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Letter to Aaron Bushnell (1998-2024) (poem)

By Kevin Basl

I write this from the other side, from the world of the living,
where the situation, as you so painfully know, is dire.
It's been a week since you set flame
to your body outside the Israeli embassy
in protest of the genocide in Gaza. Your words clear like the sky,
your voice steady.
"This is what the ruling class has decided will be normal."
I didn't get much sleep in the days after.
I watched your video. You held your message
till the end. Your uniform fell from your body in fiery tatters
as you clenched your fists and stood fast. "Free Palestine!"
I carry the image as a branding on my heart. It stings,
as it should.

The Pentagon gave a statement, expressed condolences to your family,
said their support for Israel remains "ironclad."
Your story stayed in the news cycle for longer than I expected,
but mainstream outlets watered down your intention.
Your statement circulated to the farthest reaches of social media.
Veterans in Portland, Oregon, burned their uniforms in a barrel.
Vigils and protests. Art and poetry. Debates and op-eds.
Still no ceasefire. This is what the ruling class has decided will be normal.
I don't want any more service members to do what you did, Aaron,
but I respect and honor your sacrifice.
Rest easy, airman.
You gave your life for a question:
What are you going to do
with your one shining and glorious existence
to keep our world of the living
from becoming a land of the dead?

—Kevin Basl