If Everyone Were My Dad...

My dad once said, "If everyone in the world were Joe Matt (his professional music name), a little girl could wander out into the streets of New York City at three in the morning and she would be brought home safe."

I think I have mentioned this statement before. But he was right. My dad -- and you, I'm sure; and I -- would never hurt a little girl. But there are people who would. 

Can you imagine? There are people who would hurt a lost little girl. 

This morning, I heard a musician being interviewed on the radio. He is releasing an album of retro-sounding songs (70s era-sounding) and one of his songs, intentionally echoing Marvin Gaye, simply asks: How long will racism and disharmony last? Why can't we see each other as brothers and sisters? It's 2024. 

Apparently "we" can't. But I can. And you can, right? I see my fellow humans as just that: my fellow humans. Each of us is flawed, many of us are annoying and we all clearly see our physical and cultural differences. No one is actually "color-blind." But I see all humans as, intrinsically, of equal worth. Misdeeds can change that (like hurting little girls), but intrinsically, from the starting line of birth, we are all brothers and sisters who deserve equal treatment. 

Who are these people who aren't like you, me and my dad?

This morning, I heard more about Ukraine. More than 20,000 children have been taken hostage by Russia. Children. Where are the "Joe Matts"? 

Either we are all awful, or George Carlin was right that individuals are great, but when they get into groups the problems start. 

Are the majority forced into, say, war, by the minority who have the power? Or, do the minority with the power figure out a way to spread a disease through the minds of the common person that convinces those people that atrocities are ok because of circumstance?

All I can think when I see or hear news about Ukraine or Gaza is: people are horrible. I can see one side as more justified than the other, but, in the end, as Steinbeck once said, "All war is a symptom of man's failure as a thinking animal." In this sense, human kind is a failure. It's hard to believe we haven't put killing others behind us.

Will we ever just stop hurting each other? It seems like a such a simple task. Carl Sandburg had the solution: "Someday they will give a war an nobody will come." 

Well, if everyone were me or my dad (or you?) this could happen. War could stop tomorrow. Cruelty could stop tomorrow. 

But how many of us are like Joe Matt? Can there be so many cruel people in the world? Maybe most of us are evil. Maybe most of us are racist. Maybe most of us want to hurt others because it makes us feel powerful. 

I don't know. Maybe you are not as good a person as my dad and me. Somebody isn't.

Griggl and The Teacher: A Dialogue (Earth, 2200)

"So," says Griggl, the young colonial student from the plant Zorgoz. "Teacher -- what happend to the humans that lived on the planet Earth before we came here?"

"Oh, they were very unevolved creatures, Griggl. The problem with them is that they thoughtlessly pursued goals that eventually ruined them."

"But," says Griggl, "I thought our Great Book teaches that 'to reach upward is to find Paradise.'"

"Well," says The Teacher. "That's true. But it depends what one reaches for. Our archaeologists have figured out much -- but not all -- about the extinct Earthlings. They and our anthropologists say the Earthlings were actually ended by what is called call 'cultural suicide.' They seem to have wanted, within their collective spirit, to become extinct. Even before they created the weapons which caused their ultimate end, they seem to have been trying to figure out ways to make themselves irrelevant. For instnance, they created computers that made art, music and literature with what they called 'artificial intelligence.'"

Griggle grimaces. "What a strange choice, Teacher. Is not creativity the highest function of the mind? Why would anyone want to automate it?"

"Why, indeed," says The Teacher. "You see, they were obsessed with proving what they could achieve, whatever the cost, even if that cost was their own irrelevance or even their extinction. Our historians think that this is a result of their lack of internal spiritual peace. They never found cheegara, as we have: that innate assurance that our worth as beings is equal. Oh, they talked about it. One great document said that 'all men are created equal, but archaeological evidence suggests that even as they wrote this, some of them were enslaved."

"What's 'enslaved'?" asks Griggl. The teacher explains. Griggl listens and tears form in all six of his eyes. "So, they wrote what they did not truly believe. That goes against the Great Being's Second Edict: 'To lie is to dishonor the life spirit. To lie to soothe one's mind is the most abhorrent weakness.'" 

"It does, indeed, Griggl," says the teacher, handing the young lad several tissue sheets. "As I say, these Earthlings seemed to have been plagued by an obsession to prove their worth and strength, something we left behind long ago. It even lead to their creating weapons that were capable of a level of damage that made their use unthinkable. Yet, they used them."

"But -- why?" asked Griggl, wide-eyed. 

"They became crippled. At some point in history, the leader of one of their gracols ("countries," they used to call them) committed unspeakable atrocities on another while the rest of the gracols watched. No one wanted to act to stop the atrocities, because it meant possibly unleashing these weapons. But it was counter to their natures to not help others in need. (They were not an all-bad race.) No one knows exactly what happened -- whether the rest of the world thought it was better to die than to watch others suffer; whether one of the insane leaders acted without care... but, at some point, the weapons were unleashed. We take comfort in the fact that, as our historians believe, they actually wanted this cultural suicide. Perhaps they know their time had come and that all civilizations must, eventually, fall."

Griggl's mandibles had dropped wide-open. 

"Alright, class. You are all in your Second Year from spawn. Time to get serious: Let us turn our studies to the great philosopher, Frezznah-po and his Meditations on Psychophysics."

The class groans. 

Soundtracks of Chaos: There's Nothing Good About War (Part II)

I spent some words the other day trying to convince my readers and the rest of the world (from the perch of a relatively unknown blog, so kudos to me for the positive self-image) that war is an outrage -- an outrage that doesn't make us feel outraged, because it is an ingrained part of our world history. We simply throw our hands up and say: "It's part of life..."

I also posited the idea that war will never end until we can convince our children to see it as an outrage and to, more importantly, feel that it is an outrage. 

It so happens that, yesterday, my son was watching a Call of Duty tournament on YouTube. He plays the game, as well. I have never believed that these games cause kids to be violent (he is not violent, nor are the majority of kids who play it) but, having just written my last piece, it hit me like runaway rhino: this game is part of the problem of the normalization of war -- part of the muffling of the much-needed feeling of outrage. 

As long as people can look at war and at shooting others as a form of entertainment, we will never make the transition into the outrage against war that I called for in part one of this little anti-war series.  

We all agree that war is a thing best avoided, but, as a species, we humans have a hard time feeling that it is an outrage. It's, as I said, "part of life," to us. History tells us this; literature tells us this; film and TV tell us this; our elder family members may have fought in wars and we admire them (as we should) for their courage. Sure, we are all able to shake our heads and say, "Man, war stinks," but so few of us are able to feel outrage about it; to say: it just is not something we should continute to accept. 

I think I have recounted this before, but I remember my dad telling me about a time when he and some friends were watching the news during the Vietnam War, and, as they rolled footage of the fighting, my dad said, "Hard to believe. People are actually shooting guns at each other." According to him, his friends didn't know what to make of that statement. One of them even called him "a weirdo." 

He was, indeed, a weirdo. A sad state of affairs that more people are not that weird. 

So, there sat my son, watching a game with realistic graphics of shooting and killing and there sat (on the TV) an audience full of people cheering (cheering!) when one of their favorite players gunned down another. (Meh -- no loss. They just have to wait to "respawn.")

That said, let's process something together: Can you imagine a video game based on rape? -- in which the objective was to rape other characters? Of course you can't. But...why not? 

If any two actions vie for equal levels of moral outrage, they are the taking of a life and rape. (Though, personally, I often think rape is the worse offense.) We would never, however, create a video game in which raping people is the objective. This is because rape is felt to be as outrageous a violation of human morality -- of humaness itself -- as it really is. Everyone on the planet but the profoundly inasane and the deeply evil agree: rape is an unspeakably horrible act. 

This is the state that our thinking about war needs to reach. 

But, imagine the effect over the centuries if we off-handedly started to include rape in our games, films, stories, TV shows, etc. Not as a topic for awareness or as an outrageous act of some hateable villain, but as background noise or as a common occurance that people just shrug off and move on from. Imagine if, over generations, it were presented as an unavoidable occurance in life. Would the perspective shift? Would people say, about this unsepeakable new game objective, as they do about violent video games: "It's not really rape...it's just a game."

So another proposed impossible solution (which is more of a meditation than an implementable solution, you might have already gathered): 

We eliminate all media in which war is a topic. Over time, kids and adults who don't see violence as entertainment, will again be shocked and appalled by it and they will have developed the outrage for war that is necessary to produce leaders who will avoid it at all cost and citizens who will refuse to show up to fight. 

Sadly, we lose Henry V, of course. We lose great films like Glory and Saving Private Ryan. We lose all war-based video games and all games with guns and killing. The Iliad and The Odyssey need to go. Indiana Jones? Superman? Captain America? The Sun Also Rises? All Quiet on the Western Front?

Chess? (American) Football? Both based on war. Toy soldiers? Those little green army men? Boy Scouting? R.O.T.C?

I know is sounds ridiculous and I am even more aware that it is an impossibility, but it sure does underscore something: We are conditioned to accept war from the earliest periods of our lives. 

If we could do it, though, would it be worth it? Should some Shakespeare go out the window if it means that our sons and daughters would see war for the outrage it is? If this could all really be done, what would the impact on the economy be (no football)? What about the video game industry? -- the film industry?

If my solution were to work (probably over a century, if not longer) would the trade-off be worth it? I would argue that, to end war, even the greatest works of literature of all time might worth forgetting. Wouldn't you? Surely a few great movies, too... And some fun entertainment... 

As I said, this is all more of a meditation than a praxctical solution. I'm pretty sure it would work, but I know it could never be applied. 

A last thought, though: books and movies that conjure outrage for war might be allowed to remain... I'm thinking of works like Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried. 

At any rate, as Sting once wrote, "I hope the Russians love their children, too."

Soundtracks of Chaos: There's Nothing Good About War

I can see we are going to keep doing this. This whole war thing. A thing that is truly, completely and ineffably outrageous, but that is so much part of our history that we just seem to accept it as part of the human condition.

The curse of it all is that war is not only something people accept as inevitable, but it is something that can bring about the best in individuals: their courage; their heroism; their selflessness. Movies about war move us for a good reason -- things like Saving Private Ryan, Braveheart, Glory... 

And there is nothing as beautiful as the idea of one person laying down his or her life for another. It's powerful. Even the Bible agrees. 

In Ukraine, right now, we see heartbreakingly beautiful grandmothers shouting-down Russian soldiers in full kit. We see businesses who used to manufacture mundane, everyday items making anti-tank "hedgehogs" instead, throwing aside their usual purpose of making a profit. 

We see a laudible President Zelensky brushing aside offers for "rides" and asking for "ammunition" instead.

I think of my dear-departed Uncle Vince, a little Italian-American welder from New Jersey who signed up for World War II and landed with his "band of brothers" on the beach at Normandy, praying for God's protection as the bullets thudded down, sending up small geysers of blinding sand. I think of him, and I am deeply proud. I love his memory all the more for his courage: a regular guy (a simple welder) who was willing to sacrifice everything for freedom. 

At some point, however, we will need to rinse that stuff out of our minds. Life is hard and it affords us plenty of opportunities to be heroic. We don't need war to bring out those scattered stories of inspiration. They will happen. There are plenty of bad-actors in everyday life; we don't need to set a stage with tanks and bombs and guns and soundtracks of chaos. We don't need to pretend it is okay to decide when to send boys and girls to their deaths, because it simply is not.  

I will say it again: war is an outrage. It's worse than Steinbeck's famously proclaimed "failure as a thinking animal." It's worse because it is deliberate and it is done in the interest of those in power with disregard for the people they are supposed to serve. In the case of Putin, a dictator -- and a bullying, self-serving, egomaniacal piece of filth -- has decided he wants another country and he is simply going to take it. There is no concern for the children he is sending into battle -- and they are and always have been children. Every time we have a war, we send kids to their deaths. (Again -- the outrage in that statement is so obvious, but...we just let it remain the case... We accept the inevitablity of war.)

By all accounts, Ukraine's problem isn't that they don't have a good military. It's that Russia has so many more boys to send to their deaths. Think about that. An outrage. 

What are we supposed to do? Do we start a world war? Are the sanctions enough? Do we unleash the nukes?

I'll tell you what we do: we just hope we survive this one and that the surface of the planet does not get wiped clean of our angry, petty, arrogant faces and their grand plans. 

And then, we start a worldwide campaign of subversion. 

We start teaching our children that there is nothing good about war. There is no glory in it. There is no payoff. I know, I know -- you are thinking about honoring those who sacrificed themselves. I am too. How can we not teach about them? -- honor them? But I am going to guess they'd be on my side. I'm going to guess my Uncle Vince would not want any more boys (or girls, now) to go through the torture and the lifelong pain he had to endure. 

We need to teach our kids that war is an outrage, conceptually. More that that, we need to make them feel it. Think of how far we have shifted other things social perspectives. Look at how we have changed perceptions of things like, say, interracial marriage. In my lifetime, I have seen it go from hush-hush scandal to a thing that goes almost unnoticed (except by the last holdouts of racist ignorance). 

A long time ago, Carl Sandburg said: "Sometime they will give a war and nobody will come." It is possible, I suppose, though I do doubt it. It would have to be that every parent around the world would have to be part of the subversion; that every young man and woman alive would say: "Invade who? No, I don't think so, old man. You invade."

I know it is an implausible solution, but it really is the only one: We need to change how we teach our kids about war. Will we? I doubt it. But a solution is a solution, no matter how hard it might be. Or maybe even how impossible it might be. And even if we don't manage to get everyone to accept that war is an outrage, maybe we will, at least, raise a generation of politicians who think it is. 

Yeah, I know this essay is worth nothing, but, at least I can say I tried. 

Picnic Shaming: Return of the Memorial Day Preachers

John Adams

Every year, it grinds my gears. I am okay with the people who correctly point out that one is not supposed to thank living soldiers, Marines and sailors on Memorial Day. (The veterans I know find it embarrassing, in fact.) The ones who annoy me are those who shame people for having a good time, either with their words or with their tone. When did blatant condescension become okay?

Oh, sure, you can argue that they are only indicating that we should stop for a minute during our celebrations to remember the fallen. But that's not the way it is presented. It's presented with a self-righteous snottiness that used to be reserved for people in, high, gilded pulpits: "While you are cooking burgers and swimming and enjoying your extra days off, don't forget blah blah blah [I'm more patriotic than you] blah blah blah [note my depth] blah blah..."

I don't use profanity on this blog but I just almost recommended a particular kind of simultaneously giving and receiving intimate act to these people. But I shan't.

I guess their intentions are good, but I'll bet they would be mad at me if I hit them with Tweeted and Instagrammed rhetoric that shamed them for not saying grace before meals. I wonder, too, if the Memorial Day Preachers "keep Christ in Christmas;" or, if they, themselves, are annoyed by those who remind them to. Shouldn't everyone stop to give thought of thanks for the struggling farmers of America before each cob of corn consumed? I think so, but I don't blather about it.

It's all preaching, right?

But here's the crux of it, for me. I think it is all a symptom of our slow (but, now, almost complete) transition into the acceptance of unabashed praise-seeking: teachers posting memes about how wonderful teachers are; nurses doing the same; parents glorifying their life-long sacrifices by linking to articles about the trials of raising kids... Blech.

I wonder how my great uncles, who fought (and, some of whom, died) in WWII, feel when they look down on the toddlers eating hot dogs and freeze pops; at the families splashing, carefree, in their pools; teenagers on the beach throwing Nerf footballs... I wonder if my great uncles are outraged.

Or, I wonder, having come from a culture that emphasized duty, dignity and humility, if they smile down on the freedom they won for us; the freedom that they can see in full bloom. I wonder if they rest in peace knowing they helped secure a world in which people could wind up being so happy that they sometimes forget to credit the source of that happiness.

John Adams once said:

"I must study politics and war, that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. Our sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.”

In short, we, of the present, suffer trials so that we can bring our descendants closer to lives of joy and art and intellectuality. I don't think the fallen warriors of the past begrudge us our picnics. And maybe their reward is simply seeing that life they earned for their future sons and daughters. Maybe they wouldn't demand praise as much as we do today. (I'd bet my left thumb on it.) 

I once heard a mom say that her job was to be the kind of mother her kids took for granted. Does anyone think like that anymore? Does anyone do the right thing without an aim at recognition or praise?

I know it is a bit of a paradox. I do feel the need to be thankful for the sacrifices of the fallen. And, being a real-live grown-up, I'll be thankful in my own way, thanks very much. (In fact, I have written about that gratitude. Have all of the Picnic-Shamers put real time into their memorial activities, I wonder -- beyond retweets and shared links and memes?)

In the end, I refuse to be judged for laughing and playing on a day dedicated to the dead, because that's exactly what they died for. What happens in my prayers and thoughts is up to me, not to some condescending re-imagination of an Anglican preacher standing outside a theater and denouncing the "sins of the stage" to people who just want to see a good play and forget their troubles for awhile.

Beautiful Violence?

Pacifism always looked cool to me when I was younger, for two reasons. First, it seemed lofty; Christ-like; it reeked of philosophical commitment. Second -- if we're being honest -- it is a very convenient excuse for not having to be "manly," at least it the realm of physical confrontation: "I'm not a wimp -- I'm a pacifist." I know now (as I knew then, of course) that being a man isn't all about bar brawls -- but, when the time comes for, say, self-defense, declaring one's self a pacifist can be a convenient back door.

The exceptional lead cast of Foyle's war. 

I remember watching M.A.S.H, the situation comedy set in the Korean War (maybe the biggest screw-up of a war in world history) and I used to admire the rebellious nature of the Army surgeons, "Hawkeye" and "B.J." -- their distaste for war; their commitment to their Hippocratic oaths. I still do. They found themselves locked into a war they didn't start or condone; they literally waded in blood trying to save the lives of the young victims of that war and they did everything they could to show the tides of politics and violence that they could be forced to be there, but not to conform to everything.

The message is different, though, elsewhere. Recently, I have been watching the delightful Foyle's War -- a wonderful BBC mystery series centered around Detective Chief Inspector Foyle (Michael Kitchen). The show is set in Hastings during WWII. Foyle, a WWI vet, is, as NPR TV critic David Bianculli put it, "so square you could play checkers on him" -- which Bianculli goes on to explain is meant as a compliment. And you see what he means as you watch Foyle operate with unwavering ethical standards and a with complete commitment to being the quintessential gentleman. But Foyle is clear on one thing in particular: commitment to the war effort. Very different than Hawkeye Pierce; but, of course, his circumstances were very different as well.

American Sniper vs. the Sneetches

I don't want to be a doomsayer. (Well, yes I do -- who wouldn't? -- but that's not the point.) As I say, I don't want to be a doomsayer, but anyone who reads this knows that one of my greatest fears for world culture is that we are giving up our individuality under the stress of over-emphasis on "community." ("Community" is in quotes, because I feel we are a little free with the word: that any group is awarded the title of "community" when it should be a more of a high-quality group dynamic...)

Anyway, I have lost a few social media friends because of what I fear is this migration to groupthink. How, you ask? By professing an anti-war/pro-warrior philosophy. I've written about it here. In brief: war is a hard sell for me. I respect our warriors so much that I don't want them to be at the beck and call of those who might make commitments to war for the wrong reasons. (By the way, I use "warriors" to include all who do battle; soldiers, sailors, marines, etc.)

This sounds pretty reasonable, to me. Yet, I have has "patriots" actually stop talking to me because of this view. They apparently feel that if one doesn't support the war, one can't be a patriot. Sounds to me like a prescription for brainwashing.

The lives of individuals are always more important to me than group objectives, unless those group objectives are undeniably more important than individual life. (Stopping Hitler, for example.)

I just saw Eastwood's American Sniper. Bradley Cooper was brilliant; there were some fine scenes, but, overall, I found the film left me a little flat as Eastwoods films usually do. But I don't really do film reviews unless they have a larger purpose. Like this one:

The Christmas Truce of 1914: Every Silver Cloud Has a Fecal Lining

It's a famous story, now. Here is it charmingly depicted in a commercial:
The commercial is a pretty good depiction of what happened.

On one website, it was called a heartening proof that the soldiers' essential humanity remained. They saw the event as uplifting. But every silver cloud has a fecal lining.

From an article in the November, 2014 issue of National Geographic:

"No one there wanted to continue the war," [author, Stanley] Weintraub said. But the top brass did, and threatened to punish troops for shirking duty. As the new year began, both sides "went on with the grim business at hand."

Absurd, is it not? This is how the many are herded, lead and eventually slaughtered at the whim of the few.

So, let's all cheer war like it is a football game. That will get us far. Some day they are going to give a war and...we'll just keep doing what we are told.

Band of Brothers: Some Thoughts About Warriors and War

In my adult years, I gravitated away from TV. As a kid, I watched tons of it, but other things took precedent later in life, I guess. But, ever since we got rid of cable TV, my wife and I have been delving back, on streaming channels, into the critically acclaimed stuff. We started with Lost, which we really enjoyed, despite the many objections people had to the later seasons. We watched and liked Deadwood and Rome. Deadwood got old for me at the end -- I found the over-the-top foul language started to make me feel numb after awhile. Still, it was good writing. I liked Rome better; I thought the characters and their portrayals were excellent. Most recently, we completed Band of Brothers.

My favorite interaction with art is when it stirs my emotions. While watching Band of Brothers, I was brought to tears at least once, every episode. 

Richard Winters

Having been based on Stephen Ambrose's book, the miniseries was sort of a different animal than the other shows we watched. Sure, Rome was based on history, but it was ancient history. That feels different, from the start. But Band of Brothers is about a war that family members of mine were in. My great uncle, Vince, may well have actually been saved by the central characters, members of "Easy Company" who, in a heroic effort pitting twelve men against fifty German soldiers, took out the guns at Brecourt Manor, overlooking the beach on D-Day. It's close. My great uncle, Bobby, was not as lucky in Europe. 

Most affecting, though, for me, were the interviews with the men, several of whom were still alive in 2001 when the show was made. Humble (and I do not throw this word around lightly) heroes, each and every one of them.

The Circus of Human Failure

You know the old story about the wizard who puts a spell on the well in order to enchant everyone in the village? The people fall to the spell, one at a time, until there is only one guy left and when he realizes that he is the "crazy one," after days of having tried to convince everyone that there is something wrong with the well, he drinks and is congratulated for finally having come to his senses.

I'm always reminded of this story when it comes to the old Sandburg quotation: "Someday, they are going to give a war and no one will come." Will this ever happen? Not if everyone is drinking from the well. (Or not unless the right wizard poisons it.)

Photo by Robert Capa; Spanish American War

So, here's the problem: war is absolutely absurd. It defies reason. It is something that should only happen in nightmares. Yet, we talk about it each day as matter-of-factly as we discuss the wins and losses of our favorite teams. Why?

Because although we teach our kids that war is a bad thing -- something to be avoided -- we don't go the extra step into convincing them, in their deepest hearts, that it is an abomination; a ridiculous, pointless, incomprehensibly stupid circus of human failure.

Life Against Life

To close out a week of musings on war, I’d like to strip things down a step farther.

To me, killing is wrong.  Killing is always wrong, no matter what. This conclusion is constituted of both what I think and what I feel, but especially of what I feel -- which, to me, is the true magnetic component of the moral compass.

Hold on -- before you start throwing hypothetical scenarios involving threatened grandmothers at me, stick with my line of thought, for a bit...

Killing is wrong, but I would kill under certain circumstances.

If I needed to kill in order to defend my family, I would -- without hesitation.

The difference between me and a lot of other people is that I wouldn’t try to argue, afterward, that this killing was morally okay simply because I had just done it with good reason. In those circumstances, I would kill, but I wouldn’t then try to argue that killing was okay. I would call it a moral transgression that I was willing to commit in order to preserve the existence people whose lives were more important to me than the life of the person I had killed -- I chose commit a wrong because I felt compelled to protect those I love, not because I believed that it is okay to kill “under certain circumstances.”

The Evolution of War

Once there was a man named Thak Ooogaloo. (His cave-friends called him Bill. We’ll call him Thak.) One day, some men from a cave over the hill came and tried to steal Thak's stone knife, a joint of his meat and three of his children. Thak picked up a big stick and grunted to his friends. “For Bill!” his friends hollered, and they ran out of the cave and beat the brains out of the invaders.

Once, many years after Thak’s great victory, there was a man named Agamemnon. (His friends called him Agamamnon. Once, a guy tried to call him "Aggie." Once.) He was rich. He had gotten rich by killing rich guys and taking their stuff. In order to get rich, other warriors banded around Agamemnon. When Agamemnon won battles, he shared the loot with his warriors.  When they got rich enough, those warriors got warriors of their own and killed other rich warlords, and so on. The mix-up with Helen didn’t enter into it. It was all about the loot, in the end.

The Obligation Lie

Every once in awhile, patriotism enrages me. This is not because I don't believe in supporting and loving one's country, but it is because I think people are fooled into accepting a bureaucratically convenient definition of patriotism.

I was watching a few music videos this morning, and a song came on -- Keith Urban, who I have mentioned before, I have really come to respect as a musician. In fact, I really like this song a lot. But it still enrages me. I'll tell you why after you watch it:



Sometimes, I feel like I'm being ripped, two ways. Here is a earnest performance of a song about sacrifice for the ones one loves. It paraphrases biblical wisdom: "No greater gift has man than to lay down his life for love." I buy that -- I always have.

Lee's Succinct Truth

Sometimes, I'll write a long post and, the day after, I'll see or hear something that pretty much sums it up in a fraction of the words. I suppose my last post can be found in a quotation from General Robert E. Lee:

"It is well that war is so terrible, otherwise we should grow too fond of it."

Indeed. Let's face it: war is cool in a lot of ways. The shame of it is that those ways tend to get negated completely by a photo of the bloated corpse of a dead young man.

(Addendum: The quoting of Lee here is not meant to glorify, in any way, the principles of the slave-owning South -- I was merely interested in Lee's thinking as a brilliant military man, which he was. A friend was offended that I would even quote him, but I would quote anyone with particular credentials, if it made my point. Doing so is not intended as a justification of that person's morals.)

The Maze of Heroics

Last night, my family and I watched Peter, Susan and Edmund stand by Prince Caspian's side as the massive, evil Telmarine army advanced, great catapults lobbing massive stones to crack the walls of Aslan's How -- the Narnians' last refuge. The young heroes held their ground as the army advanced, slowly, thrumpingly, rhythmically, hidden behind helms wrought into fierce, iron expressions.

In the blue glow of the screen, I watched my children's faces more than the film. The boys' innocent eyes were wide, fixed on the action. They leaned forward to watch the battle unfold and, as Peter lead the charge forward, they bounced a little in their seats. Each time a heroic act was committed, they would let out a "Yes!" or a gleeful laugh.

Open Letter to Young People Considering the Miltary

[Readers: This is a grizzly piece, in spots. You might not want to read if you have a loved-one in a combat zone. It is inspired by a few days of my mulling over the loss of so many Americans in Iraq and Afghanistan.]

Dear Young Person:

If you are thinking of joining the military, you should consider a few things.

First, be careful of the sepia-toned TV ads with close-ups of craggy-faced dads in pickup trucks talking to their sons after football practice about joining the army. Yes, it's cute that dad and son are giggling about convincing mom that he should join. Sure, it shows a bond between a son and dad that might be precious if tenuous, but the decision to join up is not something to giggle about. Ever.

Second, be careful of confusing your life with a movie. Movies just end, no matter how grizzly a picture they might seem to paint of war. Sometimes lives are dragged out long after the plot ceases to be interesting and long after the main character forgets all of his lines (because he lost part of his brain to an IED). Sometimes, he survives the war but lives a long, miserable life trying to forget about it. Sometimes he walks onto the set in heroic, shiny-buttoned glory and he rolls off in a wheelchair with a bag connected to it for collecting his feces and urine because he can no longer control his own bowels, let alone an enemy attacker.

Third: Yes, you can get money for college, but you can also get dead. Or insane. If you don't go off to fight, cool. If you do? You might wind up blowing someone's face apart and watching him die a squirming, screaming, horrific death in the hot sand right at your feet. That might make it difficult for you to concentrate in Composition 101 after your discharge. It is hard to focus on topic sentences in between memory-flashes of spattered pieces of bone and muscle clincing to a clay wall.

Bill, Disconnected

The man ventured forth into the night, leaving his beautiful wife behind in the glow of lamplight. It was cold and the streets were wet with melting snows.

He shivered and pulled up the collar of his coat and punched the button to unlock his minivan. He opened the door and stepped in and then drove off into the darkness on his mission: ice cream. "Mint pinky-berry swirl" for her, "chocolate chewy candy chunks" for him. The usual.

Halfway down the dark suburban road, lined with spooky houses that glowed blue from the windows as television screens flashed, he reflexively and then violently felt his coat's breast pocket. His heart rate quickened. It wasn't there. Where was it? It was always there . . . where had he put it?

The Soul of Hats

Someone asked me, today, why I so seldom write about the news. Where are the posts, she wanted to know, about the rebellions in the Middle East? -- the union issues in Wisconsin? I almost felt guilty for a second. But, no, in the end I don't. (In my defense, however, I wrote a cracking piece about Happy Meal regulation, once).

Why not feel guilty, you ask? Because we can't ignore the heart for the sake of the body or the home for the sake of the city or the city for the sake of the state or the state for the sake of the world. What's inside can't be neglected.

We can't forget ourselves -- I mean, literally, our selves -- in all of this. There are those who speak out about politics, quite well. There are those whose voices ring above the rest when it comes to world issues. These people are important. But I would argue that we need a place to come to look into ourselves a little. If this blog serves that purpose for you, I have all I can ask as its creator.

Recollected in Tranquility

There are things that embarrass me that don't embarrass other people. But these things always seem to come from inside. They always seem to involve things I see as intensely personal; something that should burn deep in one's heart and that one should reveal only in a controlled, dignified, selective forms. Wordwsorth called poetry "the spontaneous overflow of emotion recollected in tranquility." In other words, no one wants to read a poem written in the midst of an emotional meltdown -- it is too messy; too undignified; too close. I think a few things in life are like poetry. I think intense feelings need to be filtered before they are released to the world. If they are not, I get downright embarrassed for people.

Spirituality is like this for me. It seems this should be between a person and his chosen deity. I am embarrassed by unfettered displays of spirituality, not because I don't respect the passion of those who perform these displays, but because I feel like an eavesdropper on their spiritual conversations. It feels like I'm in the birthing room of a couple I don't know. Those moments should be intimate, to me; private, not public. (Yet another way in which I am weird, I guess -- people invite their lawn service guys into the birth room now.)

Patriotism is like this, too. Its unabashed, brazen display seems to reduce the profundity of something so important. When people trumpet about patriotism and paint flags everywhere, it feels like cheering at a football game. It is especially tough, for me, in wartime. Obviously, war is so much more than a football game. Unity as a nation is wonderful, but fist-pumping and scowls at cameras meant for anyone "dumb enough to mess with us" is puerile.

I am spiritual and I am patriotic in my own way -- in my personal way. In my heart. And if I am going to display these feelings, it will be with control and restraint.  In short, not like the first video, here, but like the second.

I want to make it clear that the following song is a parody of patriotic songs by a guy named Cledus T. Judd. He is described as "the Weird Al Yankovic of country songs" on You Tube. I did not want to insult anyone's favorite patriotic song. But this makes my point with no harm and no foul. It is called "Don't Mess With America."



"We'll beat you red, white and blue"? Classic.

Now, an example of sensitive patriotism and controlled spirituality in one song -- a song that, in its subtly, taps into the idea of bravery and sacrifice in a way that a million American flag-waving football fans couldn't capture in a century, Gino Vannelli and Roy Freeland's "None So Beautiful as the Brave." The video was made as a tribute to a fallen soldier and, so, focuses on people, not bombs and guns:




Notice the difference even in the images of the video when they are not playing: the first, soldiers. The second: a man who is a soldier. Clearly, a shift in focus.

Maybe my embarrassment is driven by shame for the ways patriotism and spirituality can divide us. One video here uses patriotism as a club with which to beat others; one defines it with real pride in the beauty of bravery and in the wide-eyed dedication to idealism that results in the bittersweet of ultimate sacrifice. But we can only really see the beauty of the human spirit by looking inward. Wearing a flag shirt does not make you a patriot, nor does screaming loudly, stomping your feet, having the World Trade Center airbrushed on your car or parroting "If you don't like America, get out." Loving the spirit of freedom does; really feeling and understanding that spirit does. For Americans, understanding the Constitution does. Voting (when informed) does.

If you love the spirit of freedom, you are a patriot and, strangely, a patriot who could easily belong in many of the free countries of our world. How mystically unifying that sounds.

Art can affect the world for better or worse. Above are examples of both effects. Dignity of expression and intelligence are the defining factors. And they are the elements that I ask for in the expression of others and that I strive for in my own.

On Second Thought: Kill

Here's an idea. Let's have children. Let's cuddle them, kiss them, love them, provide for them, teach them gentleness and kindness. Let's watch them sleep as we wonder what sort of people they will be some day. Let's teach them to respect their neighbors and life in general. Let's comfort them when they are afraid and tell them that God loves everyone.

Then, let's teach them to have aspirations -- to do well in school and to plan for a rich future with kids of their own to whom they can pass the same values we hold. Let's send our kids the message that they can be the architects of their respective futures. It is important for them to believe that they can do anything they want to. Dreams are theirs to snatch at speed, like those shiny rings on old-fashioned merry-go-rounds.

Above all, let's teach them that the worst thing they can be is a bully. "Do unto others" and all that. Live and let live. Let's teach them to make their own choices -- be an individual -- and to allow others to choose for themselves and to respect those choices of religion, lifestyle, moral codes, standards of dress, etc.

Ultimately, let's smile as our children bring forth children of their own -- new little ones to bathe in the warm waters of love. Let's be happy grandparents because the circle is complete. Let's give our kids a little speech on their children's birthdays about how the kids need to come first -- how family is everything.

Then, to wrap it all up, let's take one of the boys, jam an M-4 rifle into his hands and tell him it is his patriotic duty shoot other people with it and send him in to a brutal desert somewhere where he can get his brains spattered against a rock at the very moment his little baby loses her first tooth and puts it into an envelope so she can show Daddy that night when they talk on the computer.

Or maybe Daddy gets lucky and comes home one day, if broken to pieces by the horrors he has seen -- horrors he wasn't ready for, because we loved him so much. Because we taught him the opposite of what we eventually made him endure.

And they all lived shattered ever after.

This little fable is not a statement against patriotism or the military. It's not an evaluation of war, either. It's about a conundrum. Our kids, with very few exceptions, do not grow up preparing to fight. Basic training does not cover the gap: ours is not a warrior culture, high school football notwithstanding. Daddy is not Odysseus or some clan-leader drinking blood out of the skulls of the vanquished. He is a teacher or an accountant, or a carpenter or the owner of a store or a guy who loves to take care of his lawn. Our kids are not ready for carnage and the stench of death. None of them are really tough enough. That's the tragedy. That's the conundrum.

Even the survivors don't completely survive war. So, there are two options: revert to making killing machines out of our kids or figure out a way to end war. This middle ground is not acceptable. We can't go on asking common teachers, accountants and carpenters, owners of stores and cutters of lawns to blow other humans apart. It's inhuman and cruel to everyone involved. Casualty tallies would be even higher if we would remember that a young person can die without dying.

We need to figure out whether, as Bono says in "Peace on Earth," the lives of our kids are "bigger than any big idea." I think they are at least as big.