Outrage and shame.

Today, I feel outrage. Today, I feel shame.

Outrage at the massacre in Qana.

Outrage at all the civilian dead in Lebanon and in Israel, though as Eduardo Galeano points out, the number of Lebanese civilian dead dwarfs the number on the Israeli side.

Outrage at the collective punishment Israel has imposed on the populations of Gaza and Lebanon.

Outrage at Israel's turning 750,000 Lebanese into refugees.

Outrage at Hezbollah's seizing Israeli soldiers and lobbing rockets into Israeli cities.

These are all war crimes.

So today, I feel outrage. Today, I feel shame.

Shame, first, as a Jew, that a nation of Jews would commit war crimes, Jews, who are taught to value justice above all.

And shame, second, as an American citizen, that our government supplied the weapons that killed hundreds of innocent people--many of them children--in Lebanon.

Shame that America resupplied the Israelis so they could continue to wage war when practically all the world outside the United States, Israel, and Tony Blair's kennel clamored for an immediate cease-fire.

Shame that our government is correctly seen as an accomplice in Israel's war crimes.

Today, I feel outrage. Today, I feel shame.

Imet Kalamu ya Salaam, one of the leading poets and activists in New Orleans, just two months after Katrina. He was up here in Madison, Wisconsin, giving a talk on campus. I was fortunate to spend a half hour with him discussing that calamity. One line of his sticks in my mind. I asked him what his reaction was when he saw the pictures of all those people stranded on that piece of highway, neglected by government officials at all levels. "They were trying to kill us," he said. (I interviewed him on Progressive Radio, and you can listen to it at www.progressive.org.)

On the anniversary of Katrina, we offer you a profile of Salaam. And we present a profound essay by Adolph L. Reed Jr., who also is from New Orleans. Reed wrote about Katrina for us last year, and this month he returns to reflect on his family's personal experience and to discuss what happens when government shirks it responsibilities.

A few days after our August issue came out, Ray Vahey contacted me. He was featured last month in Judith Davidoff's cover story "No Wedding Bells" for having been together with his partner, Richard Taylor, for fifty years. He loved the article and wanted us to post it on our website, which we did.

Then on July 28, I got the following e-mail from Vahey. "I am very sorry that I must tell you that Richard died this morning after a valiant struggle with the cancer," the note said. "His death was peaceful and comfortable.... Thanks so much for your kindness to us. I read the article to Richard and he was very happy and was gratified that you agreed to put it online and to spread the story."

Vahey is fighting on: "We vowed to each other that we will speak out against injustice as long as we draw breath & I feel he will be at my side, as he always has been."

Our condolences to Ray Vahey.

I thought of Ray and of Richard when I read Kate Clinton's column this month. She points out the human costs of second-class citizenship.

No one should have to put up with those.