Proud to be an American

I used to listen to Springsteen when I was fifteen
Living the dream of being born in the USA
And I’d say, “I’m proud to be an American”
Defeat the sins of evil empires and sand dwelling terrorists
And I’d pump my fist like Maverick in Top Gun
I’d be the one to fight for the rights of the free
That would be me in the Army with courage and hope
But one day I’d have to cope with the reality that exists
I wouldn’t witness spreading freedom and democracy
I’d witness atrocities
Terror instead of foreign policy
I stood there with a gun pointed at someone’s eight year old son
Get on the ground!!
Get on the ground!!
But the sounds weren’t right
The words, they couldn’t understand
A foreign land with languages different from mine
Let’s go! Yalla! Yalla! Let’s go!
And the kid just froze
I’ve never seen someone so scared
So unaware that I was just there to help
I swear that’s what I told my eight year old before I left home
I’d roam the desert in search for peace, to bring freedom to all
And the kid just stood there with his back to the wall
So I called up stairs
Who’s there? Who’s there?
And he just stared back at me
Bedroom? Auda? Auda? Bedroom?
And as soon as I said it again he started yelling
What? What are you telling them?
Yalla! Yalla! Let’s go!
Two figures started coming down the stairs
And now I was scared
Aiming as I stared at the people I saw
The woman screaming, the man calling for his son
And I clenched my gun
Get on the ground!! Get on the ground!!
But the same sounds
The same words I didn’t understand
And now the son began yelling and crying
And the mother is trying to get to her son
But I’m holding the gun and I hear the same sounds
And nobody’s on the ground and I’m getting scared
I push her down unaware of the movement of her son
And he grabbed at my gun, trying to defend his mom
Trying to defend the injustice that he saw
But I wasn’t the cause, I was just there to help
I swear, I swear, that’s how I felt

I’ve never seen an eight year old dead
Two bullets in his head
My commander said it was self defense
He didn’t know what the boy was gonna do
He said, “The father was coming at you, so we had to kill him too”
The mother was still knocked down, her face to the ground
Surrounded by the blood of her family
And no one reprimanded me
Just some casualties of war
We broke down the door of the innocent
Killed them and off we went
They were just defending themselves
Surviving the hell we caused
The laws that were thrown aside
Two people died because of me
Because I couldn’t see what I needed to see
And I stood there wishing it was me
Because I still have my eight year old boy
I’ll still have the joy on the holidays and “Born in the USA”
And my mind changed that day
Because they lay dead on the ground
And I still hear the same sounds
The same words I don’t understand
In a foreign land with widowed mothers crying
And I’m holding my gun analyzing…
Am I “proud to be an American?”

remi@poeticinjustice.net

August 2004