A march around the world in the name of Peace and Nonviolence is still ongoing http://www.theworldmarch.org/index.php

I had the opportunity to give a short speech when it came through DC:

… and now Our Journey to Smile had also joined the march from Aghanistan:

A friend of mine has been setting up conference calls to Our Journey to Smile, a peace group in Afghanistan. Last week I had the amazing honor of being part of a dialog over the phone with these young people. Here is a video about the conference, their thoughts, and goals. Please watch and if you have any ideas about how to spread their message even farther, please give me your suggestions. Thank you!

by Josh

Following a day in the quiet college town of Davis and the days before that along the California coast, Sacramento’s sprawling capitol building, outdoor mall, and hurried traffic broke the natural beauty we had been enjoying. And like the Sacramento skyscrapers blocking the sun, the inspiration we were filled with after staying in the previously-described community in Davis was overshadowed by the news we heard, as we arrived in town, of the Ft. Hood shootings.

new friends in Sacramento

Soon, we were being asked what our diagnoses was of this horrible act. We were expected to deliver an open-and-shut case: a crazy Muslim, a psychologist who couldn’t take what he was hearing any more and snapped, whatever. It’s so easy to condense a world that is so multi-dimensional. But can there be one simple diagnoses for such an intense decision? As I sit and write this several weeks after the shootings, most of us have probably laid blame where we felt it was needed and moved along to the next interesting headline; ‘Army Officer Kills Soldiers’ was last month’s news, this month: ‘Tiger Woods Cheats on Wife’. But have we learned or changed anything?

Suppose religion was the strongest motivation, this man didn’t wake up an extremest one morning, something in his experiences pushed him along. By broadening the story and asking questions of ourselves as a society is by no means justifying what Nadal Malik Hasan did. I, not so many years ago, accused people of being terrorists and un-American when questions were asked about the motivations and thoughts behind 9/11 and Islamic extremism. It’s much easier to say that they are crazy, their religion made them that way, end of story!

But these tragic events, even if religion may or may not have been the deciding factor, ought not be the end of the story, but the beginning. If religion is motivating people to do things like this, I want to find out more about this religion (in the same way that I hope people would take the time to understand militant strands of Christianity that–real or perceived–inspired me to fight a “just war” in Iraq). There are mosques (and temples, etc) all across our country and we all have an active choice to drive past them in fear or apathy, or to try to get to know people in our own communities who think differently than us.

The thought struck me so many times in Iraq that even if the detainees we were beating were as awful and depraved as some accused them of being, that treatment of them wouldn’t change anything positively, it would add to their hatred and justify whatever crimes they may have been guilty of. In the same way, whatever horrible things we might think are taught in other religions, by gossiping, panicking, and hating these people, even if we somehow are right about they’re wrongness, that response only justifies what they’re doing. And odds are, if we actually took the time and effort to get to know these “fanatics”, we’d find refreshing human beings who have shortcomings not so different than our own. In my visits to mosques, Buddhist meditation centers, temples, etc. I haven’t agreed with every word that was spoken, but I’ve come away from each experience with a renewed respect for humanity. For the sake of argument though, let’s say as soon as I left the door of whatever religious establishment it was, they broke out their sinister plans of destruction, I would say that my effort to get to know them would do far more to deter destruction than egging their building, smashing their windows, spreading rumors about them, or refusing to associate with them.

But, as the story of the Ft. Hood shootings has faded from the headlines, it sadly hasn’t been replaced with breaking news of interreligious service projects, open forums, reconciliation efforts, or anything of the like. In the same way, the other piece of this story, the psychological toll of war has been shattered with a peace prize.

If I were a psychologist from a certain background and my job was to hear, day in and day out, the guilt of what others had done wrong to others in that group that I most closely associate myself with, I might find it very challenging to keep those confessions on a “professional” level as well. That is what the patient and the doctor, the soldier and the psychologist have in common though: it’s all supposed to be professional, it’s all calculated into a field manual. Soldier does what he has to do; soldier should be trained to handle “realities of war”, but for the weak soldiers there are chaplains and psychologists; chaplains and psychologists fix the soldier and he can return to battle… what happens when the psychologist can’t handle the “realities of war”?

The answer to that question has been made obvious: the broken doctor is filed in a different field manual by the news, his superiors, and the popular culture. It’s a field manual of “insanity” under the chapter of “religion” and there is exactly where it’s convenient for the broken Col. Hasan to stay. We place the book on the shelf and with it any further thought about how we interact with religion, the psychological strain of war and exactly what is going on in training and in combat that leads to not only events like this, but growing numbers of PTSD cases, suicide, etc. The racism that I heard regularly in the military about Arabs is white-washed in the name of the oppressed and the guilt is supposed to rest on the shoulder of the “terrorists”… supposed to; and the vicious cycle continues.

Even if the headlines want to stare at Tiger Woods, we can choose what we see. We can choose to see people of other traditions and backgrounds as potential friends whom we can learn from and build community with. We can choose to see soldiers–through their words or their actions–in need of help, in need of new answers, in need of the “just war theory” to stay on the shelf. And we can choose to say that these problems won’t go away with more of the same; and it’s all the more reason to reconcile, to teach, reach out, and to dialog.

The Ft. Hood shooter is paralyzed, but we most certainly are not.

 

In wars advocated by two different presidents, we hear all too often from politicians, generals, and pundits. In my experience, some of the theories tossed around at higher ranks sound great, but how they are translated to the common soldier is rarely examined. On Christmas, as I was flying home for Christmas leave, I sat next to a high ranking officer who worked at the Pentagon. I had just finished reading Three Cups of Tea, the true story of a man who has helped build 130 schools in Afghanistan and Pakistan, so myself and this officer had a great conversation about the importance of finding common humanity and working alongside local populations.

I then asked him how, as a low-ranking infantryman, I could better help carry out these ideas. He replied that I seemed to already possess the knowledge and attitude that were needed and that my unit had trained me well. I couldn’t help but laugh… if I were to say even half of what I shared with this officer to my friends and leaders back on base, I would be told to shut up and the butt of jokes for weeks (which eventually happened). As I told him this, he paused, thought about it, and said “well, I can understand that. It’s important that people who make big decisions know this kind of thing, but really the common soldier, after all, their job is to bear arms and to be ready to use them at any time and these ideas might actually counteract their duties.”

My point is, we can listen to the rhetoric of presidents, politicians, and high ranking officers all we want, but what they say in a press conference and what is reinforced day in and day out for the majority of military are two separate things. Before your entire perspective is given to you by men in sharp outfits, listen to the common soldier also… dirt, blood, and all.

Here is one I’ve been corresponding with by email…

Michael Anthony, author of Mass Casualties: http://www.masscasualties.com/index.htm

Overview:

“Look around,” the drill sergeant said. “In a few years, or even a few months, several of you will be dead. Some of you will be severely wounded or so badly mutilated that your own mother can’t stand the sight of you. And for the real unlucky ones, you will come home so emotionally disfigured that you wish you had died over there.”

It was Week 7 of basic training . . . eighteen years old and I was preparing myself to die.

They say the Army makes a man out of you, but for eighteen-year-old SPC Michael Anthony, this fabled rite of passage is instead a dark and dangerous journey. After obtaining his parents’ approval to enlist at seventeen, Anthony begins this journey with an unshakeable faith in the military based on his family’s long tradition of service. But when he finds himself in a medical unit of misfits as lost as he is, Anthony not only witnesses firsthand the unspeakable horror of war, he experiences the undeniable misconduct of the military. Everything he’s ever believed in dissolves, forcing Anthony to rethink his ideals and ultimately risk his career—and his freedom—to challenge the military that once commanded his loyalty.

This searing memoir chronicles the experiences that change one young soldier forever. A seasoned veteran before the age of twenty-one, he faces the truth about the war—and himself—in this shocking and unprecedented eyewitness account.”

by Josh

Conor had popped a spoke. Usually it’s my bike that makes scratching, exploding, or hissing sounds. But today was Conor’s turn, so we were driven to a bike shop by Jeanette, who had also picked us up the day before with her husband Fred because we weren’t going to make our speaking event in time. Mountains and brightly colored trees towered over us as Fred told us about his four tours in Vietnam; working in intelligence, he found out about some lies that came from the very top of the government, mostly having to do with the Gulf on Tonkin Incident, information that was later brought to light through The Pentagon Papers. http://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h1871.html

Conor and I with Fred

As we rode with Jeanette, she talked about another effect of war that rarely gets talked about: education. A retired teacher, she described how budgets had continually been getting cut, something many teachers I’ve met across the country have also told me about. While we pour so much money into war, education–a chance at a brighter future, a chance to learn better ways to handle problems–gets drained. Jeanette said she loved working with the kids, but 37 years of working in an under-funded system became too much when the No Child Left Behind Act was enacted. “Well-meaning, but impractical,” her special-ed students were expected to hold up to the standards of every other child their age across the country.

With these two stories on our minds, we cruised through California wine country, Conor’s spoke now fixed. I get riled up when I hear about things like kids losing opportunities and moreso about things like war-makers creating fabrications to justify their agendas. But these tragedies can also bring out the best in us. People like Daniel Ellsburg, the government worker who discovered and risked a massive prison sentence to publish the Pentagon Papers, step forward. Peacemakers in the states continued to take to the streets in the US while soldiers began resisting the war both overseas and domestically and eventually the Vietnam War came to an end (though it’s effects still rage; for example: more Vietnam Vets have committed suicide than died in actual combat!).

And people have risen to the challenges of this war also. Veterans are organizing and speaking out. Communities are coming together and trying to share and dialog and break from the isolation that possessions and wealth can too often bring.

Later in the day, we found one such community in Davis, CA. Davis is a biker’s paradise; a college town, the entire campus is closed to motorized vehicles and never before have I seen traffic circles for bicycles. Fittingly, our host in Davis, Jason, not only lived in a community, but was also a founder and worker at the local bike co-op.

When we arrived at the community Jason lives in, he was gone, but we were greeted by a housemate who gave us the grand tour. The community was a cul-de-sac of neighbors who decided to tear down the backyard fences that divided them. In place of private lawns, a shared oasis of gardens, chicken houses, saunas, and gathering tables emerged. People freely walked past each other’s houses and instead of yelling “keep of my property”, greetings were shouted among a multitude of friends.

turning yards into community gardens

Each of the houses were sub-communities; some held families, some students, some both, and one house was an open dining hall where the community met frequently for shared meals and events. After our tour, we returned to the house, Jason and some friends had returned and we all dined together before going to the bike co-op. A diverse and enthusiastic crowd showed up for Conor and I’s presentation and afterwards, the community made some much-needed adjustments and repairs on our bikes.

digging deeper

Governments and foreign affairs can get very discouraging and lead to nothing but cynicism about the state of humanity. But if stop gazing up at those with fancy decorations and titles and begin to look around at our communities, there is hope growing in the gardens and the future peace amongst nations beginning in the interactions we have with our own neightbors.

(by Conor)

Pulling up to the beach house which was the final address on our directions, the house looked empty and sure enough, there was a note on the door. Our host wouldn’t be there for a little while, but he left us with a kind invitation to go check out the tide pools on the beach. We had been starting at the ocean for over a week as we pedaled along the coast, but it seems we had been waiting for this invitation to go and enjoy the beach. Eventually our host, Ted, found us down on the sand and I think he was a bit surprised to see we had taken the invitation so seriously. He happened upon us while Josh was thigh high in the freezing Pacific waters and myself standing on a small rock “island”, probably being the only guys not donned in wetsuits anywhere near the water that day.

The temperature is expressed to the exact degree by Josh's face

Trying to avoid a similar look on my face

We had been looking forward to this couch surfing experience for a little while now. Ted had told us that the night we were staying was one of the nights he went to a weekly Buddhist meeting, and we accepted his invitation to attend with excitement. The meeting was an amazing experience, we stretched together and sat and meditated together for a good while. That night there was supposed to be a guest speaker after the mediation, but oddly enough there was none scheduled, and Josh and I wound up sharing our stories. After we shared, we chanted a beautiful prayer for awareness and peace together and went our separate ways, after a few introductions.

On the way home, Ted informed us that he had invited over a Zen priest who had been at the meeting, something he often does, and that we were free to stay up and converse if we would like. Once again, here was an invitation that would be impossible to decline. During our conversation, the Zen priest related the story of how he came to Buddhism, and I thought it was an interesting tale. One day, the priest told, a friend began telling him the wonders he was beginning to find in meditation, and the priest, not seeing much value or challenge, scoffed at the idea. But the friend then offered the priest a challenge, he challenged the priest to see if he could count 10 breaths while keeping a clear head, no stray thoughts, just breaths and counting. While incredulous at first, the priest found he couldn‘t do it. Wondering who is really running his head if he cant keep it quiet, the Zen priest started working on slowing down his thoughts and controlling them. As his thoughts slowed and he could get deeper and deeper into meditation, past issues would begin to resurface. He began to be able to look back at tough experiences in his past and fill them with love and understanding, and bring wholeness to life where there had been lacking before, finding an inner peace. I was intrigued by the path which had led this man to his Buddhist priesthood, and as I lay in bed that night I feel asleep counting my breaths.

The next morning we rose with the sun, not only because we needed to get off to an early start, but because Ted, a great photographer, offered to take some portraits of us as we rode off. We were able to get outside in just enough time to use the soft morning light for some pictures, and before long we were back on the meandering coastal highway on our way to Santa Rosa. The past few days on bikes surprisingly had been some of the most grueling time we had spent on our bikes so far, competing with crossing the continental divide, and it looked like today’s ride on the coast wasn’t going to allow our legs to rest. After a few hours biking, the weariness of crossing the Coastal Mountain Range a couple of days ago followed by days of hill laden coastal biking caught up to us and fatigue began to set in. The day before, realizing our trip to Santa Rosa was over 90 miles and included a mountain range, we set up a rescue on the coastal highway in case we became as fatigued as we predicted we might, and we did. We made a couple of stops in attempt to gain some energy, even polishing off a tub of ice cream at one, but to no avail. At 4o’clock that afternoon, Fred and his wife became our new heroes as they strapped our bikes on the back of their car and drove us into Santa Rosa.

We got into town with only a little extra time before our presentation that evening, but an amazing group of people who happened to be mostly cyclists, made sure we were fed before we were off to the Sonoma County Peace and Justice Center. I was a bummed out that we were in such a hurry in Santa Rosa, as our hosts lived in condos built and lived in with the thought of community being the driving force and I would have loved to see more of what they did. The talk the night turned out to be an amazing experience, with the peace center being packed in with amazing people of all ages who were clearly vibrant part of their community. The energy everyone brought with them hat night was amazing and uplifting, it’s probably what gave Josh and myself the ability to stand up and talk, as we were worn out.

A video was taken of parts of our talk:

Though I’ve been corresponding with Our Journey To Smile for awhile now, and been posting their videos, I am continually amazed at the sincerity and conviction that they make their statements with. It’s easy to dismiss love as something idealistic with little application in “the real world”. Well, you don’t get much more intense than Afghanistan and love is just as real there.