Love and War

I was moved by Buhdy’s anniversary essay, 2 Fucking Years that was posted last weekend.  One of the themes of that essay that stood out to me was an affirmation of love in the cause. That was actually a bit shocking to me. In my real life, I make a living as a writer, poet, wordsmith etc. I take words pretty seriously. And I also take honesty most seriously of all. And I have to confess, I am not sure what love even means in the context of my political activism. Is it the love you might find on a postcard? Or on a t-shirt with a peace sign? Is it Jesus love, of the all mankind variety? Or was it just the love of a blog owner towards the people who put their hearts and souls into the community?

I can’t really answer any of those questions, though I feel where Buhdy was coming from. But to be clear, it is not just love that drives me. In fact, I would say there is an equal part of pure hatred.

When I was 15, I had an epiphany. I had been studying the origins of anger for a psychology class. And in a moment of illumination, it dawned on me – all anger, frustration, aggravation etc. pretty much result from one thing: expectations not met. Eliminate expectations and you will eliminate anger and frustration. So I spent the next 4 or 5 years dedicated to eliminating expectations. Or more accurately, I slowly learned to expect frustrating things. Traffic pissing you off? Learn to anticipate it, make time for it, even turn it into valuable time with audio tapes or whatever. Expect people to be bad drivers. Expect people to lie, cheat and steal. Expect the weather to suck. Eventually I became a pretty docile creature (the fact that I was high most of the time didn’t hurt). In fact, I became a fucking pushover. People saw my docility as weakness, and seized on it. I was robbed, wronged, and left out in the cold until I finally realized, some expectations are necessary. And so is some anger.

I expect my friends not to stab me in the back. I expect my daughter not to run out into the street and will react angrily if she does so. And I expect my government, my democratic government of, by, and for the people, not to systematically work to undermine the well being of the people to whom it represents.

I also expect my government to be corruptible and flawed. A utopianist I am not. But I do not expect, nor can I tolerate my government as an enemy of its own people. And that is certainly what it has become. It has been overthrown. Conquered as surely as if tanks were parked on the mall in Washington. But this enemy is far more clever than the sword. It is a silent, subversive enemy. It has taken us by induction. And we have walked into its grip unknowing, without hesitation.

My anger, my rage can only be measured against the atrocities occurring around us and the lack of will to do anything about it. Or most commonly, the lack of will to even notice. This is a picture of a woman I met a couple of months ago at a McDonalds (don’t ask me why I was at a McDonalds). She was 79 years old. You can clearly see scoliosis has set in with the the curvature of her back. I had heard about McDonalds hiring seniors as some sort of good will gesture ;). So in the most tactful way I could, I tried to get out of her why she was working there without embarrassing her. The best I got was a sardonic quip that confirmed her employment was not by choice (she was fully in charge of her faculties and quite a character). I didn’t need to ask her though. It was obvious that this work, which would have been fairly easy for most people, was too much for her. She couldn’t keep up. She knew she couldn’t keep up, and that appeared to scare her. It was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen in my life.  I asked her if I could take her picture and she obliged.

When I got back to the table, my three year old daughter asked me if I was crying. I lied to her and told her I wasn’t. Then she asked me if I was angry. I lied again. I was enraged. And I’m still enraged – about her and countless other injustices and atrocities I see ever single day.

I refuse to lower my expectations of a society that has so much and allows so many to suffer. It is simply unacceptable.

Is that love? Absolutely. I absolutely love that old woman. But I despise whoever and whatever made it so she, at her age, in this fucking country, found herself needing to get a job. And I would happily see their heads on sticks if I thought it would remedy the situation.

This is war. Our country is under attack as surely as if bombs were dropping on our heads. But it’s not a combat war. The weapon of choice for our enemy is a box with electrons flickering across the screen. But it is war none the less. And I am not Jesus. I do not love my enemy.

But I sure was happy to read Buhdy’s essay.  That is because I don’t believe putting people’s heads on sticks could ever remedy anything (although it just dawned on me that Photoshopping people’s heads on sticks might be amusing). And I need all the reminder I can get that this war must be won with ideas. Ideas of justice, peace, and yes, love.