EDITORIAL
Ode to shoes
Published Dec 17, 2008 3:51 PM
Ah, lowly objects of mundane human existence, forever condemned to carry on your
backs the weight of the world, this ode is to you. Because of you we tenderfeet
are able to trudge through burning deserts and freezing slush. We slap you upon
the pavements of great metropolises and quiet villages until your seams split,
your tongues loll and your soles disintegrate. You are then discarded to the
ashbins of history, leaving no record of your great service to humanity.
But now comes a humble pair of shoes that shall live forever.
When you flew through the air, one after the other, in a transcendent arc that
nearly clipped the ears of W. Mad Dog, a great sigh went up to the heavens and
swept the globe. It was the sigh that comes when a door long shut is cracked
open, when a torment long denied at last finds its breath.
A presidential media appearance! How many shoes have attended such solemn and
august occasions before, dutifully shuffling in and out on cue, never drawing
attention to their presence. But this time, you could not remain rooted to the
floor. This time it was one WMD too many. You soared and with you went the
hopes of suffering humanity.
You rode in on the feet of Muntader al-Zaidi, a 29-year-old Iraqi journalist
who, it turned out subsequently, kept a poster of Che on the wall of his modest
apartment. As he threw the first shoe, he shouted to WMD, “This is a gift
from the Iraqis; this is the farewell kiss, you dog!”
Perhaps that shoe’s mate felt left out—but not for long.
“This is from the widows, the orphans and those who were killed in
Iraq!” was Zaidi’s greeting to the president as he lofted the
second shoe.
Where are you now, oh noble shoes? Have sinister bureaucrats with the Secret
Service sliced you apart, trying to find some clue as to who lovingly tanned
your leather, stitched your seams, added a touch of polish? Did they search you
for weapons of mass destruction? How dense. The WMD was at the podium.
Even if you are bloodied and abused now, you and Zaidi cannot be erased. The
liberating deed was done. The stifling weight of bourgeois decorum
couldn’t stop it. The pure oxygen of freedom and sovereignty, for which
so many have given their lives, filtered through even the reinforced concrete
and razor wire of the puke-Green Zone.
The day will come when monuments of bronzed shoes will dot the street corners.
Perhaps your torturers know this. Maybe, before disassembling you, these
creatures of free enterprise calculated what you will be worth soon on E-Bay
and wondered if they could trade you as they did Iraq’s archeological
treasures.
But they have lost. And your brief journey, defying the tug of gravity and the
gravity of the occasion, proves it.
Articles copyright 1995-2012 Workers World.
Verbatim copying and distribution of this entire article is permitted in any medium without royalty provided this notice is preserved.
Workers World, 55 W. 17 St., NY, NY 10011
Email:
[email protected]
Subscribe
[email protected]
Support independent news
DONATE