41. Did You Understand the Barack Obama Piece?
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.
- – - DON’T FORGET TO CLICK AND COMMENT, JUST BELOW THIS LINE! – - -
39. Barack Obama – September 12th and November 5th
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 5th, 2008.
I’m writing this piece from my station in Iraq. On September 11th, 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 5th, 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.
30. Honoring Heroes of 9/11
Mike, a friend and colleague of mine from the counterterrorism realm, saw the Powerful Peace posts on 9/11 and sent a link to a photo album he took at the Pentagon’s memorial dedication this year. Please see the link at the bottom of this post. The album is very strong imagery of the unbeaten spirit of America and all the freedom-loving citizens of the world.
See the post here: Thank You, Mr. bin Laden.
George Orwell
In the photos, I would ask the reader especially to focus on the armed defenders on the roof. At this important commemoration honoring those servicemembers who lost their lives, we are reminded that to protect the innocent, some will always sacrifice rest and peace.
George Orwell described this best: “We sleep safe in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.”
I say, here’s to the rough men on watch…as you read this, two hours after you read this, and for years to follow your reading this line. I’m here among them in Iraq, and I know well the payments they make for contentedness on the homefront.
May they find their rest at last.
See Mike’s album here: Pentagon Memorial Dedication.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
- – - DON’T FORGET TO CLICK IN AND COMMENT, JUST BELOW THIS LINE! – - -
29. The Kindness of Strangers…in War
[Adapted from my monthly hardcopy newspaper column, For Goodness' Sake, in Front Porch magazine]
When I “broke my neck a little bit” a few years ago (the result of a less than optimal parachute landing), I underwent hip and spinal surgery that slowed down my hyper lifestyle…for a few days. To my dismay, friends and family began popping out of the woodwork to help me.
I had never had to feel dependent. I hated it. I felt sorry for myself – SEALs don’t quit; I wouldn’t be able to run the world for a few weeks. When I complained to a friend, he bawled me out: “You selfish (blankety blank blank)! Don’t you like to help people?”
Confused, I answered that yes, I do. He went on, “So you know it means a lot to help out, and it feels really good. And now you wanna take that away from the ones who love you the most!”
I quickly became a gracious receiver.
Acts of charity nourish the giver differently from, but equally to, the givee. When a person needs, the satisfaction of that need is a great relief. As a spiritual creature, the giver likewise has a real need met – an exercise of the heart.
Charity Done Right
I don’t know what is in the cheap plastic bag the little angel in this picture is holding. There are dozens more plump bags piled up behind her, and her broad smile suggests it contains something that she really needs. I suspect this is mainly basic foodstuffs.
Just today, while driving near the fence of our base here in Iraq, I saw some young ragamuffins walking outside the chain link. I wanted a photo of these kids (maybe we’ll use that shot in another piece), so I pulled over and stepped out. The four of them, aged six to ten and dressed literally in threadbare garments, began saying one English word over and over: “food”.
I tried to make light and asked their names in Arabic. Both boys were Mohammed. I didn’t catch the smaller girl’s name, and the eldest was a girl named Farijah.
I didn’t have any food. It’s a good thing, because I would have tried to pass it to them. That’s an offense against base policies.
Does that offend you, that it’s an offense? I’ll tell you why withholding food from these hungry children is a good thing in this twisted up, unnatural life called war:
If soldiers could give food to these four, more needy children would come. More soldiers would come to the fence, because soldiers are no different from the reader. They’re decent, caring American men and women – they want to feed hungry children.
One day, when the mob at the fence got big enough, an innocent but unusually portly little boy would come waddling up. A man nearby would make a phone call that would explode the boy’s hidden vest, ripping apart all the hungry boys and girls and the American soldiers with loving smiles.
The man would smile, say “God is Great!” and go show his friends the video.
This is why we have to take a fierce, wise stance to confront the complexity of conflict with the courage of warriors. I call it Powerful Peace.
Many, many courageous warriors are out among these people every day. Keeping a wary eye, brave Iraqi and U.S. soldiers and civilians bring big bags of rice and flour and hope to families like this girl’s.
She has a real need. I don’t know what group she’s from; frankly, my dear, I don’t give a (blank). None of us should. She’s a small child. That’s good enough for me, whether she’s Sunni or Shi’a, Arab or Kurd, Black, White, or Purple. She simply deserves a safe, nurturing environment, purely by virtue of being an innocent little human with an absolute right to life.
Please be mindful of these complexities today.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
- – - DON’T FORGET TO CLICK IN AND COMMENT, JUST BELOW THIS LINE! – - -
28. The World in Iraq
[Adapted from my monthly hardcopy newspaper column, For Goodness' Sake, in Front Porch magazine]
Armed Turkish soldiers encircled me, the solitary American. They were moving closer, speaking in that mysterious language. I was only too aware that I had no weapon besides my own two hands. Suddenly, everyone paused as we heard the ferocious sounds of a running machine gun battle closer in toward Baghdad. That fight wasn’t far from my hooch, a half mile away….
Armed Turkish Soldier
This incident occurred a couple of months ago. It’s all true, but today I’m delighted to report that I am neither dead nor detained. I’m comfortably tucked in with a coffee and a keyboard, in fact. Please indulge me as I elaborate:
One of the best parts of moving around Iraq now is the opportunity to meet up with the numerous international forces comprising the Coalition. Over my 42 years I’ve lived in many of their countries (thirty-plus, at last count), exploring those cultures with the curiosity and enthusiasm of a small child.
In the early 1990’s, my stay in Turkey lasted a full year. (This was coincident with the collapse of the Soviet Union, but no, I won’t take credit for that one.)
I would drink chai in the tea gardens with my best friend Hayri. We spoke for hours about his father the Muslim cleric, the qualities of carpets in Hayri’s rug shop, and how horribly I had offended nearby little old ladies with my inadvertent mispronunciations. (Early on, Hayri had to hustle me off to different tea gardens frequently to escape the scorching glares of victims of my linguistic drive-bys.)
Years later I learned that Hayri had, like me, made his way into the military as a commando. He led a squad in southeastern Turkey against Kurdish fighters of the PKK, an organization that Turkey identified as terrorist. It’s funny how a preacher’s humble son from a small town would end up in that business.
It’s funny how people from across the human spectrum can come to be involved in violence against strangers. Our natural instincts to protect our “own” against dangerous “others” are expanded to include institutional us-vs.-them purposes.
Spetsnaz Commando Jumping, Throwing Hatchet
I once had hot dogs and beer on my patio with the head of Spetsnaz (Russia’s version of our Special Forces). We discussed how pleasant it was to not be enemies for the time being. We also discussed how, in the unpleasant case of international relations “going south” again, should we find ourselves face-to-face on a hillcrest…only the quicker would walk away.
Duty is like that.
Fast forward to this month and the Turks surrounding me. These Liaison Officers were friends of mine, at a “Hail and Farewell” party they were hosting for a change of staff. They had invited me and a variety of international colleagues; I enjoyed speaking Russian with the Ukrainian and Georgian, Turkish with the Azerbaijani and our hosts, some Arabic with the Jordanian, and English with the rest. I was unarmed, because at the time I was only working in the same palace as General Petraeus.
(This was in two different offices of the palace, you understand. Different floors, actually.)
It’s also true that, while these Turks surrounded me, we paused to listen to a running machine gun fight a half mile away…outside the base wall, but just barely. While our gathering represented the harmony possible among a dozen unlike nations, men were savagely killing each other within earshot. While the rage continued on those ancient streets, “micro-globalization” in one tiny trailer in Baghdad showed a flicker of hope for the future of this race.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
- – - DON’T FORGET TO CLICK IN AND COMMENT, JUST BELOW THIS LINE! – - -
17. The History Bluff is the Bomb
Bring Me a Face!
I dug up a treasure trove of advanced wisdom yesterday, in which many of the sacred cows languishing in our barn of history receive a thoroughly Extreme Makeover. Several of these revisions are quite a bit more interesting than the original “truth” (passed down to us, of course, as written by the victors). Please visit TheHistoryBluff.com to see for yourself. You’ll also find this link as the first entry in my very selective new “Blogroll” category to the right.
Because these new facts about our old past are so very funny, I have dubbed them “hystorical” anecdotes.
Powerful Peace is about our discovering common human intersections from which to grow improved mutual understanding and, correspondingly and automatically, reduced conflict. Humor is a healing balm for many over-worked, over-worried, and under-well hearts in the world today.
As I Commented yesterday at the very funny NannyGoatsInPanties.com, “I believe that when people see really freaking funny things, it takes the edge off a little, and they stop wanting to chop each other’s heads off so much.” – P2, 9/5/08
Please also join me in celebrating the Major Award with which The History Bluff was recently honored. Congratulations on being this year’s recipient of the highly coveted Order of the CMLLLH!
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
16. Sez Who? (I Don’t Buy It)
In my highly-esteemed opinion [editor's note: as absurdly self-serving as the previous statement sounds, the author's claim that his opinion is highly esteemed is technically true as long as at least one person holds his opinion in high esteem - in this case there is only one person, the author himself, but this satisfies the requirement], we take too many things at face value.
Begin With Oneself
In my opinion, healthy skepticism is one of the healthiest traits we can possess – healthy for ourselves and for our societies and for our neighbor societies.
From time to time I have heard blanket statements from Recognized Authorities that burn my cookies something awful, when through personal experience I can recognize that the assertion is patently false.
[Allow me to caveat the following paragraphs: once again, I would state that the author is a recently-retired, former US commando-guy who has worked in over thirty countries and is currently pitching in with the effort in Iraq. I see some ignorance and error on each side of every conflict. My great frustration is in seeing so much "unnecessary" hostility and violence over misunderstandings. Our passion should be to pull away at the veils of ignorance about one another. Ultimately, all of this is in hopes that less children will be torn apart by war and terrorism.]
Although I am a Christian, I do not hold that status as a blank check to make smug, blanket statements. In fact, I have a special request for those of my Christian friends who may read this (I’m going to use us as an example): if you haven’t heard other faiths expressed from their faithful, please do not scatter stories of judgment like supermarket tabloids. It isn’t Christ-like.
One of my preachers, years ago, declared that before Jesus came the world had never known compassion. Unfortunately, he dug in deeper and specifically mentioned the Buddha, and how the Buddha had never taught compassion. This preacher friend of mine hadn’t studied Buddhism; he’d heard about it. I had studied Buddhism, and even practiced it years before.
In one of the earliest stories about the boy who would come to be known as the Buddha, he happened to see a worm turned up by a farmer’s spade in a field. A bird flew down and snatched up the worm to eat it. The little boy was devastated by the suffering of even so lowly a creature as this worm. He was devastated by compassion.
Another all-too-common trend among Christian teachers these days is to make sweeping statements of condemnation about Islam. Again, they haven’t actually examined the faith with interpretation from Muslims; again, I have…in at least a dozen Muslim nations.
(These same Christian teachers will insist that I consider our own holy texts in context and with interpretation – to be fair to our church. The best example of my personal struggles to comprehend scripture is the rampant genocide ordained in the Old Testament. Most specifically, it is the instruction – from God – to “dash the infants against the rocks”.)
It’s very easy to recognize that condemnation might put any group on the defensive. If it’s a general assault on Islam, some among that group will react defensively. Thus begins the escalation.
Please hear my heart, Christian brethren: I am most definitely not holier than thou. In fact, I’ve often said that if Paul called himself Chief Among Sinners, I suppose I’d have to be his Deputy Chief.
What I’m saying to Christ-followers, others-followers, and no-one-followers is that, despite our strongest ego urgings to declare final victory over what has baffled us, sometimes we’re going to have to accept a draw. If you believe in God I hope you can admit that any Creator God worth having must, by definition, be beyond the capacity of our thoughts and words to contain. In other words, not any one of us has it exactly right.
It would be hoovin’ to us to imitate Him and give a little grace to our fellows down here.
This post is not supposed to be on religion, by the way, but on assumptions and suppositions of all flavors. Gender, race, politics, finances…. I’ll declare, for the somethingth time: we need to look at ourselves and at the world through our adversary’s eyes. We might notice a plank in our own.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
15. The World We Create
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.
14. Say Goodnight to the Sun, Gents
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.
13. The only easy day was yesterday
This will change not only the length of Powerful Peace postings, but also the frequency. (It’s amazing what one can learn just from scanning good blogs.) I will intend to provide more entries, more often.
It’s up to the reader to determine whether that’s a positive or a negative.
In our SEAL training, a common phrase heard was, “The only easy day was yesterday”. If you know anything about the incredible rigors of the course that turns sailors into SEALs, you understand that this phrase is an example of grim humor.
(Brief aside, here, for entertainment purposes: I called my family when I finished Hell Week, the period of five days during which we run, jump, swim, and carry heavy things around – do pretty much anything active, in fact…except sleep. Apparently I should have waited a couple of days to call. The sound of the tattered remnants of my voice - more like a death rattle – was very upsetting to those of a more sensitive nature.)
“The only easy day was yesterday” is not just funny in SEAL training, it’s true - relatively speaking. Each day we’d rise, knowing how very difficult the day before had been…and that it had in fact been easy, compared to what today would bring.
Mother Teresa
Powerful Peace is similar. As Sheri wrote in a comment after the last piece, “In my book the soft road takes A LOT more courage and strength….” I agree. Mother Teresa springs to mind. (That was a link, by the way - P2’s going high-tech.) She demonstrated unbreakable conviction to caring for people in need. She probably suffered incredible hardship over her decades of service in the stench of the trench. Her “soft road” was hard.
On the other hand, I believe that the hard road can be soft. I have witnessed very self-satisfied individuals who display no sense of caring for strangers, and who appear to possess a general disregard for others’ feelings. Life with this sense of entitlement seems to be quite comfortable, and fairly trouble-free.
As soon as I lean toward this criticism, however, I am reminded of my own tendency to judge those who differ from me. Maybe one is self-interested because he learned it and cannot know otherwise. Maybe he is bigoted and insecure because his father was bigoted and insecure. Who knows which moments, out of the millions of moments in each person’s life, carry the greatest weight and most influence his worldview?
It’s helpful to me, when I begin to indulge in self-righteous condemnation, to keep in mind the factors that might lie behind a person’s unpleasant way of behaving. For instance, I know that day is called “day” because I was taught so by people who had learned it from people before them. The same is true in prejudice. Someone may dislike white people because they were taught so by others who were taught so. Where does the chain of blame and judging end?
Jewel Kilcher
It ends at another facet of the Jewel of Powerful Peace: Accountability. Since I know that my perspective is somewhat flawed, and I know that my brother’s perspective is somewhat flawed, it benefits no one for me to try and force my belief on him. If I truly believe in my way (serving in the slums of India, for example), I simply act in that belief. Maybe my deeds, rather than my demands, will soften a hard spirit and gain an ally.
Two caveats: firstly, I know that it was blatantly self-serving to slip a photo of Jewel into a paragraph that has nothing to do with her. I can’t help it. She’s my favorite female singer, followed by Sezen Aksu.
Secondly, I should acknowledge that this was in fact not a brief post, but I would argue that the introduction about SEAL things took a lot of space.
I’ll try to do better next time.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
Subscribe here!
