Dona Nobis Pacem

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"Peace At Home: Wake Coalition Against Domestic Violence Silent March"
Raleigh, NC - October 13, 2009

For more  on the subject, click through on the image.

"He strangled me, beat me, and left me for dead on our hallway floor."
-- Michelle

"Whack! Across my face it swept. Didn't see it coming. But then I rarely did. It was as if there were a draft in the room. Cold air seeping. Energy being sucked out."
-- Won

Peace. What a wonderfully nebulous concept. Formless and shifting and impossible to define in absolute terms. We only know when we don't have it. On the global scale, I seem to remember someone saying that in the entire course of recorded history there have been fewer than 20 days when there was not an armed conflict in progress. That's a pretty bad batting average. But consider peace on a smaller, very localized scale. Consider that we can't last nine seconds in the US without another instance of domestic violence. When you think in those terms, it doesn't seem surprising at all. How will we ever get two nations to come to the table if we can't get two people there?

"To the outside world our family seemed normal; a respected father, adored mother and well behaved children. We played normal so well."
-- Kristina

"He would lash out with a knife or his fist and I would be where his anger would land."
-- Kelly

Coalition forces in Iraq and Afghanistan have suffered 6266 fatalities since the wars there began in October of 2001 (source http://www.icasualties.org/). A soldier's death is a tragic loss to every one of us. But the courageous men and women who wear our nation's uniforms assume that risk. They stand in harm's way in our defense, knowing that it could cost them their lives. It is not my intent to minimize that honor and sacrifice. I hope only to give context to another casualty figure.

The Domestic Violence Resource Center (http://www.dvrc-or.org/) estimates that three women and one man are killed each day in the US by their spouses or intimate partners. Using that estimate, in the same period (2949 days) since the commencement of hostilities in Southwest Asia, DV-related homicides have resulted in 188% (11796) of the number of Coalition fatalities. There are no embedded journalists, no 24-hour coverage on CNN and the headlines are usually relegated to Page 3. But nearly twice as many women and men have become casualties in a war that is fought behind locked doors, in dark corners by people who profess to love the ones they kill. A war that none of the casualties enlisted to fight, a war that none of them expected to find themselves in. And certainly not one they deserved.

When did "home" become more dangerous than a combat zone??

"Humiliation, pain, self-disgust and hatred were the price of marriage. Love meant being hurt. I cried at night when no one was listening."
-- Naimhe

"...he found out about the restraining order and proceeded to break it - and me - into tiny little pieces."
-- Rachel Ann

These are the ones who must leave it to others to tell their stories. They cannot speak for themselves, and so I hope to speak for them here today. I hope to do right by those who have fallen, and by those who still have hope of escape. Because there are hundreds more every day who are not killed, but are only an arm's reach away from being the next fatality. In 24 hours, the clock ticks 86,400 times. And every ninth tick brings with it another instance of domestic violence. Nine thousand, six hundred times since this time yesterday, someone was beaten, abused, perhaps even murdered.

Peace on earth?

How about we start with Peace at Home?

"I have been demeaned, belittled, hit, kicked, cussed out and stifled. I have been sexually abused. I have been all of these things and most people who know me are completely unaware of it.

I am just like you." -- Cary

To see what the rest of Bloggeritaville is saying on the subject, go visit Mimi Writes.......: Dona Nobis Pacem. and maybe leave a link of your own there while you're at it.

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Requiem in Pacem

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"Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine"

In case you hadn't already heard, another chapter has come to a close for one of my very favorite bloggers. You can find all the details on this post, but the short version is that the originator of the upcoming BlogBlast for Peace, Mimi lost her father yesterday after a long and cruel illness. For Mimi and her family, I hope the peace she's tried to spread across the globe will visit her in a large measure in the coming days and weeks.

Until then, if you have -- or can make -- a moment, please stop by and pay your respects to the lady. She's earned it, and I know she could use the comfort right now. Thanks.

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I wish I had a better answer

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I have to tell ya. This Karmic Cowboy gig is no fun at all. Because when you go out to ride, boldly ride, it means somebody is suffering. And in this case I feel especially bad about it, because I had no idea. For a week or better, I was so wrapped up in projects at work, at home, on the blog, elsewhere, that I didn't notice my dear friend Mimi hadn't poked her head up for days. And when it suddenly dawned on me that her absence -- conspicuous by it's very nature -- hadn't been prefaced with some kind of notice I knew it couldn't mean anything good.

I was right.

Her father, who's been battling heroically against a couple of protracted illnesses for far too long a time now, is in the palliative care unit (that's Hospice to most of us). The last stop on the earthly railway line.

If you read Mimi's blog, you can pretty well figure out she's not ready to let go of dad yet. I'm hoping this time in hospice will allow her to do that. I know it did for me. When you see it coming, you can tie up the loose ends. There will still be some things left unsaid, or undone. There always are. But you can say/do the important ones, the ones you know you'll regret not saying/doing, the ones that you know would haunt you to your grave. Contrast that with Carmi's situation, where death came suddenly and if not completely out of a blue sky, at least unexpectedly. Knowing Carmi, I rather doubt there was very much he "tabled" and never got around to. But I'm sure if you asked him, there are a hundred things he'd want to tell his dad if he'd known. He wasn't ready to let go either, but he didn't get the chance that Mimi's getting. She's actually been getting it for quite some time now, and to her credit, she's made good use of the time.

And maybe that's part of the problem. Maybe you can have too long to get used to the idea. Maybe when it takes this long, you've said all there is to say, all that's important, and you're just marking time. And maybe that feels like time you're wasting, time when you should be doing something, dammit. Anything. Making it better. There must be something that still needs to be said, but you don't know what it is. It's like death on the Easy Installment Plan, and with an criminal rate of interest.

When my dad passed in July of 2000, he did it like he did most things. He was never one to put off what needed doing in his life, and he didn't modify that philosophy in his death. His stay in Hospice was mercifully short, sparing us the agony of sitting shiva for someone who's not yet departed. He hung around long enough to put his affairs in order, to make his last decisions and by the grace of whatever you want to call the ruling influence in the universe he was still able to make all those hard calls for himself. He made it easy for us, or as easy as it could be. So even though I've spent the night waking bolt upright at every little noise form the hospital bed next to me, I don't know what it's like to endure what Mimi and her mother and sister are going through. Even though my dad's decline was swift, it wasn't a bolt from the blue, so I can't empathize completely with Carmi and his mom and their family.

I can't offer either of these friends empathy, not really. I can only offer a hand, an ear, a shoulder. I wish I had a better answer.

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Remembering 30 January

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"If I am to die by the bullet of a mad man, I must do so smiling. There must be no anger within me. God must be in my heart and on my lips."
Mohandas K. Gandhi - 28 January 1948

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30 January 1948. 5:17 p.m.. Birla House, Delhi.
A wire thin, white clad figure makes his way across the temple's garden surrounded by his followers, and his enemies.

A trio of shots echoes against the stones, and the man who was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi crumples to the ground mortally wounded.

A stricken nation listens in silent shock or wailing anguish as the static ridden, tearful voice of Jawarhalal Nehru solemnly announces,

"Friends and comrades, the light has gone out of our lives, and there is darkness everywhere, and I do not quite know what to tell you or how to say it. Our beloved leader, Bapu as we called him, the father of the nation, is no more. Perhaps I am wrong to say that. Nevertheless, we will not see him again, as we have seen him for these many years. We will not run to him for advice or seek solace from him, and that is a terrible blow, not for me only, but for millions and millions in this country."

As I pondered what to write on this anniversary date, I wondered what I might add to the story. What can I say that hasn't already been said? What homage can I pay to a man on whom so many honors have already been bestowed?

Then I recalled a scene in the movie Maine Gandhi ko Nahin Mara (I Did Not Kill Gandhi) in which Anupam Kher details his "conversations" with Bapu. His monologue, while fictional, struck a chord with me the first time I heard it, and still does.

"But every day he would say, 'Uttam, my son, I live no longer in the minds of people. Everywhere else, I am. In political offices, governments, courts. This country has even stamped me into currency bills and coins. I am everywhere except in the minds of men."

And at that moment it occurred to me that there is, in fact, one honor I can pay to Gandhiji. One that would matter more to him, I suspect, than all the flowery prose I can offer here.

I can remember.

Rest well Bapu.

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For more, I recommend:
http://archives.cbc.ca/politics/international_politics/clips/15779/
http://ca.encarta.msn.com/media_461550590_761557562_-1_1/nehru_announces_gandhi%E2%80%99s_death.html

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Dona Nobis Pacem

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On the wall by the fireplace my mother has a collage of eight photographs. Peering out from the eight openings in the mat are eight uniformed faces from four generations of her immediate family. Four wear the uniform of the US Army, two the US Navy, and two the US Marine Corps. Collectively they represent over 100 years of service and seven combat tours that I have verified. (The actual number is probably eight or nine, but some of the history is a little fuzzy for her.) They also represent all the other members of the family who served, but whose military photos have been lost over the years.

Seven of the eight are no longer with us.

I am the eighth. That's me in the top right hand corner of the frame. And perhaps I am still here so that I can write these words in the hope that they may somehow, someday obviate the need for future photographs like these. Maybe my purpose for still being here is to tell the story of the man in the top center photo.

Of the eight, my maternal grandfather had easily the most distinguished military career. Raised in coal country in the mountains of Pennsylvania, he enlisted during World War II and served in Europe. Later he served in Korea, and still later in Vietnam. In between those last two combat tours, he became the first NCO in history to serve as Provost Sergeant of both the post and the disciplinary barracks at Fort Leavenworth, KS. During the Vietnam War, he served as Division Sergeant Major for the 25th Infantry Division (Tropic Lightning). When he retired in 1974, he was next in line for Command Sergeant Major of the Army -- the Army's highest ranked NCO posting.

And the war stories from him I heard as a child and a young man?

Zero.

Not one.

I'm sure he had stories to tell. But he chose not to tell them. He never said why and I never asked. It was simply not discussed. But when he left the army, this man who grew up hunting and fishing in the mountains broke down and packed away all of his personal firearms. From that day until the day he died in 2002 he never picked up another gun.

He got it. He understood. All of his experiences taught him the concept that became the theme for my Peace Globe.

An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.

There's nothing about war that's "glorious". Not even for the so-called "winners". It's ugly, and it's brutal and it's about as far from glorious as you can get. It reeks of death and sorrow. It's covered in mud and grime and blood and shit. And nobody knows that better than those who have seen it.

So for the other seven faces in my mother's frame, and for those in every other mother's heart, I offer up this plea.

Dona Nobis Pacem. Grant us peace.Stumble This!

Congratulations Miami, FL! You are my 5,000th customer!

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Oct 7 2008 11:48:18 am (And I think I may know who this is actually... Tiff? Was that you?)

(Update: Yeah, it was Tiff of No Accent Yet. First time I've been able to identify a landmark visitor. So go... say hi or something.)

When I started tracking statistics in mid-June of this year, I had no idea this blog would attract so many diverse and wonderful readers. But in just a few short months (just under 4) 5,000 of you have stopped by to see, to read, and best of all to comment.

I am awed. Humbled even.

So this is as much your landmark as it is mine. 'Cause I couldn't have done it without you.

So yeah... thanks for this.

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"Fireworks over Atlantic Beach"
Atlantic Beach, NC - July 2008 (Click to embiggen)

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Anyway, with all these terrific people stopping by all the time it occurs to me... when you get people's attention like this, once in a while you should probably say or do something that matters.

So two things I want to pass on to ya. First off, go over and check out my sidebar. Yeah, right there at the top. That's it, the BlogBlast for Peace link. You have a chance to speak up yourself, along with thousands of others. And it couldn't get a whole lot simpler than getting aboard that train. One post, on one day... and it doesn't even have to be a big, grand, eloquent thing. So check it out. And then do it. And get your friends who blog to do it too. Seriously.

Next thing I want to encourage you to do is... Well I'll let these guys tell you.

If this keeps up I might start thinking I could have an impact on... oh I dunno... something.Stumble This!