Published December 23, 2004 in
The Boston Globe...snip...
The news that condolence letters from (Rumsfeld's) office had been signed -- if signed is the right word -- by a machine echoed everywhere. "In the interest of ensuring timely contact with grieving family members, he has not individually signed each letter," admitted a Pentagon spokesman.
This cool efficiency was not just a breach of etiquette. It was an insult added to the exquisite injury of those same grieving families. The man who sent their sons, daughters, husbands, wives to Iraq didn't have time enough to put his Donald Rumsfeld on a condolence note.
"Our loved ones aren't just a number to us," said a New Hampshire mother who lost her 20-year-old son.
"He didn't care. In my opinion he doesn't care about nothing," said a Pennsylvania father who wears his late son's Purple Heart.
The black humorists I know asked what would happen next in our lean, mean fighting machine. An e-mail announcing that a child had been killed in action? An automated voice mail offering sympathies? A fill-in-the-blanks death notice suitable for framing?
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