
I pray for any man with a tortured soul, whether hiding in the bamboo forest behind Walmart or awake all night in the White House. And I pray for all those within range for the courage to protect others from his actions. We have emergency centers for the fellow behind Walmart; 25th amendment for the other one.
I do not know whether the military of my nation will follow orders they know to be war crimes. They are bound by oath to say no because it is wrong and it is stupid.
They know we cannot live in a world where political differences permit one to starve civilians or deprive them of water. Why should not the Iranians feel justified to dump a bucket of poison in my town’s Salem Lake?
I remember my disgust and shame at the Vietnam pictures and the eventual trials that stained an entire people. This current abomination in Iran is worse–premeditated, taunting, wrapped in childish sacrilege and swagger. We will never know all the names of all the innocent dead.
We the American people elected this man twice, so all this is our shame. When the war crime trials go forward we will feel shame. Ask any German.
I am among the Quakers these days in my spirit. Theirs is an inconvenient,odd and quirky witness, odd and quirky. Hundreds died in cold English prisons for those quirks; generations were refused access to university, medicine, law and elected office. They are still regularly arrested even today for Palestinian protests. Hard people, these. But they have been exactly correct for 350 years about state violence. They said that preparing for war creates war. No Christian may participate. How does one—me— unravel that participation while living in the most militarized and now lawless empire in the history of the species?
I write this before his deadline threats about something he said he didn’t care about three days ago for which he is now willing to erase a whole civilization. We’ll be relieved if he declares victory and goes onto something else. But this is still a Nuremburg moment; the whole thing violated law from the start. It has already been a warm crime that will trigger trials to come. Nuremburg prosecuters—Americans– accused everyone involved in the design, planning, construction and administration of the death camps. Everyone was tried, not just the person pushing the button to turn on the gas.
All of us must protest at some risk. In Weil der Stadt, Germany, a wartime stained glass artist risked everything with a window panel showing Jesus sending Satan away — with Hitler depicted as Satan! (You can see him in the upper right panel above.) Eight decades later the powerful witness resonates.
I only blog and teach, which seems not so brave. When I flew from LaGuardia Saturday morning a young ICE agent fed my backpack through the scanning machine. He could have taken my phone, read my blog and detained me. Next week, after the war crimes make the government even more afraid of its citizens, he may well be ordered to do so. I hope I write clearly enough to trouble him.
It is never enough to just withhold endorsement of an illegal act, however.
Christians find ourselves entangled with heretical nutters doing violence in Jesus name have a special problem. We just celebrated the miracle of new life born anew! Not enough. We should send money to Central World Kitchen to feed people in Gaza (remember that war crime?) TC and I sent $500 hoping that our daughters and grandsons will live to see a world of law and justice that Jesus and Mohammed (peace be their names) might recognize.
Pray for that man and those who care for him before he hurts even more people.
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A note about the stained witness: The artist, JoKarl Huber, who was considered ‘degenerate’ by the Nazis and faced a three-year work ban, completed the window in 1940, so it was definitely a risk! Thanks to Jim and Reneta Cochrane.
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Thank you! I woke up this morning, bothered by the level of complicity around me—my elected officials, my church, my community. I finally realized that my “botheredness” came from reflecting on and acknowledging my own complicity. Brewing, seething with anger, and pounding my fists isn’t enough.