Friday, November 14, 2008

Veterans and Violence . . . (Listen)

There is a scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail in which King Arthur manhandles a mud-splattered, mouthy peasant named Dennis. First Arthur tells how he became king – the Lady of the Lake, decked out in splendor, raised a shining sword from the water to call him to the throne. But Dennis is having none of it. “Farcical aquatic ceremonies,” he says, “are no basis for a system of government.” When Arthur explodes and pushes him around, Dennis calls out, “Now we see the violence inherent in the system!  Come and see the violence inherent in the system!”

Of course being bullied by King Arthur is nothing compared to some of the film’s other scenes. The medieval sword-play is slashingly brutal, although the movie presents it as satire. For that matter, much of the violence we see in films is comical or cartoonish. Other movie violence looks serious but we don’t take it seriously as we sit on our couches with our fingers in the popcorn. Only in our entertainments do most of us wish to see violence, inherent in the system or otherwise. Unless we live in the grimmest part of a city or drive a squad car or work in an emergency room or serve in combat, we North Americans may go our whole lives without taking a good close look at the violence that runs through human life.

In this age of the volunteer military, fewer American families know what it means to serve in the armed forces, much less what it means to go into combat. But it’s the knowledge of violence that separates those who have and have not been to war.

Veterans are famously reserved about what they’ve witnessed and what they’ve done.  Many go years without speaking of it, and some, deep in old age, carry their burdens away with them silently forever.

Their reluctance makes sense. Idle party chat about war is an indignity, a betrayal, a failure to do justice to the most serious things. The rest of us won’t really get it, so veterans button their lips. It must be hard for someone who knows violence to listen to the misconceptions and enthusiasms of the naïve. “You were in the war! Wow, what was that like?”

I think of the few veterans who have decided to tell me about war. Typically, their stories are of certain times and places, particular moments, really, very sharp and particular sins and outrages and suffering. They earned the right to tell, or not, by having lived it.

At work on Tuesday I found myself heading toward the elevator with a colleague who had been in Vietnam. “Hey, it’s Veterans Day,” I said, but for a second I didn’t know what to say next.  So I kept it to a simple “Thank you.” By the time he spoke, we were in the elevator. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Really?” I asked, and then he looked away. Behind the good manners, behind the reticence, I caught a hint of the weight of things witnessed but not told. The violence inherent in the system, no longer a joke, no longer funny, was now a ghostly presence in the little chamber. But then the elevator rose toward our floor and the conversation turned to other things.

Broadcast by Ken Smith on November 14, 2008
Books & Films • Customs & Rituals • Peace & War • Permalink • Printer Friendly

Friday, November 07, 2008

A Hybrid Awakening . . . (Listen)

The guy in the pickup truck eyes my new hybrid car, then me, probably because I’ve got a grin on my face that makes no sense in this economy.  We’re both parked at a toll road rest area and I know what’s coming next.  He slams his door and strolls over like a cowboy checking out a strange horse.

Where should I start?  Something secular he’ll understand, like 60 m.p.g on a trip to Minnesota where I arrive 500 miles later with gas still in the tank.  Or how the gas engine doesn’t even run while sitting at a light, pulling away from a stop, or cruising at low speeds.  Speed up, the engine kicks on and a big illuminated mileage display on the dash reads 50 m.p.g.  Step on the gas to pass a car and the display drops to 25 m.p.g.  Back off the gas and it leaps up to 60 m.p.g.  Coasting or heading down a hill and it flies up to 100 m.p.g. even on the highway!  After a while you start to get it: slower and gentler driving means nearly free travel.  But drive like your hair is on fire and the hybrid’s mileage display mocks you like a dope slap on the back of the head. I could tell cowboy about all this.

But I can’t tell him about the spiritual awakening.  How it changes everything, the ignorance about your driving behavior, illusions about your lifestyle, awareness of your surroundings.  For example I no longer complain while slowing down for highway construction zones because now 45 miles per hour means 70 miles per gallon.

Cowboy walks wide around my car now. I want to shake him up with the same questions bursting through my thick American psyche: Why wasn’t I shown how to save fuel before?  Why don’t other cars offer this simple feedback device?  Why did Japanese companies offer hybrids first?  And why do ads for locomotive-sized pickups and sedans still sing off-key about power, luxury, and performance?

Cowboy is peering in my driver’s window. He won’t get the big spiritual metaphor. That in the hybrid transportation paradigm even the wind becomes a serious factor.  The wind.  This hybrid taught me the direction of the prevailing winds between South Bend and Chicago because mileage drops in a headwind.  In most cars you’re totally unaware of conditions on the other side of the windshield. You just push your foot down harder to keep the car at 70.  So what?  10-20 mpg is what, Cowboy.  Driving to Chicago at 70 in a northwest headwind is like ripping up a good 20 dollar bill.  But with a hybrid’s feedback system driving is more like sailing than it’s like the usual sit-and-steer: wind speed, terrain, even temperature all relate instantly to mileage.  So you’re interacting with nature again, in a car!  You wake up, notice the wind, the yoga breath of the planet, and next thing you know you’re thinking about the whole connection between self and change and resistance in life and…

Cowboy saunters up and nods at the car.  “Hybrid?" he says.

My heart leaps in my chest.  Yep, I reply.

“Kinda mileage you get?”

Oh, ‘bout 60, I say.

“That right?”

Yep, I say.

Cowboy walks around to the front end and makes a face at the small hood.  “Got any power?"

Power enough, I say.

He thinks about that, then shrugs.  “Well,” he says, “truck’s paid off.  No sense sellin’ her now.” And cowboy roars off in a cloud of blue exhaust, his bumper swinging from a loop of fence wire.

And that’s how close one more guy came this week to almost having a spiritual awakening.

Broadcast by Jeff Nixa on November 07, 2008
Customs & Rituals • Media & Technology • Nature & Outdoors • News & Editorial • Travel • Permalink • Printer Friendly
Google
WWW Michiana Chronicles

A random selection from more than 300 Michiana Chronicles -- refresh the browser to see another set:

Joe Chaney -- More essays by Joe

Louise Collins -- More essays by Louise

April Lidinsky -- More essays by April

Jonathan Nashel -- More essays by Jonathan

Jeff Nixa -- A Hybrid Awakening / More essays by Jeff

Ken Smith -- Veterans and Violence / More essays by Ken

Jeanette Saddler Taylor -- More essays by Jeanette