To America

To America

You condemn this evil man who ended so many lives. Terrorist, you call him, and burn pictures of him. And your anger carries to other countries like ripples in a pond, and I bury my own head in shame.

You decide he was a monster, and yet I ask this question. If he was such a monster, why did nobody know? Why did nobody see the signs? Why did I fall in love with this monster and carry his child? And why did he never put a bruise on my skin or a bad word in my mind?

And yet that fateful day, he killed thousands. And I cry. I cry for them, not him. And I wonder how I was deceived so totally, and how my soulmate could have chosen to burn to death in a false glory.

And you mock me, as I walk down the street in my traditional dress. You cross the road and do not help me when my shopping bags break. And when you see my skin colour you look the other way, terrified that I may be a terrorist.

Well, now, look me in the eye and answer my voice. For I was his wife, am now a widow, and I have told my daughter how daddy died. And for any widow, that is a terrible job. But to say daddy died deliberately and took thousands with him, that makes my throat run dry and my eyes water.

And again my sympathy is for them, and for her, looking wide-eyed at me. As she watches the attacks on TV, on her country, by foreign pigs who live uncivilized lives. That is how you like to imagine it.

Not a normal family man who lived inside your shores, and plotted so secretly his own wife never guessed. And you call a war against anyone who may be weak enough to listen, and then you give Aid with the other hand.

And you really are not aware that they would rather die than take your Aid.

And still you fight, and my husband’s death angers you even now. And the memorials attract crowds like the Golden Jubilee in your closest allie’s land. And people can be proud to cry, for they are American, and Americans are Gods!

And all foreigners travelling into the country will be shunned, unless they are the great Mr Blair’s people, who will go freely. And if a foreigner should want flying lessons, the death penalty shall be handed on him by cruel American eyes and tongues.

And for me, a parent widowed, who before was assumed to be seeking your benefits and health system, I am now clearly a spy. It will be only so long until I choose the martyr path of way, and leave my daughter an orphan in this harsh world.

Well, dear Americans, hear this now. I came here as a child, and have worked for everything I own. And my husband the same. And we are American citizens, or at least he was. And my daughter now wears your flag with pride.

And yet we are outcasts, pushed out by White men who at least look American. And for this, Americans, you have my sympathy. For you are looking in the wrong place for the enemy. And I will not apologise for my race, or indeed my daughter’s. All I can apologise for, and be made to regret by your behaviour, is my husband’s enormous mistake.

Is that enough for you? To hear me say, I am sorry. To watch me cry the words ‘I wish my husband’s plane had crashed in the sea’?

Maybe.