On the nature of peace, pacifism and war.

Nobody asked me for my opinion on this subject, but here it is anyway. I spent Friday night watching the Nobel Peace Prize concert held in Oslo every year. Before I moved to Sweden I didn’t even know there was such a concert, but now I’ve made it my annual tradition. It’s always inspiring to hear the winners speak of their efforts to promote human dignity and call for an end to war. And the music isn’t bad either. I get swept up in the emotion of it all, the noble words, the grand ideals. Peace is a really lovely thought, as it serves to bring people together - sometimes permanently, most of the time temporarily. I say this because peace, as we’ve come to define it, is a fleeting emotion more than it is a livable reality. Once the romance wears off, we’re left with the commitment part of the relationship. And that’s the part that often sucks. 

I read a very interesting op ed piece the other day that got me thinking about the nature of pacifism. The article questioned the world’s choosing to exclusively remember Nelson Mandela as forgiving, reconciliatory, and pacifistic. Many forget that Mandela was, during his pre-Robben Island years, an advocate for violence as a means to fight injustice. It was only after he was released from prison that he became the spokesman for forgiveness and reconciliation in his nation’s fight against apartheid. The author poses the very interesting question of whether Mandela’s years of peace were only made possible by his years of violence. (If you understand Swedish, you can read the op ed here: http://mobil.dn.se/kultur-noje/kulturdebatt/kajsa-ekis-ekman-bilden-av-pacifisten-mandela-ar-djupt-hycklande/?brs=d.)

Here’s the thing: I don’t think pacifism actually works as an ideology. Or maybe it only works when it’s predicated on war. As in: Now that we’ve torn each other to shreds, we can find within ourselves the generosity, compromise and diplomacy needed to sort out the mess. 

I would argue that struggle, and the instinct to fight against other human beings, is just as ingrained in us as the instinct to seek love and shelter. If the struggle isn’t physically against each other, it’s against oppression, corruption and disillusion. And ultimately, I would argue, it’s against God. We are oppressed because we haven’t learned to control ourselves and are therefore controlled by others. We are corrupt because we can’t handle power. We are disillusioned because life never turns out the way we plan. And we fight against God because we fear the idea of not having ultimate control over our own destinies. We can talk peace and pacifism all we want, but truth is that violence and rebellion are in our nature. 

I don’t actively advocate violence as the solution to a problem. It’s not healthy and it’s not practical. Nevertheless, I do think that violence and/or war is a necessary evil at times. Not only because it helps decide the outcome of an issue that is diplomatically unresolvable, but also because war brings people together in a way that peace doesn’t. War requires a very intense recalculation of one’s priorities, and complex decisions become simpler somehow. It also creates an aftermath in which we can grieve, forgive and rebuild. Pacifism just keeps everything churning under the surface without really allowing confrontation and release to happen. 

Who was it that said ”All is fair in love and war?” Whoever it was, the person certainly had insight into the human condition. On a micro scale, everything about love and war is unfair. But on a macro scale, when human history is viewed holistically from beginning to end, I do believe there is truth in that statement. 

Cultural differences: Episode 1

I’ve lived in four different countries and often find myself comparing the characteristics of their people in my head. As in, what would a Swede do in this situation as opposed to a Spaniard? Anyway, last Sunday at church we sectioned off the back rows with tape so as to force people to fill the sanctuary from the front (Swedes don’t much like sitting in the front rows of any room). I half expected complaints, but none arose and people obediently did as they were ”told.” So I started this mental comparison and it became kind of a comical short film in my head: 

As mentioned, the average Swede would, when encountering a blocked row or a reserved seat, continue on, after a split second of looking dazed and confused, to another row without verbalizing any question or disagreement. They may not understand the reason, but unless asked, they won’t bring it up. 

A Spaniard would stop, survey the situation, then subsequently start complaining to their companions, under their breath at first; then, as in ripple effect, the noise level would grow as the entire group gets disgruntled and starts questioning the unfairness and unreasonableness of it all, all the while blocking the aisle for anyone else trying to get by. Note that they would not go up to an usher and ask the reason for this measure and if an exception could be made for them. They would simply create an epic drama, then sit where they were directed. The whole thing would probably be rehashed over dinner afterwards. And again the next day at their mothers’. 

An American would probably just remove the barrier and sit wherever the hell he/she wanted. After all, they’ve got rights. Then again, the American probably wouldn’t even notice the back rows, as sitting in the closest available row to the front is standard procedure.

P.S. I may have exaggerated. This is not meant to offend anyone; it’s just some good-natured satire from a person who identifies with all three behaviors.