Tag Archives: violence

Buzzards, Crystal Moments, and Matters of Life and Death

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I memorized a poem as a schoolchild, about a boy walking through woods, who sees a deer suddenly flash past, pursued by dogs. “Life and death upon one tether,” the poet wrote, “and running beautiful together.” I thought of that poem yesterday as I enjoyed my yoga routine on the deck in the early fall sunshine. Unknowingly, I too was marked for death, although my thoughts were light, uplifted by exercise, meditation and blue sky.

 

I lay on my mat, eyes closed, stretching up first one leg and then the other, wriggling my toes, waggling my feet to loosen my ankles.

 

I lifted up my eyes to see four buzzards circling high above me, puzzled as to whether this hapless human below them—obviously writhing in her final death throes—would meet her demise sooner or disappointingly later.

 

The arrival of my aspiring buzzards reminded me of another time, when I found a dead doe strangled by baling wire on my father’s Texas ranchette. Her fawns and the other members of Dad’s wild, corn-fed herd kept respectful watch nearby—curious, accepting—as I raged, anguishing over what I judged to be her arbitrary, meaningless and cruel fate, aching that I hadn’t seen her in time to save her.

 

I called the sheriff’s office to pick up the corpse.

 

Next morning, although the sheriff hadn’t yet arrived, the buzzards had. Forty turkey buzzards quarrelsomely gorged themselves ‘til they couldn’t fly, putting on quite a show across the front lawn. At first I hated them, but soon watched with fascination this exotic display of life and death so beautifully tethered. The buzzards ate to live; they too had young to feed. They did their buzzardly parts that day, and eventually, my dad and I, and the deer herd, wandered off to do ours.

 

I used to create elaborate plots—deals, really—intended to deflect similarly horrible and pointless fates for myself and my loved ones, hoping to manipulate or trick my strange, unfriendly, exacting god into somehow liking me more than his other less-lucky, ill-starred creatures (poor bastards!) As if death and eternal suffering could plausibly be just punishments meted out by a loving god to all but a favorite few….

 

My poor doe had done nothing to deserve her unkind fate except to share equally in the impartial mortality that is part and parcel of the gracious gift of earthly territory all creatures are heir to.

 

Back on the deck yesterday, my four buzzards continued their high, slow cycles. Then there were five of them, and eventually a sixth who startled me by swooping down low over my roof to study me fixedly with a red, dispassionate eye. Evidently content that my time had not yet come, my ugly friend floated upwards to inform his companions grumpily—(“Nope, not yet!”)—and they wheeled lazily away, sparing me for yet another day in paradise.

 

This morning, swinging in my hammock, looking up through the trees, I see two more buzzards in the distance. The fact that I’m seeing more buzzards these days must mean something….

 

Perhaps it means that I’m sharing more time outdoors with them in peaceful awareness, seeing this world (and whatever may come after) through freshly accepting, non-judgmental eyes, a dreamy new lover discovering for the first time the everyday abundance of wishing-dandelions and shooting stars.

 

 

(I wrote this little essay a while back….. Here, copied off the net, is the crystallizing poem which inspired me…)  

 

Crystal Moment
by Robert Peter Tristram Coffin

 

Once or twice this side of death
Things can make one hold his breath.

From my boyhood I remember
A crystal moment of September.

A wooded island rang with sounds
Of church bells in the throats of hounds.

A buck leaped out and took the tide
With jewels flowing past each side.

With his head high like a tree
He swam within a yard of me.

I saw the golden drop of light
In his eyes turned dark with fright.

I saw the forest's holiness
On him like a fierce caress.

Fear made him lovely past belief,
My heart was trembling like a leaf.

He leans towards the land and life
With need above him like a knife.

In his wake the hot hounds churned
They stretched their muzzles out and yearned.

They bayed no more, but swam and throbbed
Hunger drove them till they sobbed.

Pursued, pursuers reached the shore
And vanished. I saw nothing more.

So they passed, a pageant such
As only gods could witness much,

Life and death upon one tether
And running beautiful together.

 

 

 

 

Lead Me On, Oh Great Commander in Chief. But Whither?

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My favorite new show, Commander in Chief, shows promise for extending West Wing’s visionary qualities, and then some. Too bad Commander also bodes equivalent stumbles along the same dark lines of its predecessor—too much emphasis upon the quick use of military force to resolve diplomatic crises.

 

Military force doesn’t solve problems, it creates them. Will Geena Davis, aka President Mackenzie, learn this while in office? Will Commander showcase the long list of options any nation has to throw at problems, other than the show and/or use of force? Will Commander de-emphasize testosterone-filled approaches, and demonstrate instead the range of strengths any leader, male or female, can find in more “feminine” approaches? The show's producers will be glad to know that I'm awaiting their answers in great suspense….

 

And what if Geena does experience a direct provocation by another government? Why not try really clever media coverage…. What if the American public insists on revenge and retaliation? Try education, forbearance, charity…. What if Americans die? Try rituals of national mourning for fallen martyrs, or any one of the other thousand approaches to diplomacy…. What if there’s a terrorist attack by a known force? Try investigations, and high-level meetings….

 

And keep on trying. Peace and democracy aren’t missions that can be accomplished. They’re missions that never end. You can’t end a war against an abstract noun. Besides, there will always be one more bomb-throwing terrorist to provide an excuse for one more retaliation. I hope Geena teaches us that sometimes you just have to endure a certain amount of injustice—but you almost never have to add to it.

 

What if a woman who is convicted of adultery is about to be buried to her neck in the sand and then stoned to death? Geena could have focused overwhelming international attention on that country’s leaders, and then shipped in thousands of well-paid, white-clad, unarmed international forces of young innocent collegiate pacifists, silent disapproving witnesses to evil deeds, all willing to die for their ideals—just as our current youthful military volunteers are willing to die for theirs.

 

What a moral message this would send! What culture could continue to kill unarmed, disapproving children while an international press looked on? Maybe the poor adulterer would die, but maybe no other adulterers would, the next time. Geena's point would be made, her lesson taught, her stance clarified, her insistence noted. Conversations would be started. Maybe minds would even be changed.

 

We don’t have to do away with our military forces. We can still use them to defend our country from those who would invade our shores or climb with their guns through our windows (I haven’t seen much of this lately, but it could happen…) We can still call up our national guard for times of natural catastrophes.

 

A new, improved Commander in Chief would have a few long-simmering unsolvable conflicts aggravatingly popping up throughout the show’s lifespan. We could watch these conflicts wend their ponderous and circuitous diplomatic ways through the series, in alarming fits and infuriating starts, week after week, year upon year—and each time, see Geena turn down the easy options of violence. We could grow to love the wisdom and expertise of her trusted diplomats, who have already spent half their lives preparing to tackle just such thorny problems, and who will spend the rest of their lives patiently addressing them, instead of mucking them up with ever more violence, leading, of course, to ever more hatred… and violence…and more hatred…and more violence.

 

I don’t want to see any more episodes in which Geena impresses me with fast, decisive, tough and completely hokey short-sighted violent “solutions” which only postpone and ultimately exacerbate the original problems (remember Iraq?) I want to see her impress me with her wisdom, vision, and forbearance. I want to see deliberate, consensus-building, thoughtful international answers bearing the weight of the whole world behind them.

 

I’d like to see well-written episodes dealing with moments of national hysteria over provocations, complete with their inexorable drumbeats in favor of retaliation, revenge and war, and then I want to see Geena demonstrate some of the myriad, no, infinite alternatives to loutish thuggery. Isn’t that what leadership is? Or is it really all about one's readiness to whip out one's six-guns and shoot ‘em up? I don’t think so. C’mon, TV producers, make my day….

 

I’d like to see Geena diplomatically rebuild a couple of really shaky international relationships, offer aid to one of our so-called enemies in their moment of need, implement fair trade rules for globalization…. I want to see her lead, and become even more visionary than she already is.

 

Some day, when Congress gets around to legislating a cabinet-level Department of Peace (H.R 3760 and S. 1756), I look forward to seeing the show belatedly renamed “Commander in Peace.”

 

Some day perhaps we’ll see Geena back again, a full-lipped, swivel-hipped Indian-style crone, still leading her tribe patiently and diplomatically past each new day's conflict toward the greater safety, prosperity and contentment that await us all on the other side.

 

 

 

A History of Violence Offers Hope For A Less-Violent Future

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A History of Violence is a very good movie. Yes, the violence is graphic and hard to take, but that’s a positive thing in a movie intent on provoking thought and dialogue on the subject of violence. So, for you many testosterites (both male and female) who depend for your jollies upon superhuman heroes gloriously avenging the depraved acts of craven evildoers—and if you also happen to be married to a Quaker spouse—this is the family movie for you. If you gotta have gore, at least this gore isn’t simplistic; it’s powerful, purposeful, effective gore.

 

I was gripped and thoroughly entertained by A History of Violence. The production displayed a beautiful Casablancan integrity–nothing superfluous, nothing left out.

 

The movie’s many surprising moments of really funny dark humor were a nice added kick. At its blackest, life is ridiculously insane, and laughter covers the sad eyes of clowns; it's never either/or. Shakespeare knew this. So, this sad, funny, violent movie makes perfect sense as it moves along inexorably, belly laughs preceding abject tragedy setting up comic tittering introducing disaster….

 

History is also authentically moving, a tricky thing to do considering the thin fine line between effective emoting and hokey schmaltz. It’s a rare treat to have my jaded heartstrings expertly twanged by a good script in the hands of an inspired director leading brilliant actors.

 

History’s clarion response to the long-standing ethical question: When is violence morally justified? Only when you or someone you personally love is directly, persistently and seriously threatened. History’s imperfect characters conscientiously persevere in minding their own business, and endure the injustice of repeated outrageous attempts to provoke them to retaliatory violence–without adding to it–demonstrating the multitude of non-violent options available to unwilling participants.

 

I also appreciated the movie’s generous advocacy for second chances, and third ones, and however many it takes. In this movie, people who make big mistakes (no matter how big) receive support, not punishment–at least so long as they convincingly demonstrate conscientious intentions and results over time. History’s message–that sometimes motivated people can and do change—isn’t heavy-handedly religious; Tom admits that even after three long years in the desert, he wasn’t really born again until he met his wife. We all need both God and man to lift us up over our barriers to caring.

 

The very explicit but lively and original sex scenes were touching and memorable, and essential to the movie’s theme, since affection, loyalty, intimacy, and sexuality are often all that hold humanity to sanity and purpose.

I enjoyed watching Tom, like Lady Macbeth, futilely attempt to scrub the blood from his hands, and then receive the grace to be washed clean, rebaptised—forgiven–probably for the seventy-times-seventh time.

 

I wish the writers had clearly disavowed any hint that a schizophrenic split-personality-thing might be going on. For a confused moment I thought the story was bending that way, which would have disappointed me. I was relieved when it turned out to be about one man’s honest efforts at transformation.

 

Tom’s brief but telling dialogue with his brother offered a perfectly adequate argument for his stunning attempt to climb up from the horrendous dark pit of his childhood environment.

 

The movie offered several intriguing mini-plots—one for each character—most of them feel-good stories anyone could relate to. When Tom’s son finally got around to soundly beating up the kids who had continually attacked him, our theatre audience cheered. And when our thoroughly besmirched and discredited, yet undeniably righteous champion returned home, his family’s acceptance felt honest and right.

 

So why is it that we Americans still feel comfortable flinging our invading armies into the far corners of our empire, to threaten the persons and homes and families and livelihoods of complete strangers who are quietly trying to get ahead, in the lands of their ancestors? Where do we get off invading other countries, tearing up their infrastructure, disrupting their social fabric, blowing up their children? A History of Violence should make perfectly clear that people (of all creeds) who are doing their best to care for their families deserve to be left alone.

 

If my gentle reader still holds a belief that our superior culture justifies empire-building, I suggest you go back to your Bible, perhaps starting with the part about the kindly Jewish itinerant rabbi, Jesus, delivering his Beatitudes and his Sermon on the Mount. As A History of Violence demonstrates: fighting for peace on this incredibly small, interconnected and fragile planet–unless the bad guys are really climbing in your window—makes about as much sense in the real world as it does in the movies.

 

 

 

Against Nationalism: A New Revised Standard Version of American Allegiance

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As I pull up the tiny plastic U.S. flag (tagged “Made in China”) which my well-intentioned neighbor leaves on our front lawn every July 4th, I ponder my deep affection for America–her ideals, traditions, and achievements. This land has been home, safety, and opportunity for me and mine. I acknowledge the good will and sacrifice of patriots of every nation. And I do want to be an accepting, supportive neighbor.

 

Which is why it's so very hard to explain why I can no longer countenance nationalism and patriotism in this shiny new century. We Americans could choose to salute the amazing human achievements which have arisen in our unique context of a vast, rich new land teeming with seemingly infinite natural resources. Instead, we too often associate all that is good and proud and fine and brave about our land and history and people with a divisive sort of me-first superiority thing that insists that the people on our side of an arbitrary border are us–the more-deserving good guys in the white hats, with all the best approaches to everything–while those sub-humans on the other side of the borderline, their side, are they, them, the other–fearsome, strange-looking beings, susceptible to all kinds of dangerous differences. It's just exactly this kind of automatic us/them competitive perspective that power-hungry demagogues tap so conveniently when they want to lead aggressions.

 

At least our growing understanding of ecology has finally helped us see that birds and insects and seeds and wind and rain and sun, in fact all of nature–sans humanity of course–have the common sense to be oblivious to imaginary, arbitrary borderlines. I guess that's some progress.

 

The more closely I look at nationalism, the more of our planet’s ills I blame on it. Wars. Terrorism. Unrepresentative politics. Social injustice and gross inequities. Coldness to the plights of non-“us” humans. Environmental disasters. Global epidemics. Unfair trade policies. Prejudice. Intolerance. I could go on. You name it, nationalism hurts it. Stirring emotional associations prettify the concept of nationalism, but ultimately fail to conceal the ugly truth that its most predictable fruits are separation, fear, and hatred, along with their natural corollaries, violence and suffering.

 

Perhaps not so incidental in this so-called Christian nation is the sad reality that there is not a single Christ-like or Christ-advocated thing about nationalism/patriotism. Equally tragic is the fact that nationalism doesn't accomplish anything which couldn't be achieved far less harmfully through unfettered, internet-linked local, regional, and global organizations supporting human endeavors of all kinds, whether social, political, economic, spiritual/religious, artistic…whatever. What positive thing could nationalism possibly accomplish which a consistent allegiance to and respect for human life on this earth could not do better?

 

Nationalism is an empty rhetorical device crammed full with irrational, emotional connotations, a burning nonsense cipher comprising all our breast-swellings, gratefully blown to life by small alienated power-hungry groups capitalizing on it to quickly inflame frightened masses into exploiting, occupying, attacking, retaliating, and avenging. However painfully and slowly, we need to wean ourselves from our knee-jerk heartfelt faith in nationalism, and begin to reconsider its value and its harm to all human beings.

 

I know, I know. Some people still believe in the devil, and think that human sinfulness necessitates all the “us”-es marching furiously off into all corners of the world carrying big sticks, breaking into their houses and changing their ways of life. If someone tried to bust into my home, push around my family, hurt my neighbors and interfere with our ways, I too would fight back. Meanwhile, I’m left to wonder whether nationalism and its spawn are the evils we're so afraid of, the devil incarnate himself.

 

The very concept of “nation” is, historically speaking, a relatively new one, going back only a few centuries. Before our present age of nationalism, local and regional thugs used fear, religion, ideals, and money (as recruiters do today) to attract followers. However, in those days, the accumulation of power was blessedly limited by the mortality of such temporary leaders. Today's nationalism requires citizens to blindly and permanently transfer their loyalties, indeed their lives, over to whichever country they happen to be born into, regardless of incomprehensible and rapid changes to the integrity, responsiveness, principles, and even the intelligibility of leaders, policies, and processes.

 

On this past 4th of July, I sat out under the trees with my family, eating hot dogs and spitting watermelon seeds along with other lucky Americans. With them, I took time to express gratitude for past and present leaders and workers, and for our battered but hopefully still resilient legal, economic, social, and political traditions. And then I added thanks for the uniquely American gift from God–the richest swath of untouched land in the history of mankind–and asked for guidance and humility in using what’s left of that unimaginable wealth more wisely and generously in service to mankind.

 

I prayed that nationalism will soon be just a memory of a sad, crazy passing political phase, albeit one which, during its brief reign on earth, provided a multitude of rationalizations for aggression, greed, and barbarism, always characteristically cloaked in beautiful passionate colors–among them, our own beloved red, white, and blue.

 

This morning, I try to find a dignified way to dispose of this small flag, symbol of my ardent childhood pride, devotion, and innocence, symbol of the anguish endured under patriotic predations everywhere. Of course I want to pay my respects for yesterday’s sacrifices and values. But I am moved also these days to honor the emerging, competing value which more and more Americans and their fellow earthlings are finally recognizing as far higher and purer than nationalism/patriotism. And that is respect and support for–allegiance to–human life everywhere.

 

What Are We Getting For Our Pentagon Dollars?

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We have a huge Pentagon budget which pays for neither the costs of wars nor for protecting our homeland. So what do they do with all that money? To be sure, someone still needs to have the financial wherewithal necessary to protect and defend America’s economic and strategic interests abroad, as well as (on occasion) our heedless or haplessly wandering citizenry.

 

But America’s global economic and strategic interests could be far better attended to by a well-funded Commerce and State Department. Our citizens should stay out of countries where they’re not wanted, and behave as polite guests where they are invited. And if they find themselves innocently threatened? Well, that’s what the marines are for. Keep on paying them.

 

If America redirected just half the amount of funding we give to the Department of Defense to Commerce and State, we would all reap the rewards of wise, mutually advantageous longterm trade deals and proactive diplomatic dialogues. We’d be far less likely to feel any need to throw our unrecognizable, camouflaged firstborns into the maw of all those foreign hellholes we ourselves created by having a military budget so huge it dwarfs any other country’s tenfold. America’s primary diplomatic tool is a hammer. No wonder foreign countries all look like nails.

 

Which leaves us still with the necessity of defending our homeland. If our foreign policies precluded pushing smaller countries around to suit our pride and greed, if we refrained from occupying other lands with hundreds of farflung military outposts, not to mention callous and inequitable trade policies, then perhaps we’d have fewer terrorists angry at us because our governments underwrote their despots, our tycoons pillaged their resources, and our national interests left their families in danger, economic slavery, and without rights. I don’t see any terrorists threatening Canada, or Norway, or Sweden, and they top most lists of being the so-called envied lands of the rich and free. Now why is that?

 

It is our present policy to give great unaccountable gobs of money to a Department of Defense that cannot keep us safe from terrorists, cannot win unwinnable wars, and can only add terror and injustice to the terror and injustice already caused by others.

 

Our beloved America can do better, must do better if we are to live up to our wonderful traditions and ideals. I hope Americans soon decide to spend our taxes more wisely, for our own sake, and for the sakes of so many others.