Barack Obama

It’s very important to the grasp of Powerful Peace that I clear this up. I don’t take any pleasure in one side humiliating the other; quite the opposite. I know being centrist still means being in the minority in the US, but it’s my belief that if I “lean right” or “lean left” according to political inclinations, I’ll put myself in some danger of falling down. In fact, I stand straight up in the middle, and measure each issue on its merit, not basing my opinions on what some affiliation tells me I should think and decide.

Please let me know if you share this vision. Sometimes this position of listening to all sides, and respecting all persons for the inherent value of their point of view, seems pretty lonely.

Article #39 is an observation on the profound nature of the world’s opinion of us, and our opinion of ourselves, as it relates to the election of this unique individual. Please do review it in this context: Barack Obama: 9/12 and 11/5.

Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.

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Days of National Transformation

Wherever you fell on the political spectrum when the final results were in, I would like to point out some details that have not yet been discussed. I would like to address the profound significance of this day, November 5^th, 2008.

I’m writing this piece from my station in Iraq. On September 11^th, 2001, I was working as a SEAL in another Middle Eastern country with some of my teammates. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, we US SEALs and our class of local national SEALs endured the rare privilege of watching the events of 9/11 unfold live while half a world away.

It was evening, there. One of our number called out to the barracks that a plane had hit a Tower. We Americans and Arabs gathered in the TV lounge and sat silently for three hours as the unimaginable transpired.

The next morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, we cancelled all training and began readying ourselves for the inevitable war to come. I told a friend, “The world will never be the same.”

What I meant by this is that, as with the designations of B.C. and A.D. (or Before Current Era and Current Era, in some calendar systems), history would now be eternally fractured into pre-9/11 and post-9/11. These terms have in fact become part of today’s vernacular. That date can reasonably be likened to a national loss of innocence.

Now consider these facts that burst forth on November 5^th, 2008:

The Black segment of the United States has been uplifted in a concrete way which theories and declarations of equality could never fully communicate. This will open the eyes of every citizen that American diversity is real. It is finally true that each child can grow up to become the President of the United States of America.

Barack Obama is not Black

Simultaneously, the nation must realize that Barack Obama is not Black…not Black, that is, unless we are equally willing to label him “White”. After all, what is it that makes him Black? If it’s being born of a Black parent, then is he somehow less White in also being the son of a White parent?

(By the way, this isn’t political bandwagonning. I won’t tell you which way I voted. I’m describing our circumstances objectively.)

President-elect Obama is Black and White. Conveniently, so is America…and we are so much more.

America is also Native American, (which group, by the way, we honor in the month of November), we’re Hispanic, we’re Asian, we’re Polynesian, we’re Mediterranean, and still more. In other words, Barack Obama’s victory is not merely a win for Blacks. As he is the physical embodiment of the racial extremes of America, so his selection is a vote in favor of the entire spectrum of race in America. His victory is a win for Blacks and for Whites. It’s a win for every race between these extremes.

The nation, and the world, must also realize that he is not American…not American, that is, unless we are equally willing to name him a global citizen. If an American mother and a Kenyan father produce a child, does either side have the stronger claim to its native son?

In no way is this an insinuation that Barack Obama is not “American enough” to lead our nation. Rather, it’s an assertion that he is inherently and invaluably aware of the world beyond our borders. Our world is shrinking by the day. Great Walls and Iron Curtains are pitiful artifacts of a sadly frightened past in which nations looked at one another like suspicious townsfolk in a cowboy movie: “You ain’t from around here, is you, stranger?”

While on the subject of “(fill-in-the-blank) enough”, I want to point out that Jesse Jackson once apparently expressed that Barack Obama wasn’t “Black enough” to run and win as the Black candidate for President. Today I was moved to see Jesse Jackson weeping with joy over the election.

I say again: the world will never be the same.

A Change in America means a Change in the World

The United States is the single, most powerful people group on the planet. We have demonstrated the greatest willingness to extend ourselves out into the world to influence change – according to our best judgment. In helpful and not-so-helpful ways, we have proven over and again that we, as one entity, can move the globe.

That globe has in recent decades become less enamored of our ability and decisions to act or not act. Our face is mirrored in worldwide polls; the numbers do not paint a pretty picture.

We are perceived as a self-absorbed superpower. The image is that while our intentions may in fact be good, our values are not always demonstrated by our actions. We can swear to never tolerate genocide, then show that the slaughtering of families in Darfur doesn’t quite meet the threshold for meaningful intervention.

While the tapestry of our nation has been a multi-colored fabric since the first day, our executive has never been. This cannot go unnoticed by global neighbors. The proud label of Melting Pot must have appeared insincere as long as only the white wax floated to the top.

Raise your head high, America. If you voted for Barack Obama or against him, you participated in the selection of this living symbol of the whole greatness that is America. You were a vital part of the struggle that proves to a skeptical world that we love our country; we embrace the democratic process in choosing our leader, together; ultimately, we demonstrated that we treasure this grand, glorious, motley rabble of individuals…more than our individual selves. We truly value the diversity that is America – and the world.

I usually don’t say much to describe myself, beyond my status as a retired SEAL and global security professional. In case you’re interested, I’m White. Or rather, I should say, I’m a White American. Or rather, I should say…I’m a proud American. I’m proud that my country has so powerfully seized its own American-ness.

IF YOU APPRECIATE THESE COMMENTS, PLEASE PASS THIS ARTICLE ALONG TO LOVED ONES

…IF YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW THE OBAMAS, PLEASE DROP THEM A COPY, TOO.

Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.

I’d never seen that before. Seven years after September 11th, amid all of the news coverage and local memorial services, I watched some footage today that showed dozens of firefighters who raced from nearby towns and nearby states to clamber out of their trucks in full protective suits some blocks from the disaster site of the Towers.

They clambered out of their trucks and learned that one tower had already collapsed, and that the other was likely to follow. Then they turned as one, without hesitation, and marched into the Gates of Hell to save innocent lives.

My God….

Thank you.

Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.

Introducing the Iraq of 2038:

The Future

(left to right) Minister of Foreign Affairs, Famous Comedian/Humanitarian,
(tallest) Restaurant Owner, (tiniest) Architect, (in pink) Ambassador,
(center) President of Iraq, World-Famous Fashion Model, Neurosurgeon

I hope the reader will indulge my fanciful flight of optimism. One thing that Powerful Peace is well-known for (or would be, if it were well-known at all) is the fierce belief that we can will overcome the limits of today – limits of our ability to trust and risk; limits of our ability to imagine; limits of you-fill-in-the-blank.

Stephen Covey (neither the first, nor the last time I quote his instruction) says that all things are created twice – first in the mind, and then in the material. I, for one, will not permit my thoughts to be reduced. I will believe larger, and larger, and larger for the world as it should be; it should be better than it is right now.

This is so urgent, because I have a difficult confession to make: I’m dying.

…Oops. Sorry. Let me rephrase that: I will die.

Mel Brooks

As Mel Brooks has said, “If Shaw and Einstein couldn’t beat death, what chance have I got? Practically none.” In other words, I’m going to kick the bucket, in a few minutes or a few decades. If when I kick that bucket the world isn’t better off for my little flicker of life, what a tragic waste it will have been.

A great American once said, “I have a dream“.

It’s high time we followed his example. He knew it was risky to say what he needed to say. He could have stayed home and watched TV that day, instead of going out to say what we needed to hear. He could have stayed home, but he didn’t.

This single person’s dream energized decades of transformation. How much greater, then, if every reader picked up and carried that willingness to dream – and act – according to his or her imagination?

I will not subordinate my dreams and our future to fear and doubt. Dreams are the only part of tomorrow that we own today. The only limits to what might be are those we choose. Since goals pull us toward some version of what we seek, why accept any goal smaller than greatness?

[If you're interested in getting some good news directly from the source, please visit:
http://www.mnf-iraq.com/index.php?option=com_gallery2&Itemid=&g2_itemId=5911
This is the HQ of the Coalition's effort in Iraq. That's where I got this great photo.]

Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.

 

 

As long as I’m on the topic of amusing little SEAL training anecdotes, the following is probably especially useful to convey the spirit of Powerful Peace. I promise not to turn this blog into a weepy meander down Military Nostalgia Lane…but I will toss this one in:

BUD/S (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training) is a monumental, six-month contest of wills. It’s a contest between the student…and himself. Several times a day, relentlessly, the instructor staff reminds the class that, “This program isn’t for everyone, Gents”; and, “There’s no shame in quitting – this is a voluntary program”; and, “Just step out of that cold water and walk up to the ambulance truck to get a nice, warm blanket and some hot cocoa”.

These gentle admonitions are designed as a form of PSYOP (Psychological Operations, or, getting in someone’s head) to inspire the half-hearted to throw in the towel and return to the easy life he knew. Only those who really, really, really want to become Navy SEALs will press on through the pain and the endless invitations to comfort.

The events of this essay happened in our class (I don’t know about every class). We had been running, jumping, swimming, and carrying heavy things around for two or three straight days. In other words, with the exception of one forty-five minute nap and four big meals a day, we had been in constant motion for about half the duration of Hell Week. While the students keep going and going, day after day, the school has to activate extra shifts to manage the 24-hour training. We still had two or three days of the same to look forward to.

We had been very cold, very wet, and very tired for the duration. Now, just about halfway through, we were given our once-daily “hygiene” time. This is a brief, frigid, open-air evening shower before pulling on dry “greens”, diving back into the 52-degree ocean water, and rolling in the sand once again. (Hygiene time is also a chance for the medical staff to survey everyone for concealed injuries.)

After this evening’s hasty rinse off and dress up, we were surprised to find the mood calm and non-threatening. Perhaps “surprised” isn’t the right word. Let’s use “wary”.

The staff formed us up on the beach, parallel with the waterline . We knew the drill. We would be instructed to walk slowly into the hated surf, not run pell-mell without discipline. Walking in before submerging increases the discomfort significantly.

The command to move was given, we trudged forward dutifully, and it might as well have been Groundhog Day for the sameness of this miserable march. Suddenly, mere feet before touching the foam, we were called to a halt. We were told to turn around.

We were then told that the speaker understood how hard all of this had been for us, how he knew it was painful; he’d been there, too. We were told that the staff wanted to reward us with a few precious minutes of rest. We were told to turn back around, facing the beautiful Pacific Ocean, and kneel there in the warm, dry sand. The sun was a lovely, swollen, orange ball on the horizon.

Then we heard a soothing, “Say goodnight to the sun, Gents.”

Those five minutes of reflection on past nights, with our joints seizing into this kneeling “rest”, were some of the longest of our lives. We willed the sun to slow down, don’t go so fast – don’t bring another night like the last ones. We were permitted to cool down, motionless, as the night fell without mercy. Finally, far sooner than seemed fair, we were asked to rise and walk into the water.

I don’t remember clearly, but I believe some guys quit right there and got some cocoa.

————-

Powerful Peace is not hot cocoa and fuzzy blankets. A hate-filled terrorist pushing a long knife into the side of a living man’s throat and sawing through the front while he gurgles and kicks is real.

Terrorism is stark, and terrorism is real.

One of the crossovers between my reconnaissance days and my antiterrorism days is an expression I coined: “If you would see in the dark, you must first be in the dark.” Literally, one must stand in the dark for some time before his physical eyes adjust and he can see through the dark. Metaphorically, one must stand in the darkness of humanity’s inhumanity before his psychological eyes can truly see the darkness itself.

I don’t recommend this for most decent folk, but one method I use to “become” the enemy is immersion in the darkness. (It takes a thief….) Most readers would not comprehend what can be found on the Internet; most should not. If it has been done to a person, it can be seen – in graphic, living color.

For those charged with defending, as I’ve said before, innocence isn’t an affordable luxury. The fact that one can’t bear to see a decapitation is no excuse to avoid its existence. The wringing of hands and the lamenting of the state of the world is the domain of the protected; protectors must wade into the water.

Protectors must find the courage to face down their own urge to hate, knowing that it perpetuates the hate. Protectors must find the strength to bear up through the dark night of retaliation.

————-

One final point bears mentioning. Following that fateful evening, hours after I said goodnight to the sun, a marvelous thing occurred: it came back up. The sun warmed my frozen bones and lifted my heart with hope. Every darkness seems absolute, and every trial infinite, but the unbreakable resilience of our human spirit has overcome the Dark Ages, the Inquisition, the Holocaust, and even my long-winded postings.

(Congratulations, if you’ve read this far!)

It should be obvious by now that I’m not going to “get to the point” of Powerful Peace. It is a process. We will succeed, and we will fail.

We will want to get the cocoa, but we will define Powerful Peace through choices.

Say goodnight to the sun, Ladies and Gents.

Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.

(From Power vs. Force, by D. R. Hawkins):

“Sports figures symbolize the possibilities of excellence for all of us – and at the level of the champion, they represent mastery.

“High states of consciousness are also frequently experienced by athletes…. This phenomenon is commonly described in terms of pushing oneself to the point where one suddenly breaks through a performance barrier and the activity becomes effortless; the body then seems to move with grace and ease of its own accord, as though animated by some invisible force.

“It’s notable that this transcendence of the personal self and surrender to the very essence or spirit of life often occurs at a point just beyond the apparent limit of the athlete’s ability. The seeming barrier is predicated by the paradigm of one’s own past accomplishments or of what has been recognized as theoretically possible. Take, for instance, the historic “four-minute mile”: Until Roger Bannister tore down that barrier, it was universally accepted that it wasn’t humanly possible to run any faster; Bannister’s greatness wasn’t just in breaking the record, but in breaking through that paradigm to a new model of human possibility. This breakthrough to new levels of potential has correspondences in every field of human endeavor; in many diverse enterprises, those who have achieved greatness have given parallel accounts of the circumstances surrounding their accomplishments.”

[P2: Powerful Peace proclaims a higher plane of Understanding upon which we can directly impact human conflict, including terrorism. This requires the "transcendence of the personal self and surrender to the very essence or spirit of life" referenced above.

It is so damn hard to find the willingness to consider our enemy's waywardness instead of his evil; yet until we bite that bullet and embrace that painful obligation, we remain trapped in a spiral of vain belief that destroying the enemy will ultimately result in peace...unless, that is, we recognize that the true enemy is dis-ease of the heart, mind and soul.]

“The most highly developed martial arts clearly demonstrate how motive and principle are of ultimate importance in extraordinary athletic achievement…. Schools devoted to these arts produce masters whose overriding concern is victory of the higher self over the lower through control, training, and commitment to goals aligned with true power.

“Athletes in the traditional martial arts employ specific exercises to overcome any tendency toward egotism. The dedication of one’s skill, performance, or career to a higher principle provides the only absolute protection.”

[P2: I'm called "jujutsu-ka", because I practice traditional Japanese jujutsu. My black belt is in this destructive art, characterized by its "gentle" redirection of energy and non-linear movements. I have also studied aikido, and my spirit recognizes the profound validity of that art.

The founder of aikido, honored as "O-Sensei" (Great Teacher) by practitioners of many different martial arts systems, became a great jujutsu-ka during the first few decades of his life. In the wisdom of his later years, he developed (or evolved) aikido from this foundation. He would explain that the highest goal of the art was to protect against the aggression of an attacker...to protect the attacker from the aggression of the attacker.]

“True athletic power is characterized by grace, sensitivity, inner quiet, and paradoxically, gentleness in the noncompetitive lives of even fierce competitors.

“The Olympic spirit resides within the heart of every man and woman…. The nurturing of excellence and recognition of its value in any area of human endeavor inspires us all toward the actualization of every form of man’s yet unrealized greatness.”

[P2: We can begin to explore additional routes to undermine terrorism (such as growing and practicing Powerful Peace) while engaged with all the current means (bullets, rockets, and spy satellites) at our disposal. Our race will not be free from hate and fighting while we sit on this rock together, but it is possible to sit together better.

At one point in America, when the Civil Rights movement was in its heyday, the idea was rejected by some who would lose their privilege, and by others who simply thought it unrealistic. At one point, the idea of an integrated society seemed like fantasy.

Today, the concept of fighting terrorism with compassion for the source society and an intense desire to understand the hatred seems like a fantasy to many....

There is a terrific story by one of O-Sensei's first Western students that sums up the "paradigm shift" of discovering an enemy's motives as human pain and fear. Remind me to tell that story one day.]

Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.

Fallen Comrade

We honor a fallen comrade. Hundreds of strangers converge from all corners of our little camp. America the Beautiful plays quietly, reverently, as members from all services, agencies, and companies walk up, one by one, and file into clean ranks.

Now that we finally stand silently at the appointed time, our chaplain takes the podium in his uniform and camouflage-patterned stole, bringing our attention to God’s sovereignty over this solemn occasion. He speaks of a family’s loss and a hero’s honor.

In the adjacent Iraqi town outside the base, a mother and father clutch at each other and weep bitterly. They can not know yet whether their three-year-old daughter will survive the shrapnel wounds torn deep into her abdomen, thigh, and scalp. They know they are fortunate just to have a doctor’s attention; that he lacks anesthesia is a cost of being born here.

Our commander now takes the microphone. He praises the selflessness of this man who had gone forward time and again into harm’s way. He has lost many brothers before; he bears the pain with practiced stoicism. He praises the courage of a good man whose wife and child will never again know daddy’s embrace.

This wife and child have been notified of their devastating loss, of course. An irreplaceable piece of their own souls died on the side of the road, in that convoy, on that day.

The mother and father now sit numb. Their hearts died the instant the doctor failed to save their little girl. They stare vacantly as his staff cares for the small, torn daughters of two other families.

8,000 miles away, in the United States, a nation snarls and chews at itself. Citizens complain that an election will only be the selection of the lesser of two evils. National unity has faded to a distant memory, mere flickers of the brotherhood that boldly shone after those terrible attacks.

The media relentlessly stoke the flames of dissatisfaction, telling those parts of the truth intended to satisfy the sour assumptions of one side or the other. The media create separate realities.

The dead girl’s fourteen-year-old brother had been a gentle boy, destined to musical greatness which would have softened the hearts of thousands. Now, his own heart scarred by hate, he vows to join the resistance against the insurgency and kill as many as possible. Within the month, he will take away three other families’ sons before being shot to death.

Elsewhere in town, a group converges on a lightly-occupied mosque during prayers and takes seven worshipers away at gunpoint. These men are the wrong “type” of Muslim, and their deaths will terrify the neighbors of seven fatherless families.

Seven more mothers are utterly shattered. Each will suffer terribly at the loss of her husband; learning that he himself suffered terribly before death will be worse. Worst of all will be the desperate years of begging to feed hungry children.

My thoughts return to our ceremony in the boiling sun. There is so much loss.

I ache, deeply, for my own. Before he was killed, this was my brother in this world. It is my loss that this good man is dead.

I have lost this little girl, my precious sister in this world.

I have lost the rational, respectful discourse with my countrymen that determines who will lead with one nation’s support.

I have lost the kind boy who would soothe souls with his music.

I have lost the seven husbands and fathers.

We have lost when reconciliation is not pursued with the same aggression as revenge.

We have lost when hate-filled parties thirst for the blood of the other.

We have known loss, today.

[this post is taken from my hardcopy column, accessible through LINKS 2, above]

Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.

Little Girls Blown up by al Qaeda (Emad Matti, AP)

I was going to do another lighthearted jaunt through a wrapup on the first month of successes and interest shown to Powerful Peace.

Then in my terrorism research I happened upon this photo of two little girls who were blown up by al Qaeda in Iraq at a little girls’ school in Kirkuk on April 2, 2007. In other words, all my clever words don’t count when monstrous behavior is in your face.

As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. The suffering of these innocent children speaks far more eloquently than I ever can.

This is why hard power (the killing and destroying arts) is still necessary in our struggle against terrorism and human conflict in general. (Sounds hypocritical, doesn’t it?) Using the tools currently at our disposal, we have to stop the men who are doing this now.  My brothers are seeing to that as we speak.

I want to suit up and rejoin the mission. I want to pay back, to the group who did this, all that they deserve – with interest. My heart doesn’t ache for these precious, precious girls. It explodes. Forcing out the tears I struggle to stop, my heart explodes like the vehicle-borne improvised explosive device that did this to them, killing their playmates.

Despite my boiling rage, I collect myself and re-assert that we also must grow our soft power even more. We must engage with all societies, especially those that, willingly or otherwise, produce terrorists. Killing alone leads to killing. This is the terrible paradox. It’s almost impossible to imagine breaking the cycle of madness when you feel so hurt and hateful. But there is no other hope for these girls and the millions like them.

If we don’t reduce the violence overall, this will happen again, and again, and again….

This is why Powerful Peace exists.

This is why I exist.

Any questions?

(By the way…the one on the left looks a bit like my little girl. You may not be able to tell in the reduced image on the blog, but her t-shirt was not originally crimson. When her mommy sent her to school, it was white, with little pink letters. She probably got a big hug and a kiss…maybe a silly tickle.)

(Although most of the blood soaking her shirt and pants is likely from a fast-flowing hidden scalp wound, you can just make out that her delicate little right hand is torn as well. She’s terrified and in terrible pain, favoring her hand to keep it from touching anything.)

(She needs desperately to be held, and appears to be reaching for someone…but she just has to sit on a ratty examining table, little gold bracelets dripping blood, and feel a million miles away from the security, love and peace she so deserves…but will never recover.)

(Try to comprehend how desperately I have to fight a descent into hate from this.)

Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.