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Commentary Last Updated: Jan 4th, 2007 - 01:08:31

I am the voice of American outrage and anguish, silently weeping but never forgetting
By Gina de Miranda
Online Journal Guest Writer

Jul 20, 2006, 00:40

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Although you may not see me because the television doesn�t tell you that I exist, I am here. You may not hear me phoning relentlessly to my congressman, my senator and the men that I did not choose, who are unelected and whose oaths of fealty are as sand, easily-shaped and quick to crumble.

I am the high tech worker trying to pay off debts that sustained my family until I could find work at Wal-Mart. I am the executive who works in a position that I once managed. I am the phone operator who can no longer pay my own bill. I am the divorced mother who had to choose between her job and her asthmatic child, but writes letters at night urging for work to return.

I am the woman over 50 who cannot find work, because I �might become ill,� �my brain is too old,� �my resume too impressive,� �my education too extensive,� and I need to be punished for having divorced, because it will impress the television ministers in their silken suits bringing baskets of money. I am the programmer that is brilliant, but not as cheap as those of India or China. I will be hired to fix their mistakes as a temporary, but not as an employee. No one will know that it costs three times as much to do it overseas, because the facts fall in different budgets and are lost in the torrent of numbers. Every time that I phone my Congressman, he�s too busy to listen. His young aide of 22 thinks that I am whining,

You will find our faces next to that of Cindy Sheehan. We walked with her when she was in town. We could not go to Washington because there was no money and the tires would not make it. You might find us or someone like us working at grocery stores, pet stores, hardware stores and selling whatever we still have on eBay. You may see us praying quietly at a job fair hoping to be chosen. You might find us at court paying speeding tickets of $400 for insurance that we did posses, because all the people with money did not pay their tickets, but gave �campaign donations instead.� You might find us signing petitions and carrying signs during those breaks from the two or three jobs that we now work just to get by.

We don�t even have suits to interview in anymore. We missed an interview two years ago, because our son�s racist school thought it more expedient to call us at work and demand that we come home, because our son�s feet smelled even though he bathed. We did not get that job and we haven�t had another interview, because we could not explain because the reality was so surreal that it would have been disbelieved. We have gotten fat on cheap food and doing little but work.

We are the erased. The lines of our faces grown faint by the buffeting. Our purpose reduced to survival. But still we decry what is happening. We decry the evil, but our voices are hushed, ignored, minimized, swept away by great winds like Rush Limbaugh, who has less education than we do; or Bill O�Reilly, who hates all humanity possibly because he wasn�t nursed long enough or he feels somehow inadequate; or Richard Cheney, who is both a bad shot and an ulcerated pustule of a human being; or Karl Rove, who seethes with hatred of those not as plump as he who made his adolescence unpleasant; or George W. Bush and his mother, Lady Macbeth, on props from a closed Broadway play staged by demons pretending to be in recovery.

This is what outraged looks like. We are not really silent. We are not numb. Everyday, we call and write and email to convey our outrage, our shock and fright and every day we are dismissed in a hundred different ways. We get a response to a resume six months after it isI sent it out. We receive letters almost daily from our senators and congressmen telling us how little that we know. We get letters from possible employers telling us that we know too much to work for them. If there is a way to be humiliated, embarrassed, disenfranchised, impoverished or tormented, each one of us has experienced it.

When you say that we do not care about the Palestinians, you cannot know how much their plight resonates with erased people. We know what it means to cry out and go unheard. We know what it is to wake up and discover that the world is hostile and crazy. We know what not having been poor and then being incredibly poor is like. We do care. These things that we have done, which took us time, you diminish by writing that �no one is outraged� or they �don�t have enough rage,� We wonder just who it is that you mean?

Rather than grow angry at each other, let�s begin to build a way to resist

Let�s create jobs for those who don�t have them now. Let�s come together and find homes and food and housing for each other. Let�s refuse to fund these wars that only enrich Carlyle, Halliburton and their secret friends in government.

Let�s sell things on eBay and start a fund for OUR COOPERATIVE FUTURE . . . FOR THE COUNTRY THAT WE CAN BUILD TOGETHER.

Let�s tell MOVE ON and every other 527 that ads are fine, but jobs are better. Instead of buying ads, pay people to put fliers on every door. Pay people to go to congressmen�s offices and videotape everyone that comes in.

Let�s start a letter writing campaign to all politicians and tell them that we will refuse to vote for anyone that creates television ads or attack ads of any kind. Let�s tell them to put that money into the fund to sue this administration silly for all the money that it has looted.

Let�s begin to work together to remember who we are, love our children and bring our country back.

Let�s refuse to buy products from companies that don�t employ Americans or who spy on people. Let�s out every single company that has stockholders of �influence.�

Let�s find that $2.3 trillion and use it to employ us.

Let�s cut off our cable and watch old time movies instead, until they run real news and force their foreign investors out.

Let�s make it unprofitable to be a neocon or a neocon's friend.

Let�s send millions of letters to the Pilgrim Club and tell them all the wonderful things invented by people who weren�t ultra-wealthy. Heck, let�s count them ourselves.

But let�s stop accusing other Americans of not caring. Let�s start believing in each other and our country again. Let�s refuse to get pushed around by a bunch of old men still trying to impress their daddies and who can�t even wash their own clothes.

Gina de Miranda, mother, woman, Texan, but American first of all.

Copyright © 1998-2007 Online Journal
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