Saturday, December 31, 2011

Here Comes the Tornado by Cindy Sheehan

Here Comes The Tornado

Cindy Sheehan

Cindy Lee Miller was born on July 10, 1957, in Inglewood, Ca. She was the oldest child of Dennis, an electrician, and Shirley, a stay-at-home mom (or "housewife" as they would say back in 1957).

Cindy grew up in Bellflower, Ca. with her sister, Dede and brother, Scott. The Millers were firmly ensconced in the working-poor class and the siblings can recall many times when the electricity was turned off for weeks at a time and a few evictions before their parents split in 1976.

Cindy Lee Miller (a loan adjustor at Security Pacific National Bank—which was long ago consumed by BofA) became Cindy Lee Sheehan on April 30, 1977, when she married, Patrick Thomas Sheehan (a hardware salesman). Patrick and Cindy began their family on May 29, 1979, when their cherished firstborn, Casey, was born. Then, bam, bam, bam—in quick succession, three more children followed: Carly, Andy and Jane.

By all accounts, the Sheehans were a relatively happy lower middle-class family on the Left Coast. Those days, before Cindy went to her "reward," the Sheehans would have been identified as Catholic and Democrat who were quietly pro-choice and loudly pro-fun. Happy, that is, until April 04, 2004 at 9:01pm, which was the day and time that Cindy died.

April 4th of that year was a beautiful Sunday (Palm, that is) and Cindy awoke worried, but seemingly at peace, about the fact that her dearest oldest child Casey was stationed somewhere in Iraq. Since he had deployed in mid-March, Cindy had been distracted, tearful, sleepless, and without much of an appetite. Casey had been gone before on trips with his Scout Troop and Church youth group (once even to Europe), and Cindy had worried like any mother would, but she discovered quickly that worrying about a child camping up at Yosemite or camped in the heat of an Iraqi desert were two very different things.

The final time Cindy and Casey had spoken, Cindy begged Casey to be careful and he assured her he would. Cindy semi-jokingly told Casey that she would break his legs or take him to Canada and he said that he didn’t want to go, but the “sooner I go, Mom, the sooner I’ll be home.”

On the day she died, Cindy even remarked to Casey’s next youngest sibling, Carly, that it was the first day since Casey left that she felt happy and energized. Boy, Cindy got a lot done that day: laundry, house-cleaning, shopping for food and other assorted tasks one does on a sunny Sunday.

The other three children were out and about around dinnertime, so Patrick grilled up something on the George Foreman grill that Casey had given him on a previous birthday, and Pat and Cindy sat down to a quiet Sunday dinner watching CNN, as was their custom—thinking that watching CNN actually made them “well informed.”

No sooner had Cindy taken her first bite when a burning Humvee popped up on the screen and Pat and Cindy were told that “eight U.S. troops were killed in Baghdad” that day. Cindy’s heart turned to ice and spitting the bite back out on her plate (that was positioned on the oak coffee table that had held hundreds of loads of folded laundry and which also doubled as a tent, launch ramp, car track, coloring table and other assorted kid activities) and croaked out: “one of them was Casey.”

Visibly shaken, Pat started to scream at the air, because he was not really upset with Cindy: “stop it, you don’t even know where Casey is stationed yet, and he’s a mechanic, and there’s tens of thousands of troops there, chances are it wasn’t Casey!”

“I don’t care what you say, I know one of them was Casey,” Cindy cried.

“He’s going to be there for a year, you need help if you are going to think that every report of every soldier wounded or killed is Casey,” Pat answered.

That was it for dinner and Cindy sat around for the rest of the evening waiting for a call or something telling her that her beloved son was dead. Around 8:30, that call hadn’t come, so, feeling sheepish about her relief, knowing that some mother's son had been killed that day—she took the family’s two dogs, Chewy, a brown and white Shih-Tzu, and Buster, Chewy’s black and white son, for their nightly walk.

In those days before she died, Cindy would just have to start thinking that it was time to walk the dogs and Buster and Chewy would become excited and start to jump around—that evening was no exception.

However, this night on the walk around their normal route, Cindy cried the entire time thinking of Casey and she had just decided that the next day she would see if there was some kind of support group at the nearest US military base, Travis AFB, when she rounded the corner of the garage and she could see, through the open screen door, her worst nightmare in horrible living color standing there: three military man gathered together, as if mustering for an attack on her small world, indeed they were about to make it come crashing down around her.

Cindy knew in her heart that The Army would not come to visit unless Casey was already dead and as she finished the last few steps of the routine walk, the world started to spin and her legs began to turn into rubber and she somehow made it just inside the front door.  

Before Cindy fell on the floor and died, she glimpsed her oldest daughter, Carly, standing close to the door having just returned from work with a look of profound shock on her face, and then she saw Casey’s dad, Pat, hands frozen in time where he had been folding a pair of his slacks.

The day, Casey Austin Sheehan, born on John F. Kennedy’s birthday in 1979, was killed in the illegal and immoral war of choice in Iraq exactly 36 years after Martin Luther King, Jr., was assassinated, was also the day his mother, Cindy, passed away.

Cindy lay on the floor doubled over in agonizing pain—screaming so hard she felt like a blood vessel in her brain would surely burst.
To say that Cindy’s heart broke that day would be an inadequate way to describe what happened.

Cindy’s heart wasn’t merely broken it was shattered, spindled, folded and mutilated. The intense emotional pain is felt physically and as Cindy lie on the ground that April evening she prayed to a cruel god to take her also.

One can recall the days when a pimple on picture day in junior high school or when your main squeeze of two weeks dumped you seemed like the end of the world. Before Casey was killed, the Sheehans had money problems and minor teenage angst, which seemed pretty terrible at the time; however, Cindy had nothing at all to compare with the sickly unnatural phenomena of having a child precede her in death.

I said "Cindy died," but obviously I am alive and well. I can assure you, though, dear reader, that any resemblance to the Cindy of April 3rd, 2004 and the Cindy of today is purely physical. Yes, I look like pre-disaster Cindy, but I don’t act like her in any way, shape or form.

After my son was killed, I was paralyzed or immobilized with grief. I spent all day every day laying on the love seat in the same living room that had been visited by Uncle Sam’s Messengers of Death with my long legs propped up on one arm of the love seat. I would stare for hours at my legs, knees and feet and marvel at the fact that they could move and had substance, when I felt dead inside.

In the first months of my bereavement, I had an unreasonable hatred of the sun. Usually after a sleepless night, I would wonder how it was possible for the sun to rise every morning when my own son was interred in his permanent grave just a few miles away? How could everything and everyone in the world look and act so normally when my entire existence now seemed so profoundly abnormal?

To help my sleeping problem, a well-meaning, but idiotic health care provider prescribed some sleeping pills for me. What doctor’s manual gives the stamp of approval for giving a grieving mother a 'script for “suicide in a brown-tinted, plastic bottle?" Every night, I would go to the cupboard and pull out my bottle of Ambien, take the prescribed dosage and then use every ounce of strength and energy I had to do battle with myself to not consume every pill in the bottle. There was Evil Cindy sitting on one shoulder telling me that the “pain is too much for anyone to bear, much less a weakling like yourself.” Then the Good Cindy would chime in saying, “Your children already lost their brother. How could you selfishly take your own life and make theirs harder?” Well, Good Cindy obviously won the debate every night, because I am still here, and some people would argue, “Everything happens for a reason.”

The rest, as they also say, is history.

One afternoon, about three weeks after Casey and I died, Carly came out into the living room from her bedroom, to find me prone on on the love seat in my new-normal position and said: “Mom, would you like to hear a poem I wrote.” I was in deep pain, but I was then and still am the consummate mother, so I said: “Of course, honey.” I didn’t know that poem was about to give me another incentive, besides my surviving children, to live.

Carly’s Poem
Have you ever heard the sound of a mother screaming for her son?
The torrential rains of a mother's weeping will never be done
They call him a hero, you should be glad that he's one, but
Have you ever heard the sound of a mother screaming for her son?

Have you ever heard the sound of a father holding back his cries?
He must be brave because his boy died for another man's lies
The only grief he allows himself are long, deep sighs
Have you ever heard the sound of a father holding back his cries?

Have you ever heard the sound of taps played at your brother's grave?

They say that he died so that the flag will continue to wave
But I believe he died because they had oil to save
Have you ever heard the sound of taps played at your brother's grave?

Have you ever heard the sound of a nation being rocked to sleep?
The leaders want to keep you numb so the pain won't be so deep
But if we the people let them continue another mother will weep
Have you ever heard the sound of a nation being rocked to sleep?

Wow, Carly’s poem stunned me, yet I once again felt a deep thrill of life course through my body after she read it—she said it took her about 10 minutes to write. If I were a religious person, I would say that the angels inspired her, because in a little over a year, I moved from the love seat in my living room to a ditch outside of George Bush’s ranch in Crawford, TX.

This is where the “Tornado” part comes in.

Since Casey was killed, I (a dedicated, law-abiding citizen) have been arrested about 15 times for abiding the original law of this nation: The Constitution. I believe that I also obey a higher law than that of the U.S. Constitution: the law of Human Rights.

It is our Human Right, to exercise our free speech and to peaceably protest the crimes of our government. As a matter of fact, I would argue that it’s not just a right, but also a sacred responsibility to do so.

All of my actions, arrests, letters, articles, radio shows, protests, running for Congress, and on and on, will not bring my sweet Casey back, but I feel, as I shirked my duty to him, I have a duty to humanity, now. I not only feel, but have been told, that my activism has saved lives by preventing other “Caseys and Cindys” from making the same terrible mistake we did by not trying harder to keep Casey out of the military to be used as a disposable tool for profit.

If anyone told me less than eight years ago that I would be standing up to authority and not cowering in front of it (no matter what the political party, or badge number of said authority) and that I would have spent many a night in jail with prostitutes, drunk drivers, drug users, other petty accused criminals and fellow activist colleagues, I would have choked on my belly-laughter.

My life before we were killed was being a chauffeur for my children and sometimes working at three jobs just to help make ends meet. Since our deaths, I have met world leaders, actors, musicians, intellectuals, politicians, and even shared a couple of stages with my pretend boyfriend, Jackson Browne. But the coolest thing that ever happened was the day I discovered that I, Cindy Sheehan, had a Secret Service name!

For those of you who don’t know—everyone the Secret Service protects, (like the President and Vice President) has a “code name.” Well, I guess I was elevated to special status when I became the virtual (and best-known) stalker of the 43rd President of the USA, George Bush!

In the summer of 2005, when Camp Casey (named after my son) began, we camped in the ditches of Prairie Chapel Road and in a vacant lot near the faux-ranch that was donated to us—well, after the first year, the county where Crawford is situated passed what were informally known as the “Cindy Sheehan Ordinances,” which prohibited sleeping, eating, using porta-potties, or camping along roads in the county. Consequently, never to be deterred, I bought five acres about five miles from the Secret Service checkpoint to Bush’s converted pig farm cum Flying Photo-Op Ranch.

The summer of 2006 was spent sleeping, eating, and working at Camp Casey III and shuttling protesters back and forth between our peace camp and the checkpoint. Well, that summer, I almost died from female problems, and before I went into the hospital for emergency surgery, I was protesting out at the checkpoint in the 100-degree plus central Texas heat (plus humidity) with the others. However, every time the shuttle van drove to drop someone off, or pick someone up, I went with it, to go back to camp to use the facilities.

Well, after about the 4th or 5th trip, my dear Dallas friend, Diane, who had been near the Secret Service protesting all day, ran up to me and very excitedly said, “Cindy, this is the coolest thing—you have a secret service Code Name!”

“How do you know?" I asked.

“Every time you left, they would say, ‘so and so has left’ into their walkie-talkies and every time you came back, they would say, ‘so and so has returned.”

Well, I have already given away my Secret Service code name—it was, “The Tornado.”

I have had many people say to me or write to me that it’s one thing for me to be a political gadfly, and he/she would “love to do what you do, but I am not Cindy Sheehan.”

I always assure them that before I arose from the dead on April 04, 2004, I wasn’t “Cindy Sheehan” either.

It’s very true that by dying, my son gave birth to his true mom, CINDY SHEEHAN. However, I know that the ability to be brave in the face of danger and adversity and to go from being terrified of public speaking to speaking at rallies in front of tens of thousands, and so on, must have always been in me. It’s just a damned shame that it took a tragedy of such immense proportions to bring them out.

I think many in the so-called 1% want us down here in the 99% to believe that “one person cannot make a difference.” I am living proof that’s just pure bullshit.

If, I can accomplish the things I have been able to, trust me, the ability to do so resides in almost every single person on this planet.

You just have to define what your cause is and get off of your metaphorical love seat and start trying to make a difference.

If you do TRY, I can give you my money-back guarantee that you WILL.

This is my submission to an essay contest that Michael Moore is sponsoring.


Wish me luck!

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Just go, Pelosi! by Cindy Sheehan

"Don't worry, my love, impeachment is off the table."

Cindy Sheehan for Congress paid thousands of dollars at the end of my campaign in 2008 to post this photo in the San Francisco Chronicle. To us, it showed the hypocrisy and hopelessness of the "opposition" parties in the Federal Government. Pelosi would not impeach George Bush because they were cut from the same expensive silk cloth--the pattern is the only thing that differed.

Both Pelosi and Bush come from political families with long pedigrees of exploitation and cronyism--George's time in office enriched many of his and Cheney's business associates (and themselves) and Pelosi's tenure has also proven to be profitable for her family and friends. Both are shameless frauds, but they are only two of the most recognizable and notorious.

Today, I was sent an article that was posted on a site called BigGovernment where Nancy's daughter, Alexandra (documentarian of slime ball, Bush), noted that her mother desperately wants to leave Congress, but her (I am not making this up) "donors" want her to stay. 

First of all, why did Alexandra say, "donors" instead of "constituents?" Isn't the very definition of prostitution one where someone is performing a task or duty solely for money--where a benefit is conferred? Well, with Pelosi's inside trading and conferring of government pork to her friends and family, she certainly has perfectly played the part of political-prostitute.

Secondly, why is Ms. Alexandra Pelosi "leaking" this information at this time? I think the traitor Pelosi should leave Congress, and as a matter of fact, flee the country in disgrace, but I have discovered in my short public life that very little happens by "accident." Nancy Pelosi has grabbed power by the balls and has wielded it simultaneously as a weapon and a carrot. By all reason, when she blew her stint as House Speaker, she should have resigned, or at the very least, had her leadership stripped from her--but no, she clawed her way back up to the top. Nancy is no long, suffering public servant. She is a full-member of the political corruption machine. I don't have the answer to my own question, but when one reads the article, if one has a brain--we can see that Alex didn't just let this little nugget of info slip.

With even establishment adoring, 60 Minutes, highlighting the former Speaker's financial indiscretions, I think that, "Spending more time with the family," is just code for: "Oops, I got caught and I better leave before I am forced out."

Has Nancy's Robber Class depravity finally caught up with her? 

Is she just the lead rat leaving the sinking ship of state?

I am no fan of any career politician and I think most of the 535 members of Congress should resign in disgrace, but I have a particular disgust for the fraudulent Pelosi who is still unbelievably heralded or denounced at some kind of far-leftist from a far-left district.

Oh, yeah?

Spend two years living in that "far-left" bastion of the status quo and running for Congress on a truly progressive-left platform and you will also discover the truth.


Wednesday, December 28, 2011

The Soapbox: Ahead of the Curve!

2009 started with so many people hope-notized with the promise of a kindler, gentler emperor of the U.S.A.

Even though I was running against Nancy Pelosi in San Francisco, I never bought the empty-rhetoric and lies of the Obama campaign and felt that it was the responsibility of my independent campaign for Congress to expose the hypocrisy and similarities of the "two" party system.

In the end, about 49,000 voters in California's 8th district believed in me and my message, but over 130,000 still believed that Pelosi and her ilk were the answer to the problems that she and her ilk created. So, jobless, I decided to begin a radio show... Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox.

Three days after Obama was elected, he ordered the first of many of his notorious drone strikes in Northern Pakistan killing dozens of people and I sent the image above to my email contacts with an article denouncing those strikes: instead of support, I was thoroughly attacked and told such things as, "You should give Obama a chance." Really? Like the "chance" he gave those innocent people in Pakistan?

So, the people who were my comrades and partners in "crime" for the horrible years of the Bush presidency became my opposition in the beginning of the horrible years of the Obama presidency--although many of the people who have a working set of brains between their ears have come around full-circle to where I was in 2008 and before: There's very little difference between Frick and Frack at the top of the political dungheap in the U.S. and we have seen the rising of a movement against corporate greed that needs to grow to be logically against the twin parties of greed, war, and corruption. 

Please listen to one of our first shows with Matt Gonzalez (Ralph Nader's Candidate for VP in 2008 and Brother Larry Pinkney from the Black Commentator). 

And try not to get fooled again!

Make a Donation to Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Send a note to Lynne Stewart!


To my hero, Lynne Stewart

REG. NO. 53504-054
PO BOX 27137
FT. WORTH, TX 76127

Dear Lynne,

It was so wonderful and inspiring to receive your holiday greeting! I think of you and the injustice that you are experiencing and the grace and dignity that you show in a situation that would cripple many people.
I also send healing thoughts and love for your health issues and hope you are getting good care in prison.

My friends and supporters also send love and holiday greetings back to you.

To address something that you said in your note: yes, the Occupy Movement is very righteous and has some powerful grievances against the criminal elite class in this country and the world. But if I see a weakness in the movement, it’s that it doesn’t want to make any demands and enforce them with the power of its numbers and it seems to not want to hear the wisdom of the elders. If there’s one thing that I have learned, it’s that we don’t have to reinvent the wheel every time we begin a new action.

2011 was a terrible year for police state oppression and war. On my radio show, I have spoken with the families of or legal representatives of political prisoners, including your husband, Ralph. I just returned from Cuba where I attended a symposium on the Cuban 5. I know that you know that George Bush and his regime didn’t invent any of these tactics and it’s so demoralizing to many people that Obama is continuing them: including allowing your unjustifiable incarceration and that of Bradley Manning.

My hope for 2012 is that the people’s movement that is arising addresses more the issues of war and peace and the alarming nature of the rise of the oppressive police state here at home.

You are loved and may 2012 return you to your loved ones and freedom!

In, love, peace, solidarity and admiration!

Cindy Sheehan

Make a Donation to Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox

Sunday, December 25, 2011

What Consistently, Courageously, Intelligently and Interestingly Challenges the War Makers?

 ... Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox .. That's What!

To All Our Friends and Supporters Who Care…

 Happy New Year and Happy Holidays:

For the past three years Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox has been producing a weekly radio show centered around guest interviews that help bring into focus important issues from an alternative left-wing viewpoint.  

Past guests have included:

Roseanne Barr  
Cynthia McKinney
Troy Davis' sister, the late, Martina Correia
Ann Wright
Dr. Michio Kaku - theoretical scientist
Eva Golinger
Arun Gandhi - the grandson of the Mahatma
Rachel Corrie's mother, Cindy
Yoko Ono
Helen Thomas
Robert Fisk
Professor Angela Davis 
Daniel Ellsberg
Tommy Chong
Ambassador Edward Peck
John Pilger
Russell Means
The late Howard Zinn
Congressman Dennis Kucinich
Malalai Joya (Afghan Parliamentarian)
Actor, Mike Farrell
Dahr Jamail
Rosa Clemente (Green Party Candidate for VP)
Gore Vidal
Jesse Ventura
John Perkins
Graham Nash

...and the list goes on and on.

Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox is run on donations from listeners.  

No corporate or compromised dollars control the direction or content of the show.  

The comments and feedback from our listeners oftentimes guide the content and guests selected for interviews.  In fact, many of the guests are sometimes the activist/listeners themselves - people who are making a difference in their respective area with various organizations local and national. 

In 2012, as Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox continues to grow we are going to be broadcasting on two new radio networks: UWS - United We Strike and CPR - Community Progressive Radio.  Both networks are aimed at bringing the stories and issues to the public that mainstream media seems to overlook.

If there has been one unifying theme of Cindy Sheehan's Work and the Soapbox it is the desire to increase our efforts for peace and justice.  That really is the heart and soul of the show and none of this could happen without united action.  No one person can do it his/herself.  It takes the efforts and resources of many to achieve peace and justice for the many.

Our nation and our world are at a crossroads, and independent voices and media are needed to help us choose the right path.

Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox has been overwhelmed with pleas to stay connected and broadcasting, we can only do it with your support.

Won't you take time to consider a donation to the Soapbox?   

Please click the button to make your tax-deductible donation today! 


Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Never-ending War: R.I.P. Brian Arredondo

"He Suffered So Much" 

Brian Arredondo, R.I.P.
May 10, 1987 to 12/19/2011

Cindy Sheehan

Brian Arredondo was 17 when his 20 year-old brother, Alex, a U.S. Marine, was killed in Iraq on 25 August, 2004—he was 24 this past Monday, 19 December, when he took his own life.

Recall that Carlos Arredondo, the father of Alex and Brian, his only children, was so distraught when the Marines came to tell him that his oldest son was killed, he caught their van and himself on fire, burning over 26% of his body. His recovery from his physical wounds was long and difficult, but his emotional wounds from having his son killed by the U.S. government in its illegal and immoral war in Iraq will never completely heal. However, I know since my son, Casey, was killed in Iraq only four months before Alex, that Carlos was beginning to be able to get through his days without overwhelming pain before his other son committed suicide.

Carlos, and his wife, Melida (stepmother to the boys) are part of our Camp Casey family and the wider peace movement. Carlos credits Camp Casey with giving him his “voice” to be able to speak for Alex and against the war that took his life. When we held our Camp Casey gatherings, Carlos would always be there with his rolling monument to his son, Alex, and he would often be the first one to get up in the morning and the last one to go to bed—he was always working and there for me when I needed a bottle of water, a plate of food, or a hug. However, Carlos could always take a break to talk to a visitor to make him/her feel welcome, and share his son’s story.

Carlos and Melida are wonderful people who have sacrificed much for peace—and even though I wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anybody—they did not deserve to bury even one son, let alone two. Of course, my love also goes out to Brian's mom, whom I have never met, but I wish her healing, also.

When I spoke to the Arredondos on the phone today, Carlos told me that Brian, “suffered so much,” from the death of his brother, and it’s so sad that siblings are often forgotten in the heartache of loss. Brian’s suffering has now ended, but his family’s and other loved ones has just begun. It’s often said that what doesn’t kill a person makes him/her “stronger,” and although that saying is annoying, it’s true. I know Carlos and Melida have incredible strength and I have found depths of strength that I never knew I had since I have a daily survival struggle from the tragic death of my son. Sadly, Brian could never fully recover and was recently told by mental health professionals that "nothing was wrong" with him—he tragically fell through the cracks as so many in our dispassionate society often do.

Besides the fact that I adore the Arredondos and know about the struggle they have had with Brian over the years, this terrible news highlights the glaring truth that, even though wars may end (and I dispute that the war on Iraq has even ended), for some people, the tragedy and pain never will be over.

I am profoundly sorry for the pain of our losses, but war does terrible things to people. It doesn’t matter if a person supports war, or doesn’t, it’s undeniable that war causes everlasting pain and irreparable damage.

The President and Vice President of the U.S. may be celebrating the “end” of the Iraq War, but on Monday, December 19, 2011, that war of choice for profit claimed another innocent victim: handsome, sensitive, and compassionate, beautiful soul, Brian Arredondo.

How many more will suffer? The country of Iraq is spoiled with depleted uranium and babies are being born with birth defects and children are dying from leukemia and other war-related illnesses every day, still. How many years will it take the Iraqi people to recover from the decades’ long devastation the U.S. has caused?

How many of our veterans will commit suicide, or die from long, painful deaths from DU poisoning, emotional scars, or other wounds?

Wars never truly end, so the best thing to do is never allow them to begin in the first place.

If the reader is in a position to do so, please send a donation to Brian’s memorial fund to help cover the funeral expenses.

Send donations to:
Brian Arredondo Memorial Fund, at
The Cooperative Bank
40 Belgrade Avenue
Roslindale, MA 02131

Brian’s Wake:
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Time: 4:00pm until 9:00pm
Mann and Rodgers Funeral Home
44 Perkins Street, Jamaica Plain,

Brian’s Funeral Mass
Weds, December 28th
Time: 12noon to 2pm
St Thomas Aquinas Parish

 11 Seymour Street Roslindale, MA 02131

Brian and dad, Carlos in July 2011

Wednesday, December 14, 2011


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Thursday, December 8, 2011

Turn, Turn, Turn: An Important Message from Cindy Sheehan

Turn, Turn, Turn

Dear Friends,

I have some wonderful news, after almost two years and much stress, heart break, and inspiration, I am within a couple of weeks of finishing my project, Revolution, A Love Story.

As some of you may remember, or not, Revolution, A Love Story began as a documentary project after I traveled to Venezuela in February-March of 2010 to interview President Hugo Chávez for Cindy Sheehan’s Soapbox Radio Show. I had a terrible split with one of the cameramen, who was my roommate at the time, who not only absconded with the footage for the film, but with thousands of dollars of merchandise that belonged to my non-profit, Peace of the Action. The end of last year was terrible for me, but it wasn’t the first time I had been stabbed in the back by someone whom I trusted—it was just the worst time.

Anyway, since I do write, I decided to write a book based on my research and to be able to give something to my supporters (the one who stole the footage had no supporters and didn’t raise one penny for the project) who pre-ordered the movie to give us some working capital. It took me way longer to write than my previous books, perhaps because I never tried to write a book while being a grandmother to four adorable babies before, but I don’t know. I was still busy with my radio show, blog, protesting and traveling the world on my almost 8-year long quest for peace.

So, the wonderful news is that by the end of this year, I can fulfill my commitment to my supporters to deliver a product to them. It’s not what I hoped it would be, but it’s something.
So here’s the difficult news I have to share. I have been waging a mighty internal struggle for some time and have come to some important conclusions. The movement moved away from me a long time ago, or I moved away from it when I realized that the Democratic Party was part of the problem, and not worth investing any time or energy into. It doesn’t matter who moved away from whom at this point because it’s become increasingly difficult for me to survive—I don’t want to become rich from circumstances leading from my son’s death and that’s why I have poured most of my earnings back into the movement, but the struggle to remain a full-time activist that hasn’t sold out her principles has grown too great. I am literally just one person, now; I can’t do it anymore. I don't think anyone, friend or foe, can't say that I haven't tried my hardest.

I have also come to terms with the fact that, contrary to what I believe, Cindy Sheehan’s Soapbox must not be a good show, because it is not supported. Since January of 2009, when the show premiered, it has always been a struggle to pay the Soapbox bills. The only way it has remained on the air for the last six months, however, is because my staff has been working for free and I cannot ask them to do that any longer. I appreciate the help from them all and appreciate that they believed in the show, but banging ones head against the wall just gives one a headache. I can’t afford to pay for the bandwidth to keep the show on the air or the email service I use to send out my reminders and other info anymore, either. For me, at least, sadly, Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox is signing off.

For everything there is a season and some of the events of this past year show great promise for a renewed sense of activism and empowerment, but even though I have been preaching this gospel for years, now, and organized the post-911’s first Occupy activity (Camp Casey in Crawford, Tx), a new generation is arising. I am super-happy about that and super-excited that the energy is there and the OWS movement has the resources it needs to do whatever it thinks it needs to do. I am not needed and that’s perfectly fine by me.

The only thing that’s not fine with me is that foreign policy issues are getting scarier and scarier, and it doesn’t seem that there’s currently much of a movement to address this. Like I said, I put everything into working for peace: my heart, my soul, my money, etc, and the only thing I have to show for it is some dusty awards and a bank account that has a negative balance of $4. The Evil Empire is even farther away from peace than it was when my son was killed and this is a fact that causes me much pain and frustration.

This is not a message asking anyone for money. I will never ask you for money again. I have to sell my soul, swallow my principles (like someone just reminded me, people do it every day—but it won’t be easy) work with the IRS and find a job, or assistance to go back to school, or something.

Life has two guarantees: either everything will be okay, or it won’t.

I have a strong feeling that I will be okay, because I have survived the worst thing any mother can survive, the pre-mature and unnecessary death of a child. Somehow, I am always “okay," and I will continue to do what I can as a part-time peace and justice activist.
I can’t even express my gratitude strongly enough for all the love and support that each of you have shown me over the years and give thanks for the memories, because there have been far more good ones than bad ones. I am excited to begin this new phase of my life.

In May of 2007, when I resigned as “face of the antiwar movement,” I was physically ill and profoundly exhausted, I can’t say that now! I honestly feel healthier and in better physical shape than I have been in years. This message is not self-pity party because I have no regrets. Regrets are for those that live in the past. I do detect a certain amount of irony, however, in the fact that the murderers responsible for my son's death seem to be prospering and have an endless stream of opporunities available to them. It would be funny if it weren't so tragic and continuous.

Oh, one last thing I will ask of you all—does anyone know any job available for someone that can read, write, speak in public, has a better than average grasp of current events, is articulate, can cause trouble with the best of them, and who is fearless, funny and smart? I'm the woman!
Love and peace,

Cindy Sheehan

Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox, LLC
PO BOX 6264
Vacaville, Ca 95696

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Occupy Revolution: Order your PDF copy of Revolution, A Love Story by Cindy Sheehan


Cindy's tribute to Hugo Chávez and his Bolivarian Revolution, Revolution, A Love Story,  is at the editor for final edits and should be completely finished within the next two weeks, (more or less)!

If you haven't ordered your copy yet, use the links below to order.

If you would like a signed copy (by Cindy) of the cover sheet mailed to you, please choose option 2.

The PDF is 10.00 and the PDF with signed and mailed cover sheet is 25.00

The book will also be available to download on Amazon Kindle, soon.

Book orders help Cindy continue her activism and work on 

Look forward to Cindy's next book, provocatively titled: 
I Left My Marbles in San Francisco.

The road to the finished product of Revolution, A Love Story was long and sometimes arduous, but always inspiring and rewarding.

Cindy Sheehan interviews President Hugo Chavez


Or send check/money order to:
(please include your email address)

Cindy Sheehan's Soapbox, LLC
PO Box 6264
Vacaville, Ca 95696