Posted on 02/28/2007 3:06:39 PM PST by euphoriadev
Decades ago, we expected total victory against the Germans and the Japanese. We demanded it, for we knew what anything less would bring to our homeland--and yes, it was our homeland, regardless of our place of birth. We were united, together in the absolute, unshakeable belief that freedom was worth blood, even our own lives.
Many years later, the American Left called for the defeat and humiliation of our military, even going so far as to support the barbaric hordes of Islam in their quest to destroy America. The college-age hippies of 1969 were now parents and grandparents, with families who didn't have the faintest idea where Iwo Jima is and wouldn't dream of enlisting in the "imperialist army" of their nation. These past flower children, still apparently lost in the fog of free love and LSD, forgot their fathers' old "war injuries," received in places like Normandy, Bastogne, or Wake Island. Their children hated authority, hated America, and hated anything that stood in the way of the freedoms they abuses. To them, freedom of speech meant they should be able to wear their "F*** You" shirt to school.
During the War on Terror, it seemed as though these families were the only Americans left here at home, as our best and brightest went to Iraq and Afghanistan. The families of our heroes stayed quiet, their support showing in the form of tangible things like batteries and treats shipped in boxes with "We Love You" written on the side, in marker as permanent as their worry. For those who changed their blue star to gold, the pain of their loss often made them shy away from the pure, vitriolic hatred of the ever contradictory motto of the Left: "Support the troops…bring them home."
Meanwhile, the antiwar crowd marched in Washington.
And in the day-to-day grind of American weekday life, millions of patriotic Americans simply went to work and came home. We couldn't afford to miss work to stand on a street corner. We put our yellow ribbons on our cars and our flags in the window, hoping that the troops knew we cared. We yelled at the TV and the radio when appropriate and muttered to our friends about how infuriated we were at these people who thought liberty was a commodity. Our anger burned deeply, but slowly.
The antiwar crowd kept marching and declared themselves the majority. They had the funding, the celebrity backing, the media fascination. They were everywhere. They spray-painted the Capitol steps, sent money to the terrorists, and staged media feeding frenzies outside the President's home. They even held up their anti-American signs outside military hospitals, where soldiers and Marines who gave pieces of themselves in exchange for freedom tried to get used to life without their best friends, their limbs, and in some cases, their sanity.
The Cindy Sheehans and Jane Fondas of the nation got bolder, spurred on by the silence of those who kept their medals and memories locked away. It seemed as though there was no stopping the force of those who sought to bring the mightiest nation on earth to her knees.
But then, the antiwar groups announced plans to begin their next march at the Vietnam Wall. Fifty-eight thousand names cried out in protest, and America heard the call of her fallen.
We were finally angry enough.
It began like a quiet rumble, the hint of an impending storm. A small group of veterans slowly rose to their feet, their combat disabilities unable to hinder them this time. A gas station attendant, a lawyer, a doctor, a housewife. One by one, Americans stood, setting down their lives to answer the reveille, minutemen once again in the cause of freedom.
They came from New York City and Nowhere, Indiana. They drove in from the mountains of Idaho and flew in from Hawaii. They rose up from all walks of life, all financial situations. The wave rolled across the United States like a tsunami, determined to reach Washington, D.C. for one purpose: to deliver a message to the flower children that was forty years overdue.
The message was simple, and as thousands of Americans stood in stoic rows around the memorial, it reverberated off the ebony beauty of the Wall. The silence of their stand deafened the obnoxious antics of the defeatists and sent a clarion call like a beacon across the globe.
Half a world away, soldiers and Marines lifted their heads a bit higher and stood taller.
And at the Wall, as thousands of American faces reflected in the polished surface, the ghosts of 58,000 men smiled back in silent, grateful pride as their lips mouthed the message their countrymen had come so far to deliver:
Freedom.
SOmething for you to read. ;)
You made a great point
THEY had the FUNDING
We are doing it on our dime
At one point,
I just stopped reading
and started crying.
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This is a MUST read!
Outstanding!!!
Thank you for your support.
I've read this several times, and it is starkly beautiful. There were some parts that just wrenched my heart. And it perfectly captured WHY I am going myself. I am standing up and saying "ENOUGH!".
Thank you for such a beautiful piece!
That gave me chills. Beautiful
Same here.
Same here.
I am in tears.
Thank you freema, for the ping.
....sigh!
Yeah......... me too.
I just mailed this to a lot of friends and relatives.
Oh, good idea. I'll do it too!
You have moved me beyond words....
I will be there making a stand for our veteran heroes
and for the future of our great Republic!
If anyone needs a ride from the Tidewater area
please let me know.
I have a Suburban and am a nonsmoker.
If I can find lodging I'm leaving on 3-16.
Take care my fellow Freepers.
Thanks for your post. That is why I am going myself. The Gathering of Eagles must have full support. I'll be in the caravan starting in California. I'll be coming with Move America Forward with our "These Colors Don't Run" banners flying. I urge everyone to make their way to DC for this event. We can't let the Cindy Sheehan's of this world tarnish the image of our brave troops. SO LONG HOLLYWOOD...
I'm on my way to DC. To follow our route, go to MoveAmericaForward.org
Debbie Argel Bastian
Proud mother of Capt.Derek Argel, USAF Combat Control, KIA Memorial Day, 2005 Diyala, Iraq
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