Tag Archives: War

A short note on freed hostages and pacifism

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I’m rejoicing this morning in the news that three of the Christian Peacemaker Teams volunteers have been freed in Iraq.  The three were freed by a multinational task force of soliders, who found the hostages unguarded.  No shots were fired and no one was hurt during the rescue operation.

Of course, joy in the release of the surviving three is tempered by the sorrow at the murder of a fourth hostage, a Quaker from Virginia, Tom Fox.  And as I celebrate, my inner pacifist finds myself wondering how I would feel if the rescuers had had to shoot the kidnappers.   I’m delighted that the men are all safe, of course, but I could not endorse or support the use of lethal force to free them.  I say that, mind you, in the full knowledge that if one of these men were my father or my brother, I might feel differently.  It’s harder to adhere to one’s pacifist commitments when one’s loved ones are in harm’s way.

It’s the old question that always gets thrown at pacifists: "what would you do if someone threatened your family?"  John Howard Yoder, the greatest Mennonite theologian of the past century, gave the best and most impressive answer to that question, and I recommend his little book to everyone.  I try and reread it fairly often.

A long Monday post about the body of Christ, the body of feminism, and the importance of not drawing distinctions

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I’m thinking this morning about feminism, Christianity, the death of Tom Fox, and what it means to always be "getting in the way."  Bear with me.

Over at Feministe, there’s a heated discussion of feminist inter-necine warfare. If you’ve been reading regularly over there, it seems the feminist blogosphere is going through one of its periodic rounds of soul-searching, where we all debate one another’s feminist credentials.  As always, some (including this blogger) want to define feminism broadly; we’re the "big tent" folks. Others worry that we big tenters are "dumbing down" feminism, or setting the bar so low that virtually anyone (even those with ugly sexist rhetoric) can define themselves as feminists.  It’s an argument as old as feminism itself, and it’s probably healthy — if painful — to have it from time to time.

The Christian blogosphere is having the same sort of discussion about who can call himself or herself a Christian.  This essay at Counterpunch by an atheist who calls himself a Christian inspired a couple of solid responses from the Feminarian, a feminist seminary student at Fuller.  This one is particularly vehement; she makes the case that the Counterpunch dude claimed too much:

The first rule of being a Christian, which means being like Jesus, living the way he lived, is that you subject your entire life to the mission of GOD in the world. Not to helping people or being nice or even healing or bringing justice. Jesus’ primary loyalty was to God. A person can not possibly follow Jesus without following this absolutely central aspect of who he was. Period. If you just follow the teachings, you’re a nice person, you’re in step with the universe, you’ll be well-liked. But if you do not acknowledge that it is all God’s story and you are doing these things because you are first and foremost a servant of God, then you cannot call yourself a follower of Jesus.

Following the message of Jesus is not the same thing as serving as he did.

I love the Feminarian and I share her theology — but this sends chills down my spine.  Not the good kind, either.

Somehow, we seem to be in the time of year when folks want to draw distinctions and decide who’s in and who’s out.  As someone who operates in both the feminist and Christian world, I’m struck by the fact that we’re having similar discussions at the same time.  I’m also saddened, at least in part because I so regularly have to defend both my Christian and my feminist credentials.

When I make it clear that I am an evangelical Christian, in love with Jesus and confident that I will spend eternity in His embrace — and all the while defend a modern and inclusive sexual ethic — conservative Christians question my salvation.  When I refuse to ban the likes of Mr. Bad and Gonzman (as long as they avoid nasty, profane personal attacks), my commitment to listening to women is called into question:

when male feminist bloggers entertain notably sexist debaters who spout the same shit over and over again, it makes that space safe for them and unsafe for women. But, hey, the worst sexist trolls are other men. Maybe that’s the appeal. Maybe women just don’t matter that much. Maybe banishing the male trolls will raise the bar too much for it to be comfortable. Maybe you’d have to listen to women.

Mind you, I’m not complaining because I’m thin-skinned.  In both the church and in feminism, we have an obligation to wrestle with definitions.  No one wants the terms "Christian" or "feminist" to be so broad and watered-down that they have ceased to have any meaning.  Categories are important.  Furthermore, it’s important for believers and feminists alike to challenge one another to improve, to grow, to become better followers of Christ and better advocates for radical sexual justice.  We need to give and take criticism.

But at the same time, we also have to accept the good faith of those with whom we debate.  I have never told anyone "Sorry, I don’t think you’re a Christian" or "Sorry, you’re not a feminist."  I’ve told people "Gosh, your view is incompatible with mainstream evangelical thought" or "Well, that’s probably a minority opinion in contemporary feminist circles".  But I never, ever, question the right of others to define themselves as they so choose.  It’s one thing to challenge someone’s ideas — and another thing altogether to challenge their self-identification.  That may seem a meaningless distinction to some, but to me it’s everything.

Somehow this is all getting wrapped up in my thoughts about Christian Peacemaker Teams and the murder in Iraq of Tom Fox, a Virginia-based Quaker and pacifist.  What I love about CPT is that they reject the "either-or" duality of the secular world: "Either you’re with us, or you’re with the terrorists!"  Before he died, Tom Fox wrote of resisting "both the soldier and the kidnapper."  He was committed to doing what CPT has been committed to for over two decades: getting in the way, standing in the middle, bearing witness to love while refusing to use the weapons of war for any cause or for any reason.

Tom Fox refused to choose who it was that he should love.  He loved American soldiers and Iraqi insurgents equally. He resisted to his death the culture that requires we choose one side or another.  Tom Fox wasn’t interested in the causes for which people fought as much as he was interested in the tactics people use.  And as a peacemaking Christian, he believed — as I believe — that God cares little about why we fight but cares everything about how we fight.  The morality of any cause is ultimately judged by the methods its adherents use.  What makes a Christian is not just one’s assent to certain propositions, but one’s tactics.

I’m not daring to compare myself to Tom Fox.  I honor his faith and his service and his willingness to lay down his life.  But one of the many lessons I draw from him is applicable to this ongoing struggle I’m having with various folks over the terms "Christian" and "feminist."  I’ve long insisted that Christianity and feminism are compatible because they are both fundamentally concerned with the dignity and value of the human person; male and female and intersexed, we are all not only equally beloved of God, we are all called to equal (and interchangeable) service in the Kingdom.

And as we work together to build a more just and peaceable world, we need to be infinitely kinder and more charitable to both our allies and our enemies.  And one way in which we live out that charity is by acknowledging that both Christianity and feminism are like bodies — with hands and feet and lungs and hearts and myriad different organs and bones.  As the apostle reminds us:

Now the body is not made up of one part but of many. If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," it would not for that reason cease to be part of the body. And if the ear should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body," it would not for that reason cease to be part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body.

The eye cannot say to the hand, "I don’t need you!" And the head cannot say to the feet, "I don’t need you!"

To my brothers and sisters in the body of Christ — and to my brothers and sisters in the feminist blogosphere — I implore you to remember that we are indeed one body with many members, struggling and working together towards a common (if vaguely defined) goal.  In the spirit of Tom Fox, let’s be committed to resisting the temptation to draw artificial distinctions, to exclude, to set up boundaries, to question credentials, and to say to our allies in the struggle, "I don’t need you."

Tom Fox on agape

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I rarely post on Sundays, but I do so to honor the memory of Tom Fox, the slain Christian Peacemaker Teams volunteer whose body was discovered in Baghdad yesterday. His words about why he was in Iraq, written the day before he was abducted, are the best epitaph:

I have read that the word in the Greek Bible that is translated as "love" is
the word "agape." Again, I have read that this word is best expressed as a
profound respect for all human beings simply for the fact that they are all
God’s children. I would state that idea in a somewhat different way, as
"never thinking or doing anything that would dehumanize one of my fellow
human beings."

It seems as if the first step down the road to violence is taken when I
dehumanize a person. That violence might stay within my thoughts or find its
way into the outer world and become expressed verbally, psychologically,
structurally or physically. As soon as I rob a fellow human being of his or
her humanity by sticking a dehumanizing label on them, I begin the process
that can have, as an end result, torture, injury and death.

"Why are we here?" We are here to root out all aspects of dehumanization
that exist within us. We are here to stand with those being dehumanized by
oppressors and stand firm against that dehumanization. We are here to stop
people, including ourselves, from dehumanizing any of God’s children, no
matter how much they dehumanize their own souls.

I’ll be praying to live this Lent as Tom Fox lived — fearlessly and peacefully, in love with God and all of God’s creation.

Please join me in thanksgiving for the life of Tom Fox, and the work of Christian Peacemaker Teams — my favorite non-animal charity. 

Pro-feminist responses to the “Queen for a Year” problem

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Annika sent me a link to this NPR interview with Kayla Williams, author of "Love My Rifle More than You", about serving as a woman in the army during the current Iraq conflict.  As part of the interview, there’s a lengthy excerpt from the book in which Williams describes the "Queen for a Year" phenomenon:

A woman at war: you’re automatically a desirable commodity, and a scarce one at that. We call it "Queen for a Year." Even the unattractive girls start to act stuck-up. It’s impossible not to notice.

"Queen for a Year." You won’t find the phrase in the dictionary or any compilation of military terms. But say it among soldiers, and they’ll know immediately what you mean. That’s what we’ve called American women at war since nurses traveled to Vietnam in the sixties.

There’s also this "deployment scale" for hotness. Let me explain. On a scale of ten, say she’s a five. You know — average looks, maybe a little mousy, nothing special. But okay. Not a girl who gets second glances in civilian life. But in the Army, while we’re deployed? Easily an eight. One hot babe. On average every girl probably gets three extra points on a ten-point scale. Useful. After you’re in-country for a few months, all the girls begin to look good — or at least better. It changes — how should I say this? — the dynamics of being deployed.

Because there are relatively few women (compared to men) deployed in Iraq, these few can experience a significant rise in attention and status.  Resisting the urge to make use of that enhanced status was difficult for Williams, and impossible for others:

You could get things easier, and you could get out of things easier. For a girl there were lots of little things you could do to make your load while deployed a whole lot lighter. You could use your femaleness to great advantage. You could do less work, get more assistance, and receive more special favors. Getting supplies? Working on the trucks? It could be a cinch — if you wanted it to be. It didn’t take much. A little went a long way. Some of us worked it to the bone. Who says the life of the Army girl has to be cruel?

Lots of girls succumbed to temptation. The younger girls were the most susceptible. Many thrived and fed on the male attention they were getting for the first time in their lives.

I did my personal best to resist. So did my friends and the girls I respected. (That’s why I respected them.) But many girls became full-fledged Queens for a Year. We saw it. And the guys talked.

From a feminist standpoint, this is just a re-framing of the old question of whether or not women can ever be justified in using sexual desirability in order to gain professional or personal advancement. It’s all too easy to condemn those women who, as Williams describes, feed "on the male attention they were getting for the first time in their lives."  It’s too simplistic to insist to young women that they ought never use their sexuality, no matter what the potential rewards.

But as the excerpt makes clear, many young women feel profoundly dis-empowered in the traditionally male-dominated setting of the military.  Before she’s even opened her mouth or performed a single task, it’s likely that a young female soldier has already been judged and dismissed by many of her male peers who may remain deeply suspicious of women’s fitness for army service.  Even outside of the military, we live in a world where young women — particularly from the sort of economic background from which most enlisted women hail — are not taken seriously.

It’s axiomatic that the fewer educational and professional opportunities a young woman has, the more valuable her sexuality becomes as a marketable commodity.  (This is why, for the most part, most female sex workers come from working-class rather than affluent backgrounds.  One enduring fantasy in male-centered pornography is of "coeds" and "sorority sluts" — but the sad truth is that most of the young women who play those roles on screen will never get a chance to be in a sorority or experience the full richness of the undergraduate life.)   It’s also nearly as axiomatic that young women will be pulled in opposite directions on the subject of whether they ought to make use of that sexual desirability. 

Many middle-class feminists, and many irate men’s rights activists, find common ground in decrying young women’s use of sex in order to try and gain some small degree of power.  Of course, feminists and MRAs have different reasons for disliking the phenomenon!  Feminists are worried that by using their sexuality for career advancement (or merely the small perks that Williams describes), young women reinforce destructive stereotypes about female sexuality and power.  They are also concerned, and rightly so, that using sexuality tends to create rifts between individual women, particularly in male-dominated settings (like the army) where feminist solidarity could prove so invaluable.  On the other hand, MRAs are angry because they feel that men are being manipulated and "used" by "scheming women"; they are frustrated, I suspect, both by their own inability to gain access to women and by their own vulnerability to flirtation and arousal.  They become enraged by what they desire but generally cannot have.

I’ve pointed out before that there’s a consistent socio-economic element to young women’s dress here at the community college.  Generally speaking, the young women most likely to dress for school as if they are going to a nightclub come from working-class backgrounds. Those whose life experiences have made them uncertain about the likelihood of success through purely academic means (or who lack professional female role models) tend to be the ones most likely to want to "sexualize" the classroom.  Of course, countless women from disadvantaged backgrounds come to college and aren’t interesting in displaying their sexuality.  But there’s no question that a place like my own Pasadena City College is more likely to see female students "dressing to impress" than a more affluent four-year institution!

So, what’s the pro-feminist response?  Ultimately, we will only end the "queen for a year" problem by doing a much better job of making it clear to young women from all backgrounds that they do have other tools at their disposal besides their sexuality.  We have to continue to be aggressive about promoting women into positions of authority, and providing still more role models who can exemplify professional success achieved through hard work and intellectual ability rather than flirtation. 

Above all, men in positions of authority — superior officers, teachers, employers — have to hold themselves accountable for how they respond to sexually desirable subordinates.  Without shaming young women who do attempt to use their sexuality for advancement or perks, we must go out of our way to make it clear that we will give them our attention and mentoring irrespective of their appearance.   Every time we give extra attention or "perks" to a pretty student, or a flirtatious private, or an attractive intern, we do damage to her, to our institution, and to other women.  Yet every time we withdraw our attention from a woman merely because she is attractive, fearing our own response or the judgment of others, we also do damage.  The key to ending the entire problem is conditioning adult men to see beyond the surface appearance of the women around them. And once we’ve looked beneath the surface, we then have to have the courage to mentor fearlessly.  That’s not easy work, but it’s at the heart of the contemporary pro-feminist task.

A note on CPT

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First off, I ask for prayers this morning for the safety of the four members of Christian Peacemaker Teams who were kidnapped this past weekend in Iraq.  When I was actively involved with the Mennonites, there was no charity as near and dear to our collective Anabaptist hearts as the work of CPT.  I’ve known several members of Pasadena Mennonite Church who have traveled with CPT to places such as Iraq and the Israeli occupied territories.  For several years, CPT was my favorite charity.

CPT is made up of committed pacifists who take seriously the authentic meaning of pacifism: to "make peace" (from the Latin pax facere).  (Here’s a BBC profile of the group.)  Too many folks, both literally and metaphorically, confuse pacifism with passivity (a different Latin root altogether).  Real pacifism, especially in the Anabaptist/Quaker/Peace Church tradition from which CPT sprang, is about actively "getting in the way".  It is about protecting those who are most at risk, whether the threat comes from uniformed armies or insurgents. CPTers know the dangers they face; where others travel with armed guards or in Humvees, they travel light (without even the small sword Jesus suggested they take!)  And of course, anyone working for CPT is particularly vulnerable to being kidnapped.

As a pacifist, I still find it possible to honor those who carry weapons to the world’s most dangerous places.  But I honor still more those who leave the comforts of home, and armed only with the Gospel and a profound commitment to nonviolence and peace, place themselves "in the way" of destruction.  They are my real heroes, and though they now face a not unanticipated danger, I am praying for their safety and for the larger mission of CPT.

Elections, churches, and the IRS

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Well, it’s a November Monday, and an election eve once again.  I’ve already made my endorsements for tomorrow’s California special election here, with a special note about Proposition 73 here.

Once again, here are my recommendations:

A reflective, prayerful "NO" on Proposition 73, the parental notification law.  A strong and vehement "NO" on Props 74, 75, 76 — the first three of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s "reforms."  A more qualified and hesitant "NO" on Prop 77, the redistricting initiative, a strong "NO" on 78 and half-hearted "YES" endorsements on 79 and 80.

The election, for me, hinges on two propositions: 75 and 76.  The first would make it far more difficult for unions (such as my own California Teachers Association) to effectively challenge huge corporate interests in state government.  The second would give the governor inordinate power to slash budgets, and would likely lead to decreased spending on schools.  If Arnold wins either one of these, he and his allies can claim victory, regardless of how anything else on the ballot fares.

Though the polls show that Arnold’s initiatives are in trouble, I’m not comforted.  In my years of following elections, I’ve been on the losing side far more often than the winning one.  Last year, I had high hopes for a Kerry victory, and the memory of that disappointment continues to linger.  I remember that the polls augured good things for the Democrats, and the polls were proved wrong.  I respect the formidable power of the Republican "Get Out the Vote" machine, and with the chance to increase restrictions on abortion on the ballot, I’m confident my conservative Christian friends will have strong reasons to turn out.  Most will probably support Arnold’s propositions.   Though I hope it doesn’t come to pass, I’m  predicting that Arnold will win three out of four tomorrow (74, 75, and 77), and will narrowly lose Prop 76.   But the dreaded prospect of a clean sweep haunts me.

In other election news, the LA Times reports that an anti-war sermon at All Saints Pasadena given just before last November’s election has attracted the attention of the IRS.

The Internal Revenue Service has warned one of Southern California’s largest and most liberal churches that it is at risk of losing its tax-exempt status because of an antiwar sermon two days before the 2004 presidential election.

Rector J. Edwin Bacon of All Saints Episcopal Church in Pasadena told many congregants during morning services Sunday that a guest sermon by the church’s former rector, the Rev. George F. Regas, on Oct. 31, 2004, had prompted a letter from the IRS.

In his sermon, Regas, who from the pulpit opposed both the Vietnam War and 1991′s Gulf War, imagined Jesus participating in a political debate with then-candidates George W. Bush and John Kerry. Regas said that "good people of profound faith" could vote for either man, and did not tell parishioners whom to support.

But he criticized the war in Iraq, saying that Jesus would have told Bush, "Mr. President, your doctrine of preemptive war is a failed doctrine. Forcibly changing the regime of an enemy that posed no imminent threat has led to disaster."

On June 9, the church received a letter from the IRS stating that "a reasonable belief exists that you may not be tax-exempt as a church … " The federal tax code prohibits tax-exempt organizations, including churches, from intervening in political campaigns and elections.

I was in the pews for that sermon, and was critical of Regas’ remarks.   Here’s my own post on the targeted sermon from November 1, 2004 (another election eve).  I wrote that day:

It was as close to a partisan sermon as one could get without jeopardizing one’s tax-exempt status under the IRS code.

Apparently, the IRS disagrees, and thinks George Regas crossed the line.

The annoying thing is, of course, the stunning selectivity of the IRS.  Today’s paper also includes this story:  Abortion Proposition finds its Forum in the Churches.

…at some evangelical Christian churches, including the Rock in Roseville, a suburb of Sacramento, pastors made time for a two-minute DVD featuring teenage actresses promoting support for the measure.

"The essence of Prop. 73 is to protect young girls from abortion and allow parents to be part of that equation," said Senior Pastor Francis Anfuso at the Rock, where the video rolled on twin screens shown to about 900 weekend churchgoers. "There’s a wonderful simplicity to it, and it’s definitely a message we wanted to spread here."

Okay, so it’s permissible for conservative churches to show a DVD urging a "Yes" vote on Proposition 73, but not okay for a progressive church to ask "How would Jesus vote?"

As I wrote last year, I was angered by what Regas said.  I stand by my words then, words which I would direct to activists in churches across the political spectrum:

I’m stunned at the hubris of anyone, left or right, who claims certainty about how Jesus would view our modern day political landscape! I’ve never been comfortable with fundamentalisms of any sort — and what I got yesterday from the pulpit at All Saints was liberal fundamentalism at its most self-righteous.

But though I was annoyed at the former rector of my church, I am equally annoyed at the IRS for what is, apparently, an obviously selective approach to the enforcement of the rules about churches and partisan politics.  Either hold right and left equally accountable, or leave all who preach in His name — be those names Regas or Robertson — free to say what they will.

Reflections on London

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Some new pics from the Fourth of July are here.  Scroll down.

I don’t quite know what to say about the London bombings.  I will say that like many folks, I am more personally moved by tragedies that take place in countries I know well.  I’m a dual national, with a passport that identifies me as Her Majesty’s subject.  My brother and sister live in England; my father still carries the accent of his rural Berkshire childhood.  I’ve been on the Piccadilly Tube line on many an occasion.  Before 9/11, I’d never been in the World Trade Center; I’d only seen the Pentagon from a distance; this attack seems more "real" to me as a consequence, though in terms of loss of life, this was blessedly less severe.

Pacifism does not come easily to me.  Yesterday, when I turned on the television before dawn, I was settling in to catch a bit of live Tour de France coverage before heading off to breakfast with my friend Steve.  Instead, I watched the bombing aftermath, and felt the rage wash over me.  It’s a rage I felt on 9/11 as well; the desire to "hurt the hurters" was overwhelming.  Just for a moment, the thought coursed through my brain:  "Whatever we do in retaliation is okay."  Just for a moment, George W. Bush was fully "my" president again, with my unequivocal support for his war on terror.  That only lasted three or four minutes, but as I watched the images from the Edgeware Road early yesterday, I would have been happy to authorize any act of vengeance, no matter how bloody.

Today, prayers for peace and forgiveness, as well as for all the victims of terror, come more easily to me.  I’m fortunate by temperament, I suppose — I never stay angry at anything or anyone for long.  A moment’s blood lust passes quickly, but I can still feel the after-effects.   That kind of self-righteous rage is toxic for me, and even after I’ve calmed down, I can feel it lurking in my system for a day or two.  But I have to be careful: Scripture tells us that anger has its place and its function.  It’s dangerous, maybe even unChristian, to always preach peace when there is no peace — especially if what I end up doing is ignoring atrocities and widespread suffering in order to maintain what I think of as proper Christian emotional equilibrium!  Sometimes, I think I make an idol out of civility.  I’m reminded that calm reflectiveness is far less of a virtue than a commitment to justice and a commitment to protect the vulnerable.  Much to think about.

I will say that I was moved by the enormous racial diversity of London I saw on display yesterday.  Years ago, when I was visiting an old friend in Brixton, I overheard two American college students in the Railton Road:  "Amy, who knew there were so many black people in England?"  (I had no idea how these two ended up in one of the least-white areas of South London, but there they were with their ignorance on magnificent display.)   I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the grittier areas of both London and Los Angeles, and have generally felt safe in both cities.  I will say, however, that I’ve always felt that race relations seem more harmonious in London than here, particularly in terms of outward acceptance of interracial romances.    I realize that that’s just the personal experience of one white guy, of course, but my perception of greater safety and toleration in Britain is only reinforced every time I visit.

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Touting Sgt. Sandra

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Later today, I hope to post more about events from Nottingham, England.  In the meantime, I’m checking in for news at Kendall Harmon’s blog.

One of my best and brightest students, both this past spring and this summer, has been Sgt. Sandra Mercado, who at 23 is a veteran of Kosovo and two tours of duty in Iraq.  She’s headed off to USC, where she will be in the ROTC program on her way to becoming an officer.  She’s profiled this week in this public relations piece on the college website, and I thought I’d add to the chorus of praise for her.  (She also got married this past weekend, but was in class bright and early on Monday morning).

I believe it is possible to be both a pacifist and an admirer of the profession of soldiering.    The conviction, nurtured in my time as a Mennonite, that all Christians are called to radical pacifism, endures even now.   But dislike for the cause and admiration for those who fight for the cause are not mutually exclusive; condemnation of the war and uncomplicated affection for the warriors can go hand in hand.  Hurrah for Sgt. Mercado.

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A follow-up on why I don’t protest

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In Friday’s entry about the ROTC, I mentioned that I haven’t participated in a protest rally in over fourteen years.  Let me explain why with this little story:

I grew up in a small, safe, resort town of fewer than 5,000 people.  To put it mildly, we didn’t have protests.  In sixth grade, I decided I was a Communist after listening to Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition (another long story).  I began to subscribe, while still in junior high school, to a variety of Communist and Socialist newspapers.  I joined the Socialist Workers Party, and supported Mel Mason’s campaign for governor in 1982.  I read about riots and demonstrations, and wished that something would happen in sleepy old Carmel.  I tried to start an activist group on my high school campus, but that went nowhere.  I dreamed of going to school at Berkeley, which I had visited often enough as a child, where protests were continual and where I would at once find many fellow radicals committed to building a more just and peaceful world (and so on).

As a college student, I took part in lots of demonstrations of the sort I described on Friday.  After my frosh year, however, I grew more cautious about taking part in violent protests, and as my Christian faith grew, I became less and less comfortable with confrontation.    But in 1991, I had a disturbing flashback to an earlier way of life:

I vividly remember the night in January when the bombing of Baghdad began.  My wife at the time and I were living in UCLA grad student housing down in Mar Vista, and in the late afternoon, we got a knock on the door.  We were told a major anti-war rally would begin that evening at the busy intersection of Veteran and Wilshire near the UCLA campus.  We hopped in our little car, drove as close as we could, and joined a large and angry crowd standing in front of the Federal building.  We milled around and chanted, and I could feel myself getting more and more angry; angry at the government, angry at the police, angry at everyone. Someone asked us to go into the intersection to block traffic; I grabbed my wife and we waded in.

My wife (this was my first marriage) was not the protesting type.  She’d never taken part in any demonstration in her life.  She was 5’2" in heels, and she was absolutely terrified.  As we ran onto Wilshire Boulevard, she clung to me and said "Please, Hugo, don’t."  I ignored her, half-dragging her with me.  I was so focused on doing something tangible to confront what I saw as the interconnected establishment (the Pentagon and the LAPD were often linked in leftist rhetoric) that I was utterly oblivious to her fears.  I was chanting and yelling just as I had back in 1985, lost in my own self-righteous rage and the madness of the crowd.  My heart was racing, the blood was pumping; I was having an almost out-of-body experience.

The cops waded in quickly, and started dragging people out of the street.  They were not interested in having traffic stalled in rush hour.  I couldn’t even sit down before my wife and I were shoved forcefully by several officers herding us towards the curb.  I started pushing back at the cops, and they started using their batons. My wife stumbled as she was pushed hard by one officer, falling out of her shoes.  I grabbed her before she fell to the ground, and we made it to the curb with only minor bruises.  She was sobbing.  If I had been drunk on rage just moments earlier, I was now sober and horrified — horrified, not at the police, who were clearing the intersection, but at myself.  I had heedlessly, needlessly, dragged my spouse into danger.  I helped her back to our car (she never got her shoes back) and we drove home.  I’ve never participated actively in a protest since.

I suppose after all these years, I still don’t trust myself.   I doubt very much I’ll ever again block an intersection to protest a war halfway round the world.  It’s not that protests don’t have a value; they do.  I’m just afraid, honestly, that in the heat and the excitement, I may do something that I might very much regret. I’m one of those otherwise rational people who doesn’t tend to cope so well in crowds. My ex-wife’s terrified and tear-stained face still come to mind whenever I think of civil disobedience, and to this day, that memory holds me back.

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Learning to love the uniform — UPDATED

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It’s a busy day, and I’ve got to get a little run in before it gets too hot.  I hope to have a second post up later today, but am not sure I’ll have time to swing it.

One quick note, after a week of relatively long posts.  Yesterday afternoon, on the way home from the college, I stopped for gas at the Chevron station just across the street from PCC.  Standing in front of me in the line to pay was a young man in Army fatigues.  (We have a military recruiting center a block from the campus.)  I noticed the position of the American flag on his sleeve.  It seemed to face backwards, with the stars on the right hand, rather than the left hand, side of the emblem.  I’ve seen that image on other soldiers’ uniforms in coverage of the war, but never been able to figure out why.

So very politely, I spoke up.  "Excuse me", I said to the fellow; "Can I ask you a question?"  He stiffened as he looked at me, almost as if he were bracing himself.  "Sure", he said, without enthusiasm.  I wonder how many times others have button-holed him in his uniform in gas stations and check-out lines, and then berated him about US foreign policy.  He certainly looked as if he was readying himself for what would have been a familiar tirade.  I hurriedly asked him about the flag, and was amazed at the way in which his face visibly sagged with relief.  "It’s because we always want to be seen as going forward", he said.  "It’s positioned the way a soldier would carry a flag into battle."  (I confess I didn’t get it right away, and had to look it up on the Internet when I got home.)  I thanked him and we parted. (I had no idea what his rank was, I can’t identify military insignia, but I assume with his fatigues and a black beret he was Army, right?)

I left the encounter feeling oddly sad.  I was simply curious, and hadn’t the slightest intention in the world of rattling a man who, from what I understand, has one of the more difficult jobs in the country these days.    But it brought back memories of the  mid-1980s, when I was a freshman at Cal and participating in often-violent anti-ROTC demonstrations.  (The ROTC building was actually burned down at one point, and no, I had nothing to do with that!)  But years ago, I heaped my share of terrible verbal abuse at many a young cadet.  I sprayed more than one young man with spittle as I railed on about whatever the issue was at the time (I think it was opposition to the Contra war in Nicaragua.)  I overturned tables, ran from campus police, and took part in a variety of small acts of criminal destruction of ROTC property that seemed (at the time) to be enormously brave and today seem to me to be colossally juvenile.  Trust me, folks, if I seem gentle today, it’s an act of will and a gift of grace that have made me so.  I could be a vicious hothead when I was younger and filled with more testosterone.

I wonder if I owe some sort of collective amends to the military.  I don’t know how the young men at whom I yelled and whom I called names (unprintable here) reacted to what I did some twenty years ago when I was a teenager. I can’t imagine it was easy for them to remain stone-faced while I — and my fellow upper middle-class self-righteous radicals — directed apoplectic rage their way.  Today, I think what I did back then was wrong and pointless.  Alas, at eighteen  I was at an age when I was indeed "often in error, and never in doubt."   I’m ashamed of my past behavior, even though I haven’t hurled profane opprobrium at any one in uniform since my last protest, which was fourteen years ago at the start of the first Gulf War in January 1991.  (That story of my final protest — and why I’ve never gone to another one — is worth a post all its own.)

So folks, I’m not ready to abandon my Anabaptist pacifism.  But I have decided that I need to do something tangible to make amends for my past behavior.  I was shaken by my encounter with the guarded young soldier yesterday, and I felt overwhelmed by a need to apologize to him for all that I had yelled at men like him many years ago.  (Note:  I could never yell at the very few female ROTC cadets I saw back in the day; a strange mix of simple-minded feminism and in-bred courtliness made it impossible for me to ever raise my voice at a woman.  I simply ignored them and went after their male counterparts.  Embarrassing, but true.)

Folks, I’m open to suggestions.  A batch of cookies? A visit to the recruiters with a word of thanks for their hard work (and maybe a small number of gifts)?  Mind you, I’m not a supporter of this current war.  But I haven’t always differentiated between the cause for which men and women fight and those men and women themselves.  And I’ve got the feeling this morning I’ve got to take some small but tangible action.

I was wrong, and somehow, a debt still hangs over my head.

UPDATE:  Following a suggestion below, I visited Books for Soldiers and made a donation.  It felt good, as donating usually does.  It’s not the end of the amends, but it’s a start.  I still need to do something for my local recruiters.  Would Starbucks gift cards be a good idea?  Or would they worry that it was a joke,with no money on the cards?  Much to think about.

UPDATE #2 (Saturday 10:49AM):  Things seem to have gotten fairly heated in the comments section,  This is understandable, as my account of my own past behavior could be expected to strike many a nerve.  That said, folks, it is vital that you refrain from using profanity here if you wish to have your comments remain.  If you’re enraged by me, so be it — you’re entitled to your anger.  But insulting each other — and using ugly language that demeans entire groups of human beings — simply makes a civilized exchange impossible.   If you really need to spew, send me a private email (dochugoboy@hotmail.com).

Thanks.