A Kindly Hand

 

The Good Samaritan

Perhaps I’m missing the logic behind what’s going on between Russia and Ukraine, and now between the USA/Israel and Iran. Is it really only about narcissists caught up in dreams of personal greatness supported by sycophants who hope to catch some of that greatness by harnessing themselves to their coattails? Surely there’s some of that, but it’s much more, obviously,

There’s plenty of conjecture about the deep, existential meaning behind the turmoil being created. I read a defense of the American President’s actions in Venezuela as an act of God’s will; at the same time liberal Christian leaders deplored it as more nearly a manifestation of the Antichrist at work.

More immediately, I’m surprised by the postings on social media that urge Canada to purchase either the US-made F-35A or the Saab Gripen to bolster our defensive capability and align with our allies in providing military potential. The psychology of offering two alternatives to squelch debate on the much more important question of the militarizing of Canada at great expense, that I understand.  

For a small country to match the firepower of much larger neighbours is futile. Should Russia or the USA, China or India decide that they can no longer do without the resources Canada sits on, our military resistance might simply mean that the necessary killing and plundering to achieve the inevitable would be multiplied. Surely prevention of war through skilled and sincere diplomacy is a much cheaper, much more effective defense than a hanger full of muti-million dollar jets, missiles and drones.

At a time like this, it’s helpful to review the military history of Costa Rica. A small American country in a continent where the mighty USA is determined to revive the Monroe Doctrine,  making the USA the real and only America, with the remainder of the two continents its backyard, so to speak. Costa Rica abolished its standing military in 1949, the rationale being that its sovereignty vis e vis the USA could never be guaranteed militarily in any case. Also, Latin American countries had experienced the usurping of militaries by dictators as forces of oppression. Funding was diverted to domestic life enhancement; the country has found no reason to reverse the abolition decision of 1949.

Please read a short history of that choice at Why Did Costa Rica Really Abolish Its Military?

I’m loathe to raise this point, but surely the three deist religions need to re-examine themselves in the light of their own, often expressed role in peacemaking. We’re not experiencing an extension of the Crusades, per se, but  the mindsets fueling the Iran/Israel/USA War right now would probably not be happening except for the preconceptions built in by Jewish, Christian and Muslim religions, each of which appear to have created and recreated the same God/Allah in their own image. Each of which have found ways to justify their positions in the current conflict embedded in their holy books.

Perhaps trying to explain wars logically is a fool’s errand. I can’t accede to the view that “as long as human nature exists, conflict will happen.” I’ve lived long enough to have experienced the empathetic, the sympathetic, the magnanimous generosity in human nature when language, culture or religious considerations are not inserted as being the essence of the moment. So I wrote a poem:

A KINDLY HAND

I was not then— nor ever was—

expectant that a kindly hand

would reach for me from up above

to rescue me from this or that

and set me down on firmer ground

 

But yet I sent a frightened prayer

from where I lay ‘mongst rocks and thorns

in a foreign ditch where few passed by ...

All hope seemed vain as darkness fell

that god or man would hear my cry.

 

I wept in fear and agony

and slept, and woke and slept again

but when the moon arose I saw

a figure hovering over me ...

I feared the reaper had appeared.

 

But no, a turbaned head now spoke

“As-Salaa-Alaikum,” was what it said

I answered him as I’d been told

“Wa Alaikum salam wa rahmatullah.”

He grunted, nodded, turned away.

 

I heard him groan to move the rocks

that kept me prisoner, tightly bound,

Unwound his turban, bandaged me

and voiced a sing-song melody

whose tone was all I understood.

 

He gathered sticks and built a fire

that spread a glow like summer sun

He sat me up, sat down by me,

We shared some Halvah, heavenly

and held communion, silently.

 

And I am now, will ever be

expectant that a kindly hand

will reach for me—not from above—

to rescue me from this or that

and set me down on solid ground.  

NAICA

gg.epp41@gmail.com

 

What's your *****ist, I mean really?

When peace like a river . . .

What’s your *****ist, anyway.

I’ve cancelled my delivery of the paper version of the Saskatoon StarPhoenix. “Why?” you ask, in a voice feigning interest. Here are the reasons:

 Main reason: I abhor the waste of resources in that mass of paper, 9/10ths of which interests me personally not at all.

 Secondary reason: Yesterday, the paper led with a huge, front-page headline about Harper pursuing successfully the youth vote. The building interest in the NDP was buried on page 4 or so.

 Third reason: For half the price of paper delivery, I can read on-line the StarPhoenix, the Edmonton Journal, the Calgary Herald and/or half a dozen other papers, some of which may print news and eschew propaganda (this may be wishful thinking).

 Fourth reason: Our paper is delivered by Karen refugee kids who are helping their growing family out by peddling their bikes around Rosthern in every kind of weather. It reminds me too much of serfdom. (This one needs more thinking; it might be a reason to continue delivery).


It’s Easter morning in the middle of an election campaign. Like the StarPhoenix, both events put pressure on people to declare themselves, to accept an *****ist adjective, to put themselves into their proper categories.

“Do you believe in less government?”

“No, not necessarily.”

“So you’re a socialist.”

“No, not necessarily.”

 “A communist?”

“Don’t you have to carry a card to be one of those?”

“I myself am an anarchist!”

“Funny. I thought you were a Biologist.”

“That too, I guess.”

“At least you’re not a bigamist . . . are you?”

"Certainly not."

“Well, if you’re an anarchist and an anti-communist, you must also be a fundamentalist, eh?”

“I could be; I don’t know what that word really means.”

“Neither do I, but do you believe in literal resurrection?”

“I’m a biologist, remember?”

“Then you must be an atheist.”

“No, not necessarily. I’m probably a fundamentalist agnosticist.”

“They used to burn hereticists like you at the stake, you know.”

“I think this conversation is going off the rails.”

“Probably a good thing. How about a game of ping pong.”

"Sounds good." 


It’s Easter morning. There’s magic in waking up at 6:30 in the morning and the sun already streaming in through the bedroom window. It’s a kind of resurrection—the spring of the year—that won’t tolerate an *****ist adjective easily. It shines on everybody, no matter what their *****ist, or lack of it. It unites; it abhors division; it shines over fences and walls and says: “Good morning, my children.”

It reminds us to celebrate all those who have spoken those magic words: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.”

Peacemaking is a gerund - a noun made out of a verb, if you like; it’s not an adjective.

Pacifist notwithstanding.

Happy Easter.