US F16 dropping munitions Seal of the US President Destroyed mosque at Samarra
This poem was born out of the emotions I experienced as I watched the invasion of a sovereign nation, (Iraq), by the USA, for the sake of oil, big business and Zionist politics, against the will of most of the world.
The invasion of Afghanistan was understandable but that of Iraq was absolutely unjustified and unacceptable. The brow beating of the UN and the hurling aside of all decency and international law on the pretext of a tissue of lies by an ignorant, wrong-headed, overfed bully, followed by great and pointless destruction wrought upon the cradle of civilisation and the slaughter of vast numbers of the innocent, will haunt the USA for decades to come. And it wasn't only the invasion that will destroy their good name, think of the atrocities perpetrated at Abu Ghraib and other places, at the clear behest of Donald Rumsfeld himself: stress positions (read torture), attack dogs (read torture), "extraordinary rendition" (read outsourced torture), Guantanamo Bay, indefinite imprisonment in cages without trial, immunity from all law, cluster bombs, collateral damage (read killing of civilians) etc. It will be a long time before they live this lot down. As for GW Bush, he has nailed himself to his cross, and there he will hang for eternity, like a small version of Hitler.
As an Australian, I was ashamed of the brown-nosed stance of my government under the leadership of John Winston Howard, one of the most contemptible toadies and witless cowards that Australia has ever produced. A catalog of attributes that are totally against the great Australian character. A Prime Minister that can't live up to all that he holds dear. May he spend the rest of his miserable life reviewing the damage he did to Australia during his iniquitous reign, and wishing he had had the courage to stand up to the Yanks.
As for the rest of the world, particularly the Arab world. I offer this poem as a gesture of good will and support, and evidence that most Australians do not, and did not, wish for this war.
This poem is, of course, a satire of the US anthem, and the keen student will note many lines that previously supported the USA have now been turned against them. Such is the reward of evil: to lose your self-respect and the respect of others. The tune incidentally, was written by John Stafford Smith, an Englishman and later Master of the Chapel Royal Children, in the 1760s for the Anacreontic Society in London. It is about as American as Handel, or chips and mushy peas.
I guess, on the strength of their recent history one could fairly say that the USA have forfeited their right to their anthem.
For those who have suffered under the star-spangled fist, I hope that singing this song may give them a satisfying outlet for their rage.
Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What in terror we glimpsed, at the twilight's last gleaming?
Clad in stripes and bright stars, under cover of night:
The bullies of the world in their self-righteous preening.
With their tanks and their shell, and their missiles from hell,
From the sky and the land, where defenceless we fell.
In the ruin of our homes is sown war's bitter seed,
By the stooges of the rich and the armies of greed.
On the shore, dimly seen through the smoke on the land,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread splendour reposes,
Stands a smartly dressed man with a briefcase in hand,
Who takes a fat slice of each contract he closes:
For the weapons of war, and for oil and more.
To commercial power their government's a whore.
In the name of the green-back, all actions are legal,
In the eyes of the man underneath the bald eagle.
Oh, thus be it often when people shall stand,
Between what is theirs and the wants of a tyrant.
Faced with death and defeat, shall the folk of that land
Curse the Power that made the U.S. such a giant.
For to take they will fight, since its they have the might,
And there's none who dare stand to say they have no right.
But they're fools if they think that their banner shall wave,
O'er the tributary land and the home of the slave.
Warren Mars - April 2003