Note: This is not a reaction to the build-up, itself, but to those who are ignorant to the plight of the Chamoru people and all of Guam's residents as we fight for one simple cause: Life. There are those who do not understand all the ins and outs of this build-up and will quote facts and figures that have nothing to do with the build-up at all. More, while there are many willing to listen to the real facts and consider how these things affect an island of over 175,000 people, there are those who brush such things aside as though they were trivial situations that have no affect on anyone of significance. And the reality of this matter is that while most of the world is oblivious to our existence, let alone how our lives and home are being threatened, those who know just a little bit about us often believe that our fight is both fruitless and unsubstantiated, that we should actually feel differently, that they know more about what's best for a place that they will never see, even more than those of us who live here, who love this island, who want to fight to protect it so we have a place for our children to grow in, knowing that we did everything we could to make their lives better.
It's easy to ignore, to know that there is an entire world out there that you know nothing about and never make the effort to see that world; when you will not even imagine that world; when it does not exist as long as you cannot see it; when you live in a world that you believe you've struggled and toiled for in order to find your place in it despite never having to worry about how you will feed your children, pay your bills, keep your house, protect your environment, provide for your family and contribute to your country; when you live in a world with people who look like you, think like you, speak like you and you never venture far enough from that world to see how different it can be just a few short miles away.
It's easy to not care, to know what's happening in the world and believe that as long as it does not happen in your backyard, it does not matter; when it clearly does not affect you and it will not determine how you live your life; when you live on and reap the benefits of stolen land; when you believe that your tax payers' dollars pay for your rights in a country that uses that money to take the same rights away from others; when your ancestors were not pushed out of their homes in order to provide a playground, a strategic position in military defense, a nuclear dumping ground and yet another symbol of global dominance for the ruling majority; when you do not have words like "unincorporated territory" qualifying your citizenship and what few rights you have.
It's easy to be selfish, to continue living your life believing that your experiences and your observations are the standard; when your rules are everyone's rules and your reality is the only one that exists; when how you see the world is the way others do; when you believe that everyone in the world should see it the same way you do; when you are blind to the fact that the same rules in the exact same country do not apply; when you believe you deserve your freedom and rights simply because you were born in the right place to the right people; when you think your rights are universal, not just on a global scale but a national one; when you blame the natives of your land for the worst society has to offer after the institution that you love and believe in so much is the very institution that created those problems; when you cannot see that that same institution that elevates you and gives you the benefits you feel you deserve more than others denies those same rights to the people who are born of the first occupants of that land.
It's easy to mock, to ridicule the actions of others who take a stance against something that mirrors a cliche' you've heard too many times but never had the misfortune to live; when you've never stood up against those who feel it is within their rights to steal from you, to poison you, to liberate you only to force you into a life of servitude that you believe only exists in books and blockbuster movies; when you've never struggled under the yoke of an institution that considers you less than human, that refuses to honor the rights it swears to grant its citizens; when you've never had your citizenship questioned, denied, created with limits or given for a price; when you've always had a vote but have chosen not to cast it; when you've always had a voice but have chosen not to use it; when you've never had to fight with fists, with arms, with words or with heart; when you've never believed in anything that was worth your pain and inconvenience, or more, your life.
It's easy to feel indebted, to demand the thanks of a people you say your ancestors fought and died for; when you believe that you represent the armed forces that liberated an island you know or care nothing about; when you have never taken up arms to fight for the rights of others; when you have not walked into a room filled with pictures of faces you know, dozens of men in uniform that once lived in your homes who now live in boxes in the earth and in crypts; when you can count the number of brothers and sisters you've lost to war on one hand; when you are sending your sons and daughters to die under a flag that upholds your rights and not a flag that enslaves you; when you do not realize that you live in a state that cannot boast the highest number of enlisted soldiers per capita in your nation because that honor belongs to the very people you believe owe you allegiance and thanks, the very people who cannot say they have the same rights as you, the very people who have no say-so as to how their lives are run or the rules that govern them.
It's easy when you do not come from what is considered to be the longest occupied region in a world that should be evolving and protecting the inherent freedom and rights of its citizens. It's easy to believe that an increased population equals a stimulated economy when you have never lived in a place that is over-populated simply because miles of untouched land has been seized to sit and rot instead of house and protect people who desperately need it. It's easy to call for peaceful negotiations when you do not know that the same things that started the wars you believe gave you the freedom you feel you deserve are the very things happening in your own country right now, to your fellow citizens, to people who've worked harder and sacrificed more. It's easy to accept the institution's claims that immigration is the bane of your existence as a free citizen of a great nation when you cannot see that you are a product of immigration. It's easy to catalog the reasons you deserve the land you've built your life upon even if none of those reasons marks you as an indigenous person of that land. It's easy to be ignorant and see all functions as dollar signs and not ever consider that the cost of such transactions are human lives.
It's easy to be complacent. It's easy to reach the end of your life never knowing what your descendants will live or suffer through. It's easy to surrender when you have nothing to fight for. It's easy to abandon dreams of a world that will never be better than the one you already live because you have liberties others cannot even imagine. It's easy to protest how your first amendment rights are being violated when you cannot hear the voices of people who have no rights. It's easy to argue religion when someone asks you to remove the crucifix from around your neck instead of someone demanding that you wear that crucifix or die. It's easy to say that you have worked hard for your position when your work includes things that can be found in books for a monetary fee rather than work that involves people and a currency of blood, sweat and tears. It's easy to be happy when you cannot hear people cry. It's easy to be content when you cannot see people suffer.
It's easy to live the life that your nation was founded on.
It's not easy to fight for a life your nation has always denied.
1.1.10
a throwback: the genes i wish he didn't get from me
My son, Kane, has the same shape eyes as I do, which I got from my mom. His tiny pointed chin that juts out a bit is also mine and I got that from my dad. His nose, one that has developed from completely flat to rather round and back to flat is mine as well. That one skipped a generation from my grandmother, right past my father's narrow bridge and pointy nose, and down to me. Kane smiles with his whole face; also mine. That is something I take the most credit for. The sum of all my parts, with this trait from this side and that trait from the other, has translated almost completely accurately to my son. The extra spice added by his dad is rather limited though extremely noticeable. Altogether, though, that boy looks like his mama.
And then there's the other stuff. I'm not talking about my clutziness or tendency to bite the insides of my mouth (both of which he does, as well). I'm still on the physical traits that cannot be controlled or helped. But rather than being a sign that parent and child are, in fact, parents and child, some of them start beneath the skin and explode to the surface. Despite the obviousness of such superficial ailments, they can be the worst of the non-fatal chronic disorders. They are sometimes more inconvenient rather than painful. People seldom feel the need to worry, only show concern or simplify. And then sometimes no one really understands the cause. There's apparently no name for what I have. Words like "general" and "idiopathic" hint at its dubious nature. Other words like "hives" and "urticaria" don't really answer any questions. What happens is, for seemingly no reason, sometimes, my body breaks out in hives. Sometimes the cause is known. I am aware of a handful of allergies I have. I've understood the validity of psychosomatic hives for a while now (extreme fear has been known to manifest itself on my skin) and I know my skin is rather sensitive. Most of the time, it's very minor. I get a few bumps on the inside of my arm, it itches, it goes away as quickly as it appeared. Sometimes a scratch or burn never goes beneath the surface and there's only a red mark in the shape of whatever it is that offended my skin. If a cardboard box sits on my bare lap for a while, my skin will be irritated.
And then it's not so common and much worse than simply inconvenient. The worst outbreak I ever had was when I was in the beginning stages of my first pregnancy. Even after having lived with this tendency towards hives for a long time, I was worried that this sudden outbreak was a sign of something associated with my pregnancy. And it was. It just wasn't that serious. The simplest means of describing this reaction is that I am sensitive to any change to and within my body. My white blood cells sometimes attack something they don't need to attack and they do so in an unrelenting and most unwelcome fashion. So when another life was growing inside me, those cells when nuts a bit and, thankfully, instead of attacking the real foreigner (the dude in the belly) they had a few skirmishes on my skin. My entire body erupted in painful hives so large and growing so quickly that my body became one huge red mass with white spots here and there. My eyes and lips were swollen. I had hives on the bottom of my feet and on my palms. It was misery that lasted nearly a week. I was given diphenhydramine to block the histamines and a steroid to help with the inflammation.
And then nearly five years later, I watched helpless to the misery of that very child I was pregnant with as he fought to breathe through another coughing fit. It seemed to go away and then come back and when it did, it brought along a bunch of little friends: Those damn white blood cells. A few spots were on his chest and a doctor visit was arranged. They confirmed what I already knew, that these were just hives as a reaction to his cold. Well, they confirmed it when they learned that mommy had a little problem with hives, as well. Though I know I cannot control these things and I should feel damn lucky that hives are the most of our worries right now, I also cannot control the guilt I feel for damning my child with this horrendous affliction.
More than 24 hours had passed and we finally fell asleep, only the second time he'd managed to only after sheer exhaustion. I failed to remind my family ahead of time that, "Hey, knowing what it is doesn't help us that much. Brace yourself, it's about to get MUCH worse." And it did. His cough first, which was painful enough. But as soon as his cold started to go away, his hives completely took over. He was not particularly swollen but he was almost completely red. He was horribly itchy and he hated his medicine. He would wake up for a few seconds, remember he was itchy and have a hard time going back to sleep.
And though I know he'll get better soon and that this may just be the worst bout of hives he'll ever have to experience, I can barely deal to see him suffer through this. Nothing is nearly as crushing as seeing a child you love so much in pain and not being able to take the pain away. I'd happily go through the pains of labor every day for the rest of my life if it meant that I would never have to see my children hurt or get sick.
And then there's the other stuff. I'm not talking about my clutziness or tendency to bite the insides of my mouth (both of which he does, as well). I'm still on the physical traits that cannot be controlled or helped. But rather than being a sign that parent and child are, in fact, parents and child, some of them start beneath the skin and explode to the surface. Despite the obviousness of such superficial ailments, they can be the worst of the non-fatal chronic disorders. They are sometimes more inconvenient rather than painful. People seldom feel the need to worry, only show concern or simplify. And then sometimes no one really understands the cause. There's apparently no name for what I have. Words like "general" and "idiopathic" hint at its dubious nature. Other words like "hives" and "urticaria" don't really answer any questions. What happens is, for seemingly no reason, sometimes, my body breaks out in hives. Sometimes the cause is known. I am aware of a handful of allergies I have. I've understood the validity of psychosomatic hives for a while now (extreme fear has been known to manifest itself on my skin) and I know my skin is rather sensitive. Most of the time, it's very minor. I get a few bumps on the inside of my arm, it itches, it goes away as quickly as it appeared. Sometimes a scratch or burn never goes beneath the surface and there's only a red mark in the shape of whatever it is that offended my skin. If a cardboard box sits on my bare lap for a while, my skin will be irritated.
And then it's not so common and much worse than simply inconvenient. The worst outbreak I ever had was when I was in the beginning stages of my first pregnancy. Even after having lived with this tendency towards hives for a long time, I was worried that this sudden outbreak was a sign of something associated with my pregnancy. And it was. It just wasn't that serious. The simplest means of describing this reaction is that I am sensitive to any change to and within my body. My white blood cells sometimes attack something they don't need to attack and they do so in an unrelenting and most unwelcome fashion. So when another life was growing inside me, those cells when nuts a bit and, thankfully, instead of attacking the real foreigner (the dude in the belly) they had a few skirmishes on my skin. My entire body erupted in painful hives so large and growing so quickly that my body became one huge red mass with white spots here and there. My eyes and lips were swollen. I had hives on the bottom of my feet and on my palms. It was misery that lasted nearly a week. I was given diphenhydramine to block the histamines and a steroid to help with the inflammation.
And then nearly five years later, I watched helpless to the misery of that very child I was pregnant with as he fought to breathe through another coughing fit. It seemed to go away and then come back and when it did, it brought along a bunch of little friends: Those damn white blood cells. A few spots were on his chest and a doctor visit was arranged. They confirmed what I already knew, that these were just hives as a reaction to his cold. Well, they confirmed it when they learned that mommy had a little problem with hives, as well. Though I know I cannot control these things and I should feel damn lucky that hives are the most of our worries right now, I also cannot control the guilt I feel for damning my child with this horrendous affliction.
More than 24 hours had passed and we finally fell asleep, only the second time he'd managed to only after sheer exhaustion. I failed to remind my family ahead of time that, "Hey, knowing what it is doesn't help us that much. Brace yourself, it's about to get MUCH worse." And it did. His cough first, which was painful enough. But as soon as his cold started to go away, his hives completely took over. He was not particularly swollen but he was almost completely red. He was horribly itchy and he hated his medicine. He would wake up for a few seconds, remember he was itchy and have a hard time going back to sleep.
And though I know he'll get better soon and that this may just be the worst bout of hives he'll ever have to experience, I can barely deal to see him suffer through this. Nothing is nearly as crushing as seeing a child you love so much in pain and not being able to take the pain away. I'd happily go through the pains of labor every day for the rest of my life if it meant that I would never have to see my children hurt or get sick.
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