I did not complete reading your email.  I could not.   I read enough to see 
that the email had nothing to do with museums.  I should just completely 
ignore it.  However, since it has been brought up, I would like to say: 
There have been unjust wars since very near the beginning of time. 
Countless innocent people have died in atrocities through the centuries. 
War is never pretty but will always be, at least until the end of time as we 
know it.  Innocent people will die throughout that same timeframe.  That 
does not mean that we should not pay respect to specific peoples who die 
tragically nor does it mean we should not honor those who sacrifice or 
endanger their lives to try to help others.  That said, I believe this 
should stop right here as, again, it has nothing to do with museums and it 
is an inappropriate place for such a discussion.

Frances Hayden
USMC retired


----- Original Message ----- 
From: "L Dewey" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Tuesday, September 11, 2007 9:16 AM
Subject: [MUSEUM-L] A Moment of Silence


>A Moment of Silence for 9/11
>
> By Emmanuel Ortiz, 9/11/02
>
> Before I start this poem, I'd like to ask you to
> join me in a moment of silence in honor of those who
> died in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon last
> September 11th.
>
> I would also like to ask you to offer up a moment of
> silence for all of those who have been harassed,
> imprisoned, disappeared, tortured, raped, or killed in
> retaliation for those strikes, for the victims in both
> Afghanistan and the U.S.
>
> And if I could just add one more thing...
>
> A full day of silence for the tens of thousands of
> Palestinians who have died at the hands of
> U.S.-backed Israeli forces over decades of occupation.
>
>
> Six months of silence for the million-and-a-half Iraqi
> people, mostly
> children, who have died of malnourishment or
> starvation as a result of
> an 11-year U.S. embargo against the country.
>
> Before I begin this poem, two months of silence
> for the Blacks under Apartheid in South Africa,
> where homeland security made them aliens in their own
> country.
>
> Nine months of silence for the dead in Hiroshima and
> Nagasaki, where death rained down and peeled back
> every layer of concrete, steel, earth, and skin and
> the survivors went on as if alive.
>
> A year of silence for the millions of dead in Viet Nam
> - a people, not a war - for those who know a thing or
> two about the scent of burning fuel, their relatives'
> bones buried in it, their babies born of it.
>
> A year of silence for the dead in Cambodia and Laos,
> victims of a secret war ... ssssshhhhh ... Say nothing
> ... we don't want them to learn that they are dead.
>
> Two months of silence for the decades of dead in
> Colombia, whose names, like the corpses they once
> represented, have piled up and slipped off our
> tongues.
>
> Before I begin this poem, an hour of silence for El
> Salvador ...
> An afternoon of silence for Nicaragua ...
> Two days of silence for the Guetmaltecos ... None of
> whom ever knew a moment of peace in their living
> years.
>
> 45 seconds of silence for the 45 dead at Acteal,
> Chiapas.
>
> 25 years of silence for the hundred million Africans
> who found their graves far deeper in the ocean than
> any building could poke into the sky.
> There will be no DNA testing or dental records to
> identify their remains.
>
> And for those who were strung and swung from the
> heights of sycamore trees in the south, the north, the
> east, the west ... 100 years of silence ...
>
> For the hundreds of millions of indigenous peoples
> from this half of right here,whose land and lives were
> stolen, in postcard-perfect plots like Pine Ridge,
> Wounded Knee, Sand Creek, Fallen Timbers, or the Trail
>
> of Tears.
>
> Names now reduced to innocuous magnetic poetry on the
> refrigerator of our unconsciousness ...
> So you want a moment of silence?
>
> And we are all left speechless
> Our tongues snatched from our mouths
> Our eyes stapled shut
> A moment of silence
>
> And the poets have all been laid to rest
> The drums disintegrating into dust
>
> Before I begin this poem,
> You want a moment of silence
> You mourn now as if the world will never be the same
> And the rest of us hope to hell it won't be.
>
> Not like it always has been.
>
> Because this is not a 9/11 poem
> This is a 9/10 poem,
> It is a 99 poem,
> A 9/8 poem,
> A 9/7 poem
> This is a 1492 poem.
>
> This is a poem about what causes poems like this to be
> written.
> And if this is a 9/11 poem,
> Then this is a September 11th poem for Chile, 1971
> This is a September 12th poem for Steven Biko in South
> Africa, 1977
> This is a September 13th poem for the brothers at
> Attica Prison, New
> York, 1971.
> This is a September 14th poem for Somalia, 1992.
>
> This is a poem for every date
> that falls to the ground in ashes.
>
> This is a poem for every date
> that falls to the ground in ashes.
>
> This is a poem for the 110 stories
> that were never told.
> The 110 stories that history
> chose not to write in textbooks.
> The 110 stories that
> CNN, BBC, The New York Times, and Newsweek ignored.
>
> This is a poem for interrupting this program.
> And still you want a moment of silence for your dead?
> We could give you lifetimes of empty:
> The unmarked graves
> The lost languages
> The uprooted trees and histories
> The dead stares on the faces of nameless children.
> Before I start this poem
> we could be silent forever
> Or just long enough to hunger,
> For the dust to bury us.
> And you would still ask us
> For more of our silence.
>
> If you want a moment of silence
> Then stop the oil pumps
> Turn off the engines and the televisions
> Sink the cruise ships
> Crash the stock markets
> Unplug the marquee lights,
> Delete the instant messages,
> Derail the trains, the light rail transit.
> If you want a moment of silence,
> Put a brick through the window of Taco Bell,
> And pay the workers for wages lost.
> Tear down the liquor stores,
> The townhouses, the White Houses, the jailhouses,
> The Penthouses, and the Playboys.
> If you want a moment of silence,
> Then take it on Super Bowl Sunday,
> The Fourth of July
> During Dayton's 13 hour sale
>
>
> Or the next time your white guilt fills the room
> where MY beautiful people have gathered.
> You want a moment of silence
> Then take it now,
> Before this poem begins.
>
> Here, in the echo of my voice,
> In the pause between goosesteps of the second hand,
> In the space between bodies in embrace,
> Here is your silence
> Take it.
>
> But take it all.
> Don't cut in line.
> Let your silence begin at the beginning of crime.
> But we, Tonight
> We will keep right on singing
> For our dead.
>
> by Emmanuel Ortiz 9.11.02
>
> =========================================================
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=========================================================
Important Subscriber Information:

The Museum-L FAQ file is located at http://www.finalchapter.com/museum-l-faq/ . You may obtain detailed information about the listserv commands by sending a one line e-mail message to [log in to unmask] . The body of the message should read "help" (without the quotes).

If you decide to leave Museum-L, please send a one line e-mail message to [log in to unmask] . The body of the message should read "Signoff Museum-L" (without the quotes).