On veterans and violence

With the distance of another week from the Paris attacks -- and Beirut and Mali and action in Belgium and another possible instance of police brutality against an unarmed black man in the United States in the interim -- I haven’t really come any closer to clarity in my own mind on the issues of war, non-violence, pacifism, passive resistance in the face of a militarized police force and where I stand.

This was what I had written (offline) before Friday of last week:

Veteran’s Day brings up difficult emotions for this Quaker and struggling pacifist.
It is the anniversary of and still commemorates the day the guns fell silent on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918 -- ending the “Great War,” the war that at the time was thought so terrible they called it “the war to end all wars.” Sadly the promise of that name was not realized and new generations of veterans are honored today. 

In the Great War, World War II, in all of the wars of this country’s history some Quakers have stood apart -- holding to our Peace Testimony, that we shall not participate in war and act for a better world in which war is not necessary -- while others have found ways to serve where they would not themselves kill, as medics, for example. And others have served, many with distinction. [Medal of Honor recipient Sgt. Alvin York, contrary to the movie, was not himself a Quaker though he apparently did belong to a different branch with some history or tradition in that direction as he first registered for the draft as a conscientious objector -- but was turned down]. And yet others who believed in the testimony but had their CO status rejected went to jail rather than serve.

When I was younger these issues seemed so much simpler. I put my name in the rolls as a conscientious objector to war with an organization devoted to peace (the name of which I have since forgotten) and proclaimed myself a pacifist even before I actually registered with the selective service.

Even a few years ago, in a backyard conversation with a cousin -- an Irish Army veteran now serving in the U.S. military -- and a gun-owning uncle, I said with (perhaps alcohol-fueled) conviction that I wouldn’t kill, even in self defense or defense of a loved one. I said at the time that I hoped I would have the courage to die first, standing up in the face of violence and holding to my beliefs.

But as my relatives reminded me at the time, some (much?) of my freedom to do that is dependent on those who have taken other stands. On the soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines who have defended the U.S. (and England, where the Society of Friends was born). To some greater or lesser extent, my personal security is protected by police officers who are willing to use force (though in England, most police are able to complete their functions without firearms and the immediate threat of deadly force).

And now there is the stark reminder that today’s wars do not have battle lines or zones of war and peace (they never really did -- just ask the civilians of England during the Blitz or the citizens of Dresden or Hiroshima).

The broader task of a Quaker is clearly to work for a better world, one in which the dream of those in 1918 might be realized -- a world without war; a world with real peace, not just an absence of conflict.

But in watching the video adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s book “The Man in the High Castle” on Amazon Prime (yes, I read it years ago; no I didn’t reread it again recently because I wanted to give the show a fair shot on its own merits), I’m again reminded that some of the greatest successes of passive resistance -- Gandhi in India, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. in the U.S. civil rights movement -- have come through appealing to the humanity of the oppressors; if not those immediately there, then those in the broader society. But as one reviewer put it in Slate.com writing about The Man in the High Castle, Ghandi shamed the British in India; King forced northerners to see the oppressive acts of whites in the south and they were shamed and horrified by it.

But if Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan had conquered the world, could those tactics have succeeded? The Slate writer’s conclusion was that in states with controlled (i.e. censored) media and policies of extermination of dissidents and undesirables it could not. And that’s hard to argue against.

The parallel today is to wonder how one can appeal to the humanity of people who routinely behead, rape and try to commit genocides of their own, simply because their neighbors do not subscribe to their particular brand of belief.

All I can say is that for now, I am a long way away from finding an answer. Likewise it’ll be a long time before I come to any real position where anything I learn in Shim Gum Do plays any role in decisions of personal pacifism or not.

I was reminded this week by Chong Kwan Ja Nim (World Head Master Mary Stackhouse Kim) that although the techniques of Shim Gum Do are described in martial terms, they are primarily descriptions of movements. And within each form and the steps of each technique is a poem or allegory in the movement. According to the text, part of the first basic form, “represents that Shim Gum Do unites the heaven with the earth. On the personal journey to gain knowledge and wisdom, one’s foundation and ambition must become one.” Other parts of the basic forms represent the yin and the yang, the notion of reaching down to help someone up and sending them on their way.

The form that I’m working to master now includes motions representing how the Buddha, at the end of six years of meditation, lifted his eyes to the horizon, saw the morning star, became enlightened and proclaimed it. So while some instructors, and my previous instincts from free-form fencing, may focus on pointing out how the movements can be used in attack and defense, I think I would do well to remember the broader perspective and keep my mind on the moving meditation.

Image from: PBS 'The Buddha' - Enlightenment