Protesting The World.

I have avoided this topic for some time.

I oversaturated myself yesterday about the college protests over the Israeli-Hamas war, where civilians have been showing up dead faster than police can arrest protesters around the world in the United States. Clearly, I have a bias, and that bias is for civilians, not a ‘side’, but in supporting the civilians, I end up having to look hard at the people killing and maiming them.

The children didn’t do anything wrong but be born in an accident of geography that happens to be behind walls – or in front of them – on every side of their existence. That’s pretty shitty1.

As someone without a distinct tribe, that’s what I see. As a TCK and a hyper-multicultural, I’m not vested in the tribalisms of yesterday, the present, and the future. I just see people.

This morning, washing dishes, I thought about it, and I recalled my youth and what my mother said about cleaning my room.

Anecdote on Perspective

As a boy, my room was… well, not something that would pass any form of inspection. My mother, who then in the 1970s spent all day cleaning, boycotted my room for her own reasons – some selfish, some not – and tasked me with cleaning my room. This was one of the first responsibilities given to me, and I did not like it. Since I didn’t like it, I didn’t spend much time on it – but time is relative, and as a child, play time is always less time than responsibility time.

This did not work well for my mother, who would ask me if I had cleaned my room and I would say, “Yes!”. Of course I said that. The backyard beckoned, the friends on bicycles beckoned, even the dog beckoned. And, of course, it was never clean. She would stand at the door, look in my room, and say, “That’s not clean. Keep cleaning.”

I didn’t know what she meant. Everything is exactly where it should be, in my eyes, even the dirty socks in the toybox thrown there in a rush so I could go out and play. I had no idea what she meant.

One day, apparently after taking a deep breath, she stood at the door of my room and looked in and said, “Come here.” So I did, and she said, “When you look at your room, pretend that you’re me and look at your room from here.” From that vantage, I could see I had not hidden my mess as well as I had thought.

Soon, my room looked clean from that vantage point, a tribute to my mother showing a different perspective, flawed by being twice my height at the time. It was flawed for other reasons, but from her perspective, it worked because she didn’t have to look at a dirty room when she walked by2.

This would serve me well on Navy and Marine Corps bases: Learning what inspectors looked for and making sure it was sat(isfactory). But it didn’t teach me why the room had to be clean. That would happen as I matured.

Battles of Perspectives.

The world has become so polarized that it seems often we forget to consider things outside of ourselves, or our tribes. As someone generally outside of the tribalisms, I often see individuals and groups fighting over things that they disagree about and forgetting everything they agree about. Sometimes it’s a matter of social inertia. Not everyone is cut out to be a free thinking individual3. I used to get upset about the blind followers, but having interacted with them over a half-century, I understand why some of them are the way they are and are probably better off that way.

Even so, the leaders of groups have a responsibility to their followers to be mindful of what they’re doing. Eventually, because humans tend to more vocal disagreement than agreement, people split off and do their own thing – which gives us diversity of perspectives that we often ignore. As someone expressly against the killing of children, Israel’s actions and policies do not align with what I would be willing to agree with – yet I cannot deny that the Jews I have known over the years deserve a place to live in peace. Israel increasingly doesn’t seem to be that place for anyone. I’m sorry if that offends anyone, but if you have to kill children to protect yourselves, you have to wonder what you’re protecting yourself from.

On the flip side, I don’t think kidnapping civilians is something that’s tenable. In fact, it seems an act of desperation, that things are so bad that you need to make a point by absconding with another human to imprison them until someone else meets your terms. Anything negotiated at gunpoint only results in ceasefires, and ceasefires are just pauses in war where children are born to die when the ceasefire is over.

Many people are trying to clean the room by hiding their socks in their toyboxes when it comes to ethical stances, while some are simply protesting to make the world a better place – a better place from their own perspective.

Protests.

When things get bad enough, people are moved to side with something because they want to feel like they have done something. When I saw the invasion of Ukraine, I wanted to go over and help with the medical as a former Navy Corpsman, and explored it seriously only to find that I had become old, I had a wonky knee sometimes, that battlefield medicine had evolved a lot in tools and equipment, and that I would be a liability in a war zone4. I had purchased tickets to get there that I cancelled, not because of the potential for death or injury to myself, but because I could cause others to die or be injured.

It was humbling in ways that I still wrestle with at times.

So I got on Twitter, pre-Musk era, and supported there through social media, because I could do that but I found myself looking at the mob and seeing things that I considered overstepping. I pulled back. I still support Ukraine sovereignty, but I am careful about weighing the cost to others.

Protesting for or against something isn’t as high of stakes, but in a way it is. I believe in peaceful protest, but peaceful protest always gets people together with perspectives that may be slightly different, that we overlook because at the time they may work towards our ends – and sometimes that hits us in the soft nether regions later on and undoes the good we thought we were doing.

It’s like when the Soviet Union was still a thing. Pilots in Germany would come perilously close to starting a war as the pilots tested each other constantly. With too many people on alert for different perspectives interacting so closely, things can get very hairy very quickly. Sooner or later, something goes just a little too far and both sides need to pull back because they don’t actually want a war. Only fools want war, thinking it’s like a Hollywood production of Rambo. If fools were the only victims of other fools, humanity would be much stronger for it, but fools have a tendency to kill people who are not fools simply because they disagree with them – even if they’re on the same ‘side’. There’s really no such thing as friendly fire. Just fools with excuses.

We should first do no harm.

Israel And Palestine

The sad truth is that until now, Palestinian children weren’t really counted when they were alive and now we count their dead. The sad truth is that the whole situation could have been resolved decades ago and the Palestinians have found themselves to be convenient pawns of the big players in Middle Eastern politics. The sad truth is that those same children grow to become adults and don’t want to be pawns anymore.

It would seem that the protesters for the Palestinians have the same thought, that they see something that should be fixed and want it to be fixed. This I can agree with wholeheartedly and without reservation. It’s clean, it’s ethical, and it reflects the values of humanity that we’ve all been taught at some basic level.

What I cannot agree with is supporting Hamas. What I cannot agree with is supporting the policies of Israel that have galvanized the attention of the world by their ruthlessness and impunity for human life, as Russia has shown in Ukraine.

I’m all for people living peacefully, but that seems almost oxymoronic because of the lack of mindfulness of leaders of followers, and of followers that should know better.

Now the violence is spilling blood on the other side of the planet, all because we as a species have let the issue sit for far too long.

I don’t know what the answer is. I know what the answers aren’t.

The answer is not ignoring the problem – we’ve done that for decades. The answer is not funding weapons to one side, ally or not. The answer is not becoming as polarized as we allowed the whole situation to become. The answer is not creating laws that make it illegal to criticize a country’s policies and actions. The answer is not violence between protesting groups. The answer is not making the world more unsafe. The answer is not giving to one group at the cost of another. The answer is not electing politicians who ignore the problems because of election cycles while effectively shouting ‘squirrel!’ and pointing at some other issue.

Sometimes, we have to sit down and wrestle with our humanity and acknowledge how ugly we can be, even if our own tribes don’t see it because they’re too busy dehumanizing the other side.

Humans are always stronger together, except when humans are together.

So I go back to my favorite quote and wonder what we can build together that would make things better, because the world is broken and we can’t afford the amount of glue to fix it. We have the technology and will to do great harm, but no one seems as intent on the greater good.

We should change that, through social media, through interacting with each other even when we disagree, and find ways to build things because otherwise we’ll run out of things to destroy.

We should be better than this. Let’s try that.

  1. I try not to use profanity, but sometimes profanity is the only way to express something. I wrestled with that sentence. ↩︎
  2. Closing the door would have helped her too, but it wasn’t something I would dare say at the time. ↩︎
  3. including some free thinking individuals. ↩︎
  4. I had good friends who allowed me the dignity of coming to that conclusion myself. ↩︎

The Defense.

This is a part of a larger story I wrote some time ago that didn’t get published. Edited for brevity.

In a kingdom there lived a young woman named Eleanor. She was the youngest of three children in a noble family, but as a female she only was permitted to hunt while her two brothers were taught swordsmanship and battle tactics. As the lone girl, she was tasked with learning to run the castle and to understand it’s day to day operation.

She was bored most of the time, though she excelled at understanding how the castle ran. She watched as lovers snuck out to the surrounding forest, she watched how the smugglers brought in their wares. Any absences were easily explained to her widowed father about some female issue or the other, which of course he didn’t want to hear about.

When news of an impending war reached their lands, Eleanor’s family prepared to leave. Her father and two brothers donned their armor, ready to defend their kingdom. Eleanor pleaded with her father to go with them, but her father insisted that someone needed to stay behind to manage the castle. The war would be far away, he said, and the castle had practical things to deal with. Reluctantly, she agreed, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment.

Days turned into weeks, and Eleanor ran the castle with efficiency. The ravens were silent and brought no word, so she only found things out from traders. Without her father and brothers around, she spent her evenings practicing with a sword in secret, driven by the feel of her body as it danced. She wasn’t very good since she had no one to train with, but it helped her focus and gave her some breaks from boredom. She was very talented with the bow, and often found spots where she could hunt for the kitchen. Every time she dropped meat off at the kitchen, she quietly held a finger to her lips, and the cooks nodded and quietly smiled.

Things were running smoothly at the castle with her father and brothers gone, with their odd demands no longer pressing on the men and women of the castle. People were becoming used to the way things were, and since things were running so smoothly she was able to practice more, to observe more, and to quietly adjust things as needed without causing too much of an issue with anyone.

Months passed, and there was no word on the war. A lookout spotted an enemy army advancing towards the castle. The kingdom’s main forces were away, engaged in a distant battle, leaving the castle vulnerable. There was some panic, but Eleanor remained calm and confidently pulled in hunters to man the walls. She called in the smugglers one by one, making them aware she knew what they had been doing and enlisting them in the effort. A few were more difficult than others, but the fact that she had let them do their trade without interfering swayed them.

The smugglers had stockpiles of oil and weapons. As a child she had observed a barrel of oil explode and recalled her father telling her brothers that in war those barrels could be set with bits of metal around them so that when they exploded, shrapnel would not just hurt the enemy, but could also destroy their morale.

They would be planning a siege, she knew, so she sent barrels of oil dipped in wax, with nails embedded in the wax, in a clearing where the soldiers would likely camp. It was convenient. Her father had maintained it as a place to hold tournaments and festivals, but he had also heard him say that it was a good spot for an enemy to camp because of it. He’d made sure there was chopped wood nearby to encourage that because if you have an enemy camped outside your castle, as he told his sons, it’s best to have them where you want them.

And so she had barrels strategically hidden up in the trees. She had spare hooded candles near the fuses, and when they were just close enough, she had the candles lit. It would be about 3 hours before they went off, and she made a big show of running around on the parapets looking frantic. She wore no armor, carried no sword, but her bow was never far away.

The enemy showed up, flying their banners, and seeing the castle doors closed, they settled in for the night, exactly where her father had kept clear. A few hours later, there were explosions and screams of wounded men. Upset horses could be heard galloping off into the night.

As dawn broke, the remains of the enemy stood just out of bow shot along the walls. They looked tired, some were bandaged, and by the initial tally they were missing one third of their original numbers. It had not been enough to stop them, but it had been enough to thin their numbers. They only outnumbered those in the castle that could hold bows by two to one. They didn’t stand much of a chance if they attacked, but they could maintain a siege by cutting off supplies.

The smugglers, though, had been convinced with the smile of a princess and a bit of coin to open their stores to the castle. Winter was here, spring months away. They could hold out longer than the enemy thought. They were trained for war, not running a castle. That was the job of the female nobility and they didn’t think to bring any women with them.

Eleanor would outlast them, harrying them at night when they got comfortable by raining arrows on their tents and destroying their food stores. Every day, she smiled from the parapet, waving at the enemy.

They left eventually, with no supplies. They would tell exaggerated stories of the nights her people harried them, because what army would want to be bested by a princess? She was clearly a witch, her father and brothers long gone in a war that no one remembers.

Stories of her spread, the Smiling Witch-Queen Eleanor, and no one bothered her castle in her lifetime.

Memorial Day.

In the United States, Memorial Day is a public holiday, and a disturbing amount of people mix up Veteran’s Day and Memorial Day.

Memorial Day is about those who served and never returned.

I’ve spent a few Memorial Days in the U.S. visiting the vast military graveyards, knowing that for many whose bodies are interred had painful last moments. We who have served sign up for this, though it’s not in the brochure and it’s not something spoken or written of as often as it happens.

To make matters worse, “supporting the troops” has become a football for some politically loud sections of the United States, thinking those that do not support the decisions of the government to send people to war cannot support the troops – but then, is supporting the loss of life and quality of life for reasons that are questionable ‘supporting the troops’, or is it ‘throwing the lives of troops away’?

Take a look at what Russia has been doing with it’s troops. Forced conscriptions sent into a meat grinder for… what? Trying to reclaim territory of an entity that no longer exists (USSR)? We look at that and many of us draw in a breath and shake our heads, even as we cheer for Ukraine’s drawn out victory with their forced conscriptions, all men, with women volunteering. To what end?

For Ukraine, it’s a battle of defense – a battle of autonomy, a battle of identity, a battle of their way of life. This is something that is easily relatable to. Russia’s offensive reeks of a failed painter with a very small mustache: Conquest with 19th century tactics and 20th century weapons in a 21st century world.

In Sudan, the same thing is happening, though the lines are not as clear though the blood is just as red, and the scale is smaller from what we see reported, but it’s still happening.

This all came to mind as I was watching Guy Ritchie’s The Covenant, which is based on real events but is not a true story.

It’s a story we want to see and hear because we want the good guys to live happily ever after. Not everyone does, and in the movie only one from the team makes it back – the premise for the whole story. Those that did not make it back, though, died in support of their orders which is what Memorial Day is about – based on the idea that the government knows what is best to defend the ideals expressed over hot dogs and hamburgers on Memorial Day.

Where I have lived, where I do live, Memorial Day isn’t a holiday. Where I live presently, in Trinidad and Tobago, there’s not even an equivalent, and seeing fellow veterans is a rare thing.

Yet I remember what it’s about. There are no hamburgers or hot dogs this long weekend, a break in the death march of work we subject ourselves to. We lose people in uniform, we lose people, and we hope that we did for good reasons and better judgement when that’s not always the case.

Saying, “Happy Memorial Day” seems peculiar to me. Memorial Day is a day of reflection for me, as you can probably tell, and for it to be happy… well, I don’t think it would exist.

Memorial Day is the reminder of the price paid by others and their families and friends. In this way, I hope Memorial Day carries just a small amount of the weight we balance any victory or loss against so that we do remember – and do not lose meaningful lives over meaningless things.