February 26, 2003 Me and 'eM
I got word tonite that I leave for Iraq on 3/5, stopping one day in Chicago. I should be with the Iraq Peace Team in Iraq on 3/9. I'm pretty much ready. I told you I'd let you know first thing. We'll talk later. I love you -  April
" 'eM " by Dee Wildermuth (Special to The Seattle Times)
If we get 'em, who will we get? "Nuke 'em till they glow and shoot 'em in the dark." "Em?" Not them but "Em." A shortened nondescript reference to other. While standing on the Bow Hill overpass with my "NO IRAQ WAR" sign in my hand, a burly guy in a pickup truck rolled past with his window down and shouted at me. "Nuke 'em till they glow and shoot 'em in the dark!" Startled, I smiled and waved. Probably not smart as he might have taken it as a taunt. I said to my bridge companion, "He doesn't know who they are." On my drive home I got to thinking about the shorthand word "em." "Em" is fog and shadows. No face, no personality until an enemy is identified and then "Em" becomes that. In the present moment, "Em" has an intense dark face with fierce threatening eyes. A man in his prime, all muscle and bone with the intent to harm; willing to give his life for his cause. He shouts, waves his rifle and hates. He hates "Em." I see this same burly guy from the Bow Hill overpass in my mind, with a gun, dressed in army green, walking in a strange place with fear in his sweat and right on his mind, ready to rid the world of "em." His cause is to protect the innocent and keep the world safe. He shouts, waves his rifle and hates. He hates "Em." Who is "Em"? Who is "Em"? In most cases "Em" is a woman or a child; a farmer, a truck driver, a cook, a shop owner. "Em" has a face. A family. A heart that beats and real blood that flows through a body made of muscle and bone. "Em" is an infant born to a woman. "Em" is a child. Sometimes a skinny, scared, big-eyed child. "Em" becomes a man or a woman then grows old with a stoop and memories. We are "Em" and it breaks my heart. I have seen "Em" on the news. I see "Em" on the street, in cars, in the burly guy in a pickup truck on the Bow Hill overpass. I can feel the arm of "Em" brush mine as we pass. Our eyes meet. In an unguarded moment I might see defeat or joy. The fatigue of a long day. An absent-minded glance. Anger. Hostility. Any number of emotions I carry inside myself and in my eyes. I am "Em." You could nuke me till I glow and shoot me in the dark. It wouldn't be "Em." It would be me. It would be my child; my big-eyed, skinny, little child, my brother, my lover, or my friend. We are "Em" and it breaks my heart. Dee Wildermuth writes from Bow.