Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Patriotism Is A Warm Puppy

Have you seen the new ads on t.v.?
The ones recruiting for the military?
You know the ones,
some poor kid is sitting on a couch in a uniform
while his parents talk about how proud they are of him
and what a better person he is now that he’s enlisted.
Or the one with the black family,
where the mom is combing one kid’s hair and the older son
is questioning her about why she questioned his decision to join the army
and she says, “that’s my job.”
Then they both smile.
It’s sick.
Patriotism is being sold like a warm puppy
or a Hallmark card.
No one is showing the bodies being blown-up and saying,
“Come join the Marines.”
Or the post-war aftermath of innocent people being decimated
and a quote coming up on the screen afterwards that says,
“Army, not just a job, an adventure.”
The worst part about the ads is
the way they are being marketed to the poorest, least educated part of our country.
It feels like the way cereal manufacturers market to kids on Saturday morning.
They know their audience and what buttons to push.
They know how to package it,
what words to use,
what color to make the box,
and how to make it just innocent enough
that the parents will say yes to it.
It’s all warm,
and real,
and sappy,
but if you read the ingredients,
it’s poison.
Same with these beauties.
None of the ads ever show a wealthy family with some rich kid
in the backseat of his parent’s Lexus
trying to decide between Harvard and Ft. Campbell.
Or a kid in a high paying white collar job choosing between Wall Street and the streets of Iraq.
Or some politician’s son choosing between
following in dad’s Gucci footsteps or eating dirt for the next year.
No, these recruiters are way too smart for that.
They pick the vulnerable ones in our society,
the ones who feel like it’s their ticket out to a better future
when it’s really their ticket to the morgue.
Don’t their families love them too?
Isn’t their blood worth as much as the blood of wealthy white Americans?
When did our Armed Forces become the poor-man’s green ghetto?
Fight on the streets for your gang or fight on the streets for Uncle Sam?
Makes you proud to be an American, doesn’t it?
Oh, sorry, I’m mean, don’t it,?