Mea Culpa to our sons and daughters, from your nation
To my sons and daughters,
My raging fever of the last dozen years has broken, but just for a moment I fear, and while I have this time, I need to confess what I’ve done to you, beg for your forgiveness and ask you for your help.
I used your unconditional love for me years ago during the height of my fever, after September 11, 2001, to trick you into dangerous invasions of far-away places with shabby or non-existent protection and no real plan. Even though I had millions of antibodies fighting for me all over the world, it wasn’t enough to stop the disease. I said it would be easy, a “cakewalk”, and cried with pride when you signed up and went to “defend” me. The fever made me delusional. Four decades ago, I was stricken with the same illness but I was allowed to see you nightly and it gave me strength to fight off the fever. This time, I wasn’t allowed to see you except in sanitized stories. They wouldn’t even let me see your flag draped coffins coming home for years and years. I know I wasn’t providing the best opportunities for you here and many of you had desperate reasons to go this time, even if you were doubtful or scared of my reasons. Now you’re coming back to me and I can’t seem to find the strength or the will to heal you from the horrors I put you through, both physically and mentally. All those ribbons and flags I stuck all over myself, those “thank you for your service” paeans, they’re just Band-Aids and you’re killing yourselves in despair and disappointment. Some of you made it back whole and some of you made it back broken in spirit and body. The courage you used to get through the old horrors may be running out and I don’t know how to fix that. It is weakening me.
And I’ve long been too weak in not fighting against this violence based disease that lets weapons proliferate throughout my system. Now you’re coming back to me and the same fear and uncertainty: that danger lurks everywhere, behind a normal face, in public places like malls and schools greets you. Your younger brothers and sisters have been infected. They believe violence solves everything. They watch shows and play games with instruments of killing. It’s in their blood now too. And somehow the disease has mutated into sterile, remote, and impersonal game-like forms of armed drones killing people we don’t even know. Like an antibiotic-resistant disease, I can’t rid myself of the violence, hatred and fear in my blood. There doesn’t seem to be a single cure for what I have but I keep hoping, someday, enough of you will be the antibodies that save my life and restores me back to the strong and compassionate being I once was. You are my young and brave hope.
I’ve already asked too much of you but if you still love me, I beg you to help me get strong again. Forgive me for lying to you, for teaching you violence is the answer, for betraying you by lies and patriotic slogans, for allowing fear of “the other” to infect your souls and for putting you in harm’s way for no moral reason. Help cure me by standing up for what is right and just and demand the treatment that will kill this disease inside me. I’ll be strong again and able to take care of you and those you love. I will protect you and show you opportunities you haven’t even dreamed of. I need you, for real this time. Hurry, the fever’s coming back.
Your country,
America
