“If you want peace, you don’t talk to your friends. You talk to your enemies.” ~ Desmond Tutu.

I self-published my first book over ten years ago, but I had been writing for years before that.  At first it was handwritten in blank, unlined journals, writing down impressions of my travels, a few crappy poems, anything that came to mind.  At some point I subscribed to a magazine called ‘Writer’s Digest’, which was full of tips and good information.  I even applied to a children’s-book writing course, and for that I had to get serious.  So I went out and purchased (from a pawn-shop) a used, portable, electric typewriter.  That’s how long ago it was.

It was also in the era when, in order to have your work reviewed, you had to mail copies of your work to your coach, who would mail it back to you with comments scribbled in the margins.  It was a scary thing to do, to have a stranger read your work.  And I never went any further than that one course.  I next became brave enough to start on a novel, which remains unfinished today.

I remember reading that it was important that you ‘write what you know’.  It is hard to be authentic when you are trying to write about worlds you have never inhabited.  Unless you have a great imagination, and perhaps write in the genre of science fiction.  At the time I was a working mother (a nurse working mostly night shift) of four young kids, so free time was at a minimum.  But I started paying attention to the way my children spoke.  Like all new mothers I had tried to jot down the funny way children make sense of the world, but like all working mothers that practice soon became impossible to keep up with.  Since three of my four children were boys, a lot of the phrases I did remember were confrontative in nature.  ‘You’re not the boss of me’ was a frequent rejoinder.  One son, having come home after being in a fight was reminded by his father that he had taught them they should never complain to him that they had been beaten up.  They should instead be reporting on whose (forgive my French) ‘ass you have kicked!’  At which the son in question replied, ‘What do you want me to do, rewind my life?’ Since I had been raised by two pacifists, in a family with only one boy and four (then five) girls, fighting was not permitted in our household.  So encouraging my sons to fight was not on my good parenting list!

On road trips with our four kids, my role was usually referee and mediator.  As you can imagine, the boredom of long trips (prior to the availability of tablets and handheld distractions) would soon have young children finding fun in irritating each other.  One of the famous lines from such encounters was ‘He was going to hit me, so I hit him back first!’  Imagine my amazement this week, to hear that enunciated as one of the (many) suggested reasons for going to war with Iran!  It would appear that our current leaders are about as evolved as eight-year old boys.

All of this could be quite amusing if it were fiction, a movie, an affair designed to entertain.  But it is all very real, happening in front of our eyes, and people are dying as a result.  My father had objected to fighting in World War II, because, as a Christian, he could not kill his brother, regardless of what color uniform he wore.  Muhammed Ali (ever the eloquent), when asked why he refused to be enlisted in the Vietnam war said: ‘ I will not disgrace my religion, my people or myself by becoming a tool to enslave those who are fighting for their own justice, freedom and equality.’  He even went to jail for his beliefs, lost his world title, and was banned from boxing for three years, losing millions of dollars in potential earnings. 

It is easy to make war sound clinical, with ‘targeted strikes’ failing to mention the associated lives lost.  So far six servicemen have been killed, while more than 1100 have died in Iran (including children).  The horrors of the Vietnam war were brought home to the US public each night on the evening news thanks to the bravery of journalists who risked their lives on the frontlines.  Then the audience could not turn away.  Today we have been anesthetized, numb to videos of destruction, our senses overwhelmed by the amount of content we can encounter when scrolling through our social media.  Not to mention the automatic dismissal of videos, must be AI, making you doubt everything.

It is difficult to understand how war solves any problems, especially when it is implemented for capricious and arbitrary reasons. As someone who has lived in the US for almost 50 years, and raised four children here, do I have to own the actions of the US government?  When I see heavily armed, masked men manhandling families, children, protesters, on the street, do I have to own their behavior also?  How can we raise decent, compassionate children when this is the example they see every day? If we get the government we deserve, what does that say about us? 

When my kids were little and I caught them fighting, I would torture them by making them stand facing each other, arms on each other’s shoulders.  They then had to recite: “you are my brother, I am your brother (or sister, if that was the case!).  I won’t mess with you if you don’t mess with me.” That was my idea of diplomacy.  There was then a ceasefire.  Of course, years later they confessed that each of them would be digging their fingers into the arms of the other even as they were chanting the words of peace! Diplomacy, mediation, coming to the table takes patience and compromise.  Unfortunately these are attributes that our current decision-makers seem to lack.

On this Friday morning, far removed from the terrors and pain of war, I am reflecting on the strength and courage it takes to be a peace-maker.  I am aware that much is wrong with the world, that will take bigger minds, and stronger hearts to find a way out of the many crises we find ourselves in.  And I recognize that change will not come unless we demand better of our leaders, those who are in fact, the boss of me and you. 

Have a great weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.