American activists

It was the Reagan years.
Our leader was killing commies
in Central America
to keep us safe
in Harlingen, Texas.

They called it low-intensity warfare.
Before it was over
we killed fifty thousand in Nicaragua,
Eighty thousand in El Salvador,
mostly, as usual, women and kids.
Later, in 1986, the World Court
condemned us as international terrorists.
We told the World Court: Go to hell.

From the start some of us protested.
We called ourselves LAA
Latin America Assistance.
We marched at the Federal Building,
showed videos at churches,
did forums and debates,
put out newsletters,
got articles into the paper.

Who energized us?
Brought us together?
Got us organized and moving?
He was a doctor, tall, good looking,
early thirties, unmarried, well traveled.

We asked him, "Why do you do this?"
He told us a story.

            As a medical student,
            I spent vacations
            visiting little towns
            in Latin America.
            In one village,
            I watched a girl.
            She was twelve or so.
            She sat on a wooden sidewalk.
            Her back leaned on the wall of a store.
            She stared into nothing.
            A fly crawled across her face,
            then her open eyeball.
            She didn't blink, didn't flinch.
            The doctor in me asked,
            What could cause such stupor?
            The man in me answered,
            "My country, our guns, our money."