THE OPEN ROAD

peace, love, happiness & understanding

 

 

August 19, 2021

 

Thou shalt not kill.

 

—God

*

 

In this world

Hate never yet dispelled hate.

Only love dispels hate.

This is the law,

Ancient and inexhaustible.

 

—Buddha

*

 

Why, of course, the people don’t want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally, the common people don’t want war; neither in Russia nor in England nor in America, nor for that matter in Germany. That is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy or a fascist dictatorship or a Parliament or a Communist dictatorship….All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country.

 

—Hermann Göring

*

 

War: What is it good for?

Absolutely nothin’!….

Peace, love and understanding, tell me

Is there no place for them today?

They say we must fight to keep our freedom

But lord knows there’s got to be a better way.

 

—from the song “War,” written by Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong

*

 

Every month, Michel Deforge sends me between 8 and 16 pages from his meditation journal, from which I select some excerpts for the monthly Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue. For this issue of peace, love, happiness & understanding, I want to reply to his entry for July 6th. In it, he responds to Kim Stafford’s poem “Old Glory’s New Red, Black, and Blue,” from his book Singer Come from Afar and refers to Charles Busch’s “A Promise to Our Children.” Here’s what Michel wrote:

 

July 6, 2021   OLD GLORY’S NEW RED, BLACK, AND BLUE—KIM STAFFORD

 

Yesterday I struggled with lethargy and lost. During a few spare lucid moments, I pondered my July 4 thoughts, Kim’s poem, and the poem Johnny shared in the June edition of THE OPEN ROAD—A PROMISE TO OUR CHILDREN. I’ll pause while you review the poems (or Johnny may re-share).

 

[I’ll include Kim’s poem later. For “A Promise to Our Children,” see the June 24th issue of peace, love, happiness & understanding. Kim introduced me to Charles Busch, from Fields of Peace. In his letter, he gives the names and ages of 69 Palestinian and Israeli children who had been recently killed. He suggests that people make this promise:

 

I will not be a part of the killing

of any child,

no matter how lofty the reason.

Not my neighbor’s child.

Not my child.

Not the enemy’s child.

Not by bomb. Not by bullet.

Not by looking the other way.

I will be the power that is peace.

 

And now, back to Michel’s journal…]

 

I am definitely not for changing the flag; yet, there is something there we could get a spinnin’ round about over as we explore the idea. Does the Red, White and Blue still mean what it did 245 (!!) years ago? Does it still need to, or can we find new meanings, new depth, or do we even care to look?

 

I don’t know that my thoughts solidified toward any one direction, other than to want to get something down before I forget and move on to bigger prizes, if any exist. I definitely do not want to be party to killing any child, “no matter how lofty the reason.” At the same time I see myself as impotent to act, powerless to affect change (even the faintest glimpse of a beginning). That letter [“To the Mothers and Fathers of Palestine and Israel”] said more, in a more eloquent manner, than I could hope to muster. All I could do was cry for the loss of all those precious children. And what about the ones who think they’re “all grown up” just because they’ve passed through a myriad of solar-year cycles? (Johnny still sees the child in each of us! How could we imagine these little boys and girls going to play at war being any different? They’re still mommy’s and daddy’s little bundle of joy; they’re still mourned when shot or killed or bombed or stabbed.)

 

And then my mind drifts to all the little boys and little girls playing at being grown-ups. Having babies of their own as babies themselves. Or, heaven forbid, falling victim to the drug dealing predators—(who, by the way, are still somebody’s little boys or girls)—or the lure of sex and/or alcohol. Each one a precious being. Sometimes killed by bullets of war and hate, sometimes for other “lofty reasons.” Sometimes by their simple naïveté.

 

What can any of us do more than we do already? More laws won’t help. Look at the “War on Drugs,” or “against gang violence”? No victories there.

 

I saw an advert for a show coming up where the brewery hired Bloods and Crips to work at the same factory and participate in the same “program”. I think it was a success, for some; thus, the show. Is it a cause for hope? Do we (I) have grounds to look for hope in prison, as well as for life post-prison? May it be so, a thousandfold!

 

And so I part, once again, with more pain reviewed and few answers to eschew, having just re-read Kim’s OLD GLORY’S NEW RED, BLACK, AND BLUE. (It leads to rhyming.) As I go, I still can’t help but wonder: What can I do, where do I fit in? Am I fodder for the cannons of the nightly news, or some other “frontline” war on humanity’s failings and weaknesses? I don’t rightly know.

 

What about you? Where do you fit in? To my world or my life—better yet, to our world and our lives—each one of them does MATTER! It’s not something to frame a political slogan or program around. How do we pursue an end of killing children for any reason—lofty or not?

 

—Michel Deforge

*

 

I’d like to say a few words to Michel, and to whoever else is reading this, about pacifism. I became a pacifist while I was in high school. It was simple: I didn’t want to kill anyone. (And I didn’t want to hire other people to kill for me, or on my behalf.) It seemed wrong to me that I was required by law to join an organization whose purpose was to kill people. 

 

I think most people are already “almost pacifists.” They know that in war lots of people are killed and that is somehow “bad.” But, many people would add, “Sometimes it’s necessary.” In order to avoid some arguments, I say that I am not for or against any past wars. They are over. It’s absurd to protest against something that has already happened. I am against all present and future wars. Anyone got a problem with that?

 

(Here is an interesting statistic from the Fields of Peace website, fieldsofpeace.org: During World War I, the ratio of soldier to civilian deaths was 9 to 1. In World War II, it was 1 to 1. In today’s wars, for every soldier killed, nine civilians are killed. Most of them are children. Watch the two-minute video on the Home Page.)  

 

(Strictly speaking, a pacifist is not necessarily opposed to all acts of violence, just organized, large-scale killing: war.)

 

Michel, I think that if you weren’t already a pacifist, you became one in the act of pondering and writing your journal entry. You say:

 

I definitely do not want to be party to killing any child, “no matter how lofty the reason.”

 

That’s all it takes. You’re in the club. Welcome.

 

It’s a fun club to be in. Kim and I are in it. Kim’s dad William is in it. Their friend and neighbor Hideo Hashimoto is in it. The Dalai Lama is in it. So is Jesus. And Martin Luther King and Coretta Scott King and Mahatma Gandhi and Leo Tolstoy and Helen Keller and Dorothy Day and Albert Einstein and Bertrand Russell and Sigmund Freud and Helen Caldicott and Alice Walker and Howard Thoresen and Alan Benditt and Thich Nhat Hanh… It’s quite a long list. Made up mostly of people whose names we don’t know.

 

In his poem, Kim refers to the problem of war and violence, but the primary focus is on questions raised by the Black Lives Matter movement of injustice and systemic racism. His poem is both playful and serious. It is the job of wise people to encourage us to perform thought experiments, to challenge things we take for granted, to imagine in new ways. Here’s the poem:

 

Old Glory’s New Red, Black, and Blue

 

Cue the anthem, slide down the flag

that flew through World Wars I and II,

then assailed Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq,

and now a hundred nameless places where drones

look down on weddings to seek out villains known

or guessed—old wars and new, the flag flown high

to woo our crew to action for our banner blue, our

devotion true—until money tattered it as inequality

grew, and drew us, first a few, then more, to view

in new light the plain hue of white one clue

a change was due—so beat the drum’s

tattoo and raise anew our flag

of red, black, and blue.

 

Sunset red, shadows blue and black, indigo

and scarlet deja vu when dew falls heavy

in the grass to strew starlight in diamonds

through the dusk. No stew of sorrow at our

rendezvous. No one to misconstrue this change

as anything but patriotic on the avenue of many colors

hitherto passed over when some hullabaloo, some retinue

of old privilege and this fresh generation’s overview

began to see a world askew and must eschew

old privations and renew our love of freedom

to pursue our happiness and make taboo how

certain citizens because of color were subdued,

so bring forth now the red, black, and blue.

 

Brew a bold libation, fire up the barbecue,

and offer feasting cordon bleu to celebrate

what no judicial revue, no internal revenue, no

voodoo Waterloo from here to Timbuktu can make

untrue, what no zoo of caged freedoms can deny

some citizens have been held second class in lieu

of rights by law but yet false in fact. We say

adieu to that. We’re all in one canoe, our ship

of state that flies the banner red, black, and blue.

 

Now we must interview each other, give our leaders

one stern talking-to, root out each residue of prejudice,

outdo old talk with questions and with follow-through,

hew the righteous line and find in black all colors joined,

all ethnicities of shade and blend and flavor, so may good

accrue. For we were gathered from one Genesis when God

threw galaxies together spinning with diversity beaucoup.

In keeping with that old creation, we must now imbue

our politics (that have been one big bugaboo) with kindness

to us all at last, undo each miscue that slew our honor

so may ensue a tart fondue of plenty. We stir

the roux of flavors in our bold debut: Old Glory

dressed up now in red, black, and blue.

 

Blue and black—this the color of a bruise: no news

to those who made the Blues, and something no-one could

confuse with anything but hurt. So set the Statue of Liberty

at Standing Rock to face down opposition to democracy,

wealth flowing corrosive through pipes of steel to spew

into the river collateral trouble for the Water Keepers

who knew Pilgrims were first refugees, seeking freedom

for faith first welcome to these shores. Does our dream

arc toward justice still? Can we call that effort true,

supreme, or is our legacy sunk to pay-per-view?

We must fly the red, the black, and blue.

 

This mighty woman, mother of exiles with a torch

who lifts her lamp beside the golden door shall dress

her copper in these colors now to call this century’s

huddled masses in. Her beacon-hand reveals that

at our best we are the watershed where myriad

streams are harvested, rivulets gathered into one:

Asian, Eurasian, African, Bedouin, Islander, Blue-

Blood Black, and every lovely shade of brown,

from dark dusk to sand, and every hue of Wanderer

or Fugitive from darkness seeking light, every Indian

to this ground restored by right, for this we fight,

for this democracy our aspiration’s light, for this

to be true, we will pledge allegiance now

to the red, the black, the blue.

 

—Kim Stafford

*

 

Here’s a link to Edwin Starr’s 1969 version of “War”:

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=01-2pNCZiNk

 

And in 1985, The Boss:

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mn91L9goKfQ

 

 

Peace, love and understanding

 

—Johnny