I liked the idea of the Iraq Moratorium when I first heard of it. It combines the nostalgia many of us over-50s feel for the Vietnam war protests, back when we could believe that those demonstrations could (and arguably did) affect lawmakers, with the despairing need we feel to do something effective now about the disaster in Iraq. It offers a focus: we can take that everyday low-level consciousness of the horror and concentrate it into one day a month, a day that might, month after month, make us a united voice that cannot be ignored.
Then I started thinking about what I could do today for the first Moratorium Day. I thought about joining the local "Raise Hell for Molly Ivins" group, banging pots and pans at my Congressman's district office, but that seemed just about as futile and useless as any activity could be, since my Congressman is the odious John Doolittle.
I considered celebrating the occasion by writing yet again to my Senators and my Congressman (yes, the odious Mr. Doolittle), but it was simply too depressing to contemplate the carefully worded apologetics on Congresssional letterhead that I'd eventually receive in return, to prompt yet another round of rage and despair.
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