And, as an addendum to my post from Monday on leftist essayists, Lance Mannion doesn't always do politics, but when he does, there's nothing but scorched earth and body parts for miles. His post on Cindy Sheehan leaves no hackish counterattack alive:
Forget the illogic of invoking the old "so and so is turning over in his grave" cliche in this case. The behavior meant to be shamed would not be necessary if that so and so was alive to condemn it. If Casey Sheehan was alive to scold his mother for camping out in Crawford she would not be camping out in Crawford.
Forget also the childishness of it, the way talking about Casey Sheehan as if he was alive saves them from having to face the fact of his death, of Death itself. Soldiers don't die, they just take up residency in Vallhalla. We don't have to mourn them. We don't have to question why they died. They're happy there! They want to be there! O Death where is thy sting, and mommy, leave the light on, please?
And forget the narcissism of it, the way they are admiring and congratulating themselves by imagining that Sheehan would be automatically on their side, the way they are feeling tough and brave by identifying with a dead hero, the way they refuse to imagine the ghost of Casey Sheehan turning to those among them young enough to serve and demanding to know, "Why weren't you there with me? Why didn't you have my back?"
Read the whole thing.
