the Bush administration’s propaganda or most likely, we’re just a nation with a real short memory, especially when it comes to our human flaws.
Basically, anyone who supported the war in Iraq but now decries the prisoner abuse needs to ask themselves a hard question, “What did you expect?” If you beat the war drums, but didn’t expect things like prisoner abuse, outrage from the Arab world and atrocities on both sides, you went into it blind. There’s no way around it, especially in light of recent events.
As a nation, we should have expected this. We should have known that there’s no other outcome of war than inhumanity and cruelty. I’m not a peace-loving pacifist by any stretch, I realize that war has its place and can be very necessary, but these are simple truths about war that should be weighed before going into battle, not regretted afterward.
Personally, I was against this war from the beginning and the reasons above were among the ones I gave. I couldn’t understand how so many others could favor such a needless war, but now, I believe I see the problem. In short, we, as a country, let our naivete and idealism get in the way of our better judgment and memories of wars gone by.
As a result of that error in judgment, we’ve lost the moral high ground in Iraq (if we ever had it in the first place), we’ve stoked the fires of Muslim terrorism in a way Bin Laden had only dreamed of and done so much damage to our reputation as a nation than it will take decades, if not centuries, to even begin a repair.
Therefore, all that I can hope for is that, as a nation, this embarrassment teaches us something and that this time the lesson sticks with us. Yes, war can be necessary, justified and good, but getting ourselves into senseless and needless wars only brings about pain, suffering and more problems than ever could have been solved by the actual conflict.
In short, war is a last resort, not a tool to achieve an end, and any other use of it is going to spread only misery, not freedom, wherever we go.
A lesson now learned not in history books, but on the news.
I come from a long line of teachers. Both of my parents are currently teachers, at least part time, one of my grandmothers and both of my aunts were teachers until they retired and my family tree, on both sides, is littered with teachers of all varieties as far back as I can trace them.
Having so many teachers means I know what they go through. Listening to my mother talk about teaching middle school is akin to listening to grandfather talk about his days in World War II. It's a string of horror stories as she tries to weed through the unsafe environment, uncontrollable students and various occupational hazards in hopes of reaching the few kids that want to learn.
However, as a former student, I know exactly how much good teachers can do. Teachers can inspire students to do great things, to take charge of their lives, to reach for new heights and explore new worlds. Teachers, good teachers, can change lives and open minds and that's a position of power that few others in the world hold.
Indeed, when I look back at the teachers that changed my life, I notice, almost universally, that I learned almost nothing in their classes. Instead, they inspired me to learn for myself, to read books I never would have read, to explore ideas I never would have thought and to do things I never would have tried.
If it hadn't been for a journalism teacher, I never would have taken up writing. If it hadn't been for an English teacher, I never would have started writing poetry. If it hadn't been for a computer science teacher, I never would have studied HTML or graphic design. Finally, if it hadn't been for an English AP teacher in high school, I know I never would have had the courage to put all of the above together and form Raven's Rants. Never in a million years.
All of those teachers deserve as much credit for this site as I do. They dedicated their lives, earning meager pay and benefits, to fight through ungrateful students, hostile parents, restrictive legislation, a dangerous workplace and increasing overcrowding just to reach me and students like me. Though I have no idea why they faced such harsh realities to help me, I'm eternally grateful for it.
Of course, the truth is that I know exactly why they braved the Hell that is public education. It's the same reason I'm considering it now. Some people, for reasons unclear, have teaching in their blood. Perhaps it's hereditary, perhaps it's a personality disposition, but some people long for the connection, the presence and the job, as dirty as it is, and don't feel complete without it.
And that, as crazy as it sounds, is how I feel right now. Kept awake at night wondering if I should, perhaps, consider going back to the classroom, this time as a teacher. It's tempting, despite my harsh experience with high school the first time, the brutal nature of the job and the intense schooling required to quality, it still tempts me and calls me.
To me, it's like a dream made not of gold or jewels, but out of other dreams, dreams I helped inspire and make a reality. The thought of it makes me feel oddly complete, despite the hardships, and the mere mention of it is more than enough to send my mind down new and exciting trails.
But for the meantime, all I can do is tip my hat to the teachers of the world, not just those who inspired me, but to those inspiring students all across the four corners of the world.
To you, I say that you are truly the keepers of our future and that, even though others think you are crazy for withstanding all that you do, I understand. Perhaps someday I'll join your ranks, perhaps not. But either way, you have my eternal respect and gratitude.
For even though it's not much, especially for the burden you bear, it's all that I, or anyone else can offer.
Sometimes I think of you
and wonder where you are
and if you think of me on lonely nights
or dream about me when there's nothing left to dream
I don't expect you to miss me
and I know the phone will never ring
with your voice hanging on the other line
but I have to know
if I'm in your thoughts
or if you forgot about me
like you promised you never would
I can't bear the thought
of what we shared
being nothing than a footnote
in a forgotten chapter of your life
and even though I only think of you
during the loneliest hours of the night
Part of me is still hoping
that you're thinking of me
when I'm busy not thinking of you
So shed not a tear for what we lost
nor heave a sigh for what could have been
Just let me grace your thoughts
when the night hangs long and low
and everything will be right when we awake
in the worlds we've created
in the many years we've been apart

