At Least I Know I'm Free

By Donna Ladd Wednesday, December 20, 2006 3:34 p.m. CST

I had a religious experience in Hal & Mal's the other night.

It started out innocently enough. Todd and I were there to host our annual Southern-Fried Holiday Karaoke Lounge, and the night started a bit slowly. The people at scattered tables were not quite tipsy enough to start singing, so Todd was crooning his usual line-up of crowd pleasers to kill time.

Then I saw a bunch of uniforms walk through the door. Then some more.

A local Army National Guard battalion, mostly decked out in dress uniforms with beautiful gussied-up wives and girlfriends, had decided to come do a bit of karaoke after their Christmas party. As one would expect, the military came in and quickly took over, moving tables around and looking authoritative, as I teased them on the microphone a little and saluted a lot, even as I felt myself standing up a little straighter in case of a sudden inspection or something.

One of them in particular, a staff sergeant named Jeff, was clearly a karaoke man—and as expected from his rank, he was pretty good at organizing the troops. Within 15 minutes, a small stack of song slips had appeared on the mixer console—with requested tunes ranging from David Allen Coe to NSync.

It was clear this was going to be fun when the whole battalion—or whatever they're called—marched up to sing "Wanted Dead or Alive." This included the top-dog major, with all the fancy hardware sticking off his duds. It's not just any night that you get to watch a bunch of soldiers partying like every moment of life is worth celebrating.

Then a young man from our JSU radio station table (great singers all), came up and handed me a slip listing a certain Lee Greenwood song. "I was a military man," he told me. "I want to do it for them."

When he stepped up, and the music for "God Bless the U.S.A." started, every soldier in the house crowded up around us. By the chorus, there was no one sitting whom I could see, and most hands were in the air, with everyone in the bar more shouting than singing. I think I was standing on a chair, as I sang:

"And I'm proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free..."

Looking around the bar sometimes disparaged as a "liberal" bastion of Jackson, I could see young hipsters, middle-aged attorneys and wait staff with their hands pumping the air as they tried to lift the roof.

"And I won't forget the men who died, who gave that right to me. ..."

You could have shredded the emotion with a jackhammer as the bar gave our collective tribute to these National Guardsmen and others like them. I doubt there was a dry eye in the house. I thought of my cousin, Josh Ladd, who traded his 20 years of life to fight for the freedoms that Americans hold dear:

"Cause the flag still stands for freedom, and they can't take that away. ..."

I had never appreciated that song until that night. I had only seen it as an anthem for those who demand blind patriotism—those who equate supporting our troops with not criticizing a bad president leading us into a bad war. Until that night, for me that song had symbolized the dark side of patriotism—or jingoism, to use a better word.

But during the few minutes of that song—and throughout the next few hours of absolute frivolity (including a conga line during "Copa Cabana" around the bar with me holding onto the major's waist)—I experienced a conversion of sorts.

Reading the lyrics later, I realized that the song doesn't demand blind patriotism, and it doesn't preach superiority (note the pivotal "at least" phrase). It also doesn't say that God shouldn't bless the other countries, even as it asks for a blessing of the freedoms we hold dear.

Those freedoms, of course, include the freedom to dissent. The freedom to disagree. The freedom to support soldiers by not wanting them to be sent into a poorly planned war to kill and be killed. The freedom to believe in a society that helps others and respects someone's right to express something the majority doesn't agree with. The freedom to be progressive and devoted to social reform. The freedom to worship a God of one's choosing. Or not to.

That night reminded me of a TV news report I saw shortly after the Iraqi War started; it was about a base in Texas where people were protesting the war. When asked what he thought of that, a military officer shrugged and said something to the effect of, "That's what we're over there fighting for—Americans' right to speak their minds."

Only a few months after the Jackson Free Press launched, we had to make a tough decision. The U.S. was about to invade Iraq, and the small staff we had then believed it was a grave error, that the war was being falsely sold to the American people, that lies were being told, myths spread. But it was extremely unpopular to criticize President Bush then—how things have changed—or to say a word against the war. Somehow, exercising that right had been cast as un-American.

We ran our infamous "WAR" cover, along with a story from the alternative press about the myths of the Iraqi invasion (it's still on our Web site). We didn't know if we'd be in business the next week, but we followed a lesson I believe all great spiritual leaders teach. To use the phrase that Todd now loves to repeat: "Do the right thing and wait."

We're still here.

As we approach the holidays, I offer a prayer of thanks and respect to the many soldiers and their families who have given so much to all of us, even when people above them make poor decisions on their behalf. I thank our men and women in uniform for the courage to stand up for freedom—not a simplistic, political "freedom" as defined by a small political cadre, but the real freedom to think, protest, worship, publish and love whomever we please. There is nothing more American than that.

Or in the words of my new favorite lyricist: "And I gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today. Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land, God bless the U.S.A."

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