By Tom Poland, A Southern Writer
TomPoland.net
Man Will Always Wage War
I remember the Vietnam anti-war protests at the University of Georgia. Some group firebombed the Army ROTC building and I recall four protestors walking abreast holding a “Stop War Now” banner. “Stop war now” chanted the throng behind them. They might as well have tried to ban gravity.
News blast—“War was always here. Even before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner. That is the way it was and will be. That way and not some other way.”
Cormac McCarthy wrote those thirty-five words, and they are blood-red true. Disgruntled married folks declare war on each other. Imagined hurts, infidelity, plain old meanness, and other provocations lead to alienation, court, sometimes murder even. It will forever be “that way and not some other way.”
Sing along now, “All we are saying, is give peace a chance.” John Lennon and Yoko oh no Ono wrote that song. Lennon’s reward? Mark David Chapman assassinated him.
Based on the news, you’d think the Ukraine War is the sole war raging on planet Earth. Well, it’s not. The Geneva Academy claims that more than 110 armed conflicts are being waged. Some conflicts make the headlines. Others don’t. War—from personal to political—will never end.
McCarthy again: “There’s no such thing as life without bloodshed. I think the notion that the species can be improved in some way, that everyone could live in harmony, is a really dangerous idea. Those who are afflicted with this notion are the first ones to give up their souls, thier freedom. Your desire that it be that way will enslave you and make your life vacuous.”
I met a guy, Jeff, and his wife, Virginia, back in college. So-called “pacifists,” they rode the peace train. Both were snobs. They looked down on less intellectual people, less in their view. “Love and peace.” That was their mantra in the days of the Peaceniks, that ragtag, tie-dyed, smoke-tainted counterculture. Jeff burned his draft card, and Virginia burned her bra. All for show, you could say.
She was from Wilmington; he was from South Georgia. Jeff said he’d be the governor of Georgia someday and Virginia said she’d be a Hollywood star. Outside of their ambition, they seemed ill-matched, united only by their anti-war bond, a bond that drew interest and penalties of a lesser kind.
I had my own wars and detached myself from them. I remained neutral, a walking, talking Sweden. I just wasn’t worldly enough to understand the war and all the implications that came with it.
I graduated, and the work world swallowed me. Time passed. A lot of time. Other wars broke out, and I forgot the ambitious pacifists. Then, during a visit to Athens, I bumped into Jeff. Overweight, out of shape, and out of luck, he wore a suit and tie and worked in sales. I started a conversation that instantly turned awkward. Jeff and Virginia’s peace train had run out of track.
“Jeff, I haven’t seen you since college. How are things? How’s your wife?”
“That (expletive expletive) divorced me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It was all-out war, hand-to-hand combat. We don’t speak. We’ll never speak.”
“What went wrong, if you don’t mind telling me.”
“She left me for an airline pilot, a guy who was a fighter pilot in Nam. An ace of all things.”
As he poured his heart out, he mentioned a fight, an arrest, and a restraining order. Virginia had been a flight attendant. My guess is their relationship died long before she flew into the captain’s arms.
Back in college, I felt their pacifist ways were nothing more than virtue signaling. A way to impress people. A way to feel better about themselves. I know I was right.
McCarthy was right too. The belief that everyone can live in harmony is a dangerous idea.
