Memoirs written in prose of Sergeant Robertson, Damon M. USMC while in Iraq | ...with frequent appearances of King Hammurabi.
If you are new to this journal, make sure to start reading in chronological order by scrolling down to the bottom of the oldest post in October 2004. Damon's letters from August 20th, 2004 - October 23rd, 2004 were all added to this blog on Oct. 23rd, 2004. All subsequent letters are posted in real time.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: ["howdy" to the new additions, and "I repent for my oversight" to those who should have been included before now, but weren't] ... Special Agent Charlie has moved on to another assignment. ... Hammurabi has a new dog. This puzzles me. In the ramshackle world that is my imagination I now have Babylon's most renowned ruler and, yes, the mutt Charlie. "Isn't there a time delay on these sorts of things?" I ask. "Whaddya mean?" Hammurabi asks in return. Charlie, the infamous plunderer of errant boots, loose-held hands, unguarded crotches, and hump-able legs, sits obediently in front of the former king. "You're thousands of years old, I mean, dead," I explain. "You've been dust long enough that most people who know your name have no idea what you actually did in life. Myself included." "Yeah, so?" "That works to your advantage," I continue. "I mean, let's face it. Being a king back then... there were all sorts of things you could get away with that no one could do now, thanks to the power of modern media." "Oh," he says. He scratches Charlie behind the ears. I am at a loss. I look at the dog as if to say "you were never this docile with me," and he cocks his head, looking back, as if saying "I was never in idealized figment of your imagination before, either." Fair enough. Hammurabi chews on his Big Red gum, rolling his jaws back and forth, reminding me first of a giraffe, then trailer trash, then... oh nevermind. It isn't important. He's talking again: "What you mean to say is that I wasn't accountable to the people via an 'objective' news media that would report, say, my putting a city to the sack. Rape. Plunder. Harsh laws. Unfair judgements. Politically adjendized behavior. All that." "Sure," I respond. "That's exactly what i mean." "Well, first off, by way of a response, which I assume you want since you've gone digging around in the first place...?" I nod. "Let's not be histrionic and judge the past according to modern standards of "civilization." I think we've already established that I did what I thought I needed to do, end of story, and history speaks for itself..." "Or does it?" I think I know where he's going. "You think you know where I'm going, don't you? Anyway, look at what you know about the world you live in. There are civil wars in Africa, Southeast Asia, South America. Everywhere. No one really talks about those so much on CNN." "Americans aren't dying there like they are here. Large numbers of indiginous peoples aren't being blown up there like they are here..." and I stop myself. I know that a lot of Iraqi Police die here in car bombings and ambushes. "The same thing happens other places, my friend," he says. "It's just not expedient to tell you that, or at least not as expedient as telling you something else. I mean, really. Look at the news. Is there a shortage of bloody and discouraging things they can dig up on any given day? No. But they will tell you about the bloody and discouraging things they think you shouldn't miss. Who cares if there's genocide in Rwanda or Sudan. Where *are* those places on a map anyway? And while we're at it, who's gonna care what goes on in a country that doesn't export oil or diamonds or all the things Iraq exports... besides dead Americans." Right. I get it. "So to finally answer your question," he offers, "no, there is no time delay. Charlie can be here as well as I can because you're willing to overlook his mass-humpings and crotch sniffings in order to include him in your story to accomplish a certain effect on your audience. Get real. If you'd met me, knowing what you think you know, you wouldn't have liked me, either. But you put that on the shelf, make me this commic 'former somebody' with the wrong accent and viola-- you have your story and your audience: they see what you want them to see." I chew my own gum. "Same with the news," he says, chewing noisily. Charlie cocks his head to one side. A plastic bag has blown onto the flight line. He growls. He barks. He chases the bag, and will not get close enough to it to bite it unless I go with him, which I do not. He's afraid of the bags and will chase them all the way accross the tarmac at a safe distance, but will never attack unless his friend is there with him. "Good times," I whisper. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 3:15 PM 