Pop 89: How Wars Start
By Madonna Hamel
When I and my five siblings were young and got into scrapes with each other, raising our voices, yelling and blaming the other for taking our toys, or the last cookie or just being annoying, my mother had the power to silence us with the phrase: “That’s how wars start.”
Even as kids we knew that hollering and blaming were not ways to solve our problems. We older ones were expected to be good examples, to be there for each other, and speak up for the less fortunate. And I recall that, for days after after my Confirmation, (the Catholic sacrament that marks one’s passage into adolescence), I walked around feeling protected by a holy spirit that would give me the grace and courage to defend the younger kids, rather than pick fights with them. I imagined myself clothed in chainmail and bearing a sword, a valiant St. Joan of my lumber town.
While it didn’t take long to get into another kerfuffle, I was conscious of the truth that yelling and name-calling were no solution to my problems. At twelve years old, I knew I had to learn how to keep my temper from boiling over. If I wanted to enjoy life, and, most of all, contribute to the betterment life in general, I had to hear people’s stories, not just tell my own over and over, louder and louder. I had to try and be on good terms with people, not just expect respect from them. I had to understand that everybody has needs and fears, not just me. In order to enjoy life, in order to live and play with my siblings and my neighbours and my school mates, I had to hear other’s voices.
Recently the pope spoke about an upcoming charity soccer match and the power of sports to actually bring opposing forces together. He cited the story of the truce at Christmas in WWI where German, French and English soldiers joined each other in a soccer match. He reminded us that a “match” can be a “meeting…where even adversaries find a cause that unites them: this year, in particular, that of the children who ask for help, the children arriving in Italy from war zones.”
Sadly, he added, with traces of sorrow showing in his eyes as he spoke softly, from a voice of reason and a posture of composed and unwavering compassion, “it seems increasingly difficult, almost impossible, to find spaces to listen to these things.”
“We must,” he reminded us, “create opportunities to challenge divisions and recognize that this is the greatest challenge: meeting. Contribute together to a good cause. Restore unity to broken hearts, our own and those of others.”
I just got back from trip to Spruce Coulee in Cypress Hills with three of my sisters, a two sisters-in-law and a buddy from university days. All seven women in a two room cabin for four days, one of which was spent indoors due to a 24-hour rainfall. We played cards, read books, ate chips, stoked a fire and told stories. We were happy to reconnect after skipping a year due to family illnesses and stresses.
Despite a feeling of world-weariness after two years of frightening hardships and sudden life-changes, we laughed a lot in that little cabin. It became evident that we’d each grown a great deal, due mostly to the steady support and encouragement of family.
We were lucky to “find the space” required to listen to the things that matter. And to remind ourselves it behooves us, as adults, to create many more spaces in our daily lives to speak of those things. We need to be brave and composed, speak softly but unwaveringly about any skewed priorities.
The Western world leaders drank the Kool-aid when it adapted the belief that, at all costs, it must not upset the bully. This is not leadership, this is cow-towing. We need a space where heart and souls are present, where we bestow authority upon those who still know how to care - about kids bleeding to death in war zones, about people seeking sanctuary. Do we really need to up our insult-game?
What good is it doing for the world to facilitate a man who rose to power by denigrating, debasing, degrading others? Why aren’t we ALL calling him out in person? Saying “Stop talking to us that way. That’s how wars start.”? If enough people in the room said: “Sorry, call us when you get some manners.”
It’s not just his supporters giving him airtime. Smug editors of left-leaning magazines and news shows love to give the president a megaphone. His rudeness guarantees readership. “I’m about to raise your ratings,” he tells them. Thanks, they say, proving once again that morals don’t matter when money takes over.
The media has helped feed an economy of outrage that depends upon a supply of outrageousness to keep the viewers tuning in and the ratings rising. And the president - who cares most about attention and money and could care less about harm to others, or to his own psyche, soul, heart and mind - has a limitless supply of outrageousness.
What if we revered money less and kindness more? What if, instead of creating more mud-hurling, war-starting YouTube channels and podcasts, we gave more of our attention, concern, time and energy to children killed in bombings, to graciousness, to intelligent conversation, to gentle humour and fulfilling encounters?
It doesn’t take “balls” to counter selfishness; it takes heart. Turn off the computer, stop being the voyeur of the never-ending train wreck that makes money off your anxiety. Visit a sick friend, call a family member, spend a week camping with people you claim to love but haven’t actually had a real conversation with in a very long time. Create a space wherein you listen to what really matters. Say a prayer, share a meal, take a walk together. Before it’s too late.