Nothing needs to make sense

It just needs to make friends

This message is scheduled to go out on 27 October and the question for me, now, on 22 October is: how often in the intervening five days will I be here to edit it?

What you can hear above is the text as on 22 October. What you can read below is the text as on the 27th. Does that make sense, my friends?

Last week (I count the week as starting on Sunday, the way I was raised to), a contact of mine on a social media website who lives in Ukraine posted a poignant photo of a man who remembers being tortured by Russian invaders, whilst copious sums of public Ukrainian money are spent on lavish wedding celebrations for an MP (I initially thought the man had lost his bride—see comments below). I was struck by his facial features, for they resembled in my mind a photo I’d seen of a Russian soldier in a train, being taken off to war. In both photographs, the men are weeping.

Images: these two men are each other’s enemies. Neither is mine. Can you see the sense in that?

My contact asked me: was I comparing a Ruzzian soldier to a valiant warrior for the Ukrainian cause? I had to calm him: I’d merely asked, “Not the same guy?”, but tensions run high in Ukraine, and I understand. And he understood me, and we reached a placid understanding, together. (I had in fact suspected the Russian soldier in the railway carriage might have been ‘posed’.)

I don’t tell him not to write Ruzzian or Orcs, but these are words I don’t use. Not because I sympathise with the Russian side—it so happens that I don’t—but because the use of such dismissive nomenclature may say much about what the user thinks of the person described; it also says something about their readiness not to take a balanced view on anything at all. I’ve said before, and I’ll say again, Ukraine is allowed to hate Russia. Because they’ve been Russia’s target. The rest of us should consider refraining, and I for myself must refrain, from hatred, and, hence, simply utter criticism. And Mennonites among us must pray fervently for peace and understanding, while succouring to those who suffer, on both sides of the divide.

But how am I to voice any view on the conflict in Israel and Palestine? Must I condemn all violence? Why, yes, of course I must, because it contradicts my principles to wage war. Must I say that one side or the other is right, or is wrong? In the field of geopolitical warfare, I have no doubt that both sides are right, and that both sides are wrong. But, more than that, I ask myself how such acts of unremitting cruelty can emerge in a world so conscious of the simmering unfairness that plagues that region (or indeed the region of Ukraine)? Glasses that are half-full and half-empty are suddenly allowed to overflow and camels’ backs are broken by straws. How does a glass go from half-full to overflowing so quickly, and so unnoticed?

In America, there is tumult at Harvard University on this score. Over 30 student organisations rallied behind an open letter of protest by Palestinian students, only to find the support dwindling as Jewish student organisations voiced outrage. One billionaire sponsor demanded the names of the Palestinian supporters, lest they be inadvertently hired by corporate CEOs. I find that disgusting, even repugnant. Disgusting, that he might endeavour to disadvantage those who have no part in the atrocities being practised; repugnant, that he might actually want to contact people he feels are below the salt, in order to do his dirty work for him. It works with politicians, so I assume it works with undergraduates as well?

It’s not that nobody is capable of being dispassionate. It’s that nobody is allowed to be dispassionate. To be dispassionate is to be ignorant; to not see the big picture; to be provincial or parochial in outlook; to have no clue; to be naive and valueless; to be a troll for the other side; to be a target, requiring to be eliminated as worthless dross. Reminds me of an apocryphal “old Chinese proverb:” Man who sit on fence get spike up arse.

Meanwhile, I suppose I can condemn Israeli violence, but only as long as I condemn Palestinian violence at the same time. I suppose I can say that Israel is at fault, but only as long as I say Palestine is also at fault. I assume I can say Palestine should be recognised as a state, but only as long as I say that Israel is rightly recognised as a state. I suppose I can say that Israel has the right to wipe out the Palestinian people, but only as long as I say that Palestine has the right to wipe out the Israeli people. I suppose I can say that America is right to lend support to Israel, but only as long as I say that America would be right to lend support to Palestine.

How futile that all would be, because none of that makes sense. It might make sense to me, in my own thoughts, but it sure as shibboleth would make no sense to anyone else, and, in a way, sense is something that we reason in order merely to communicate it to others. Nothing in our own minds needs to make sense. Calculus doesn’t need to make sense unless you need to apply it to your work, or to pass a Calculus exam.

Likewise, entrenched positions in respect of world events don’t need to make sense. What such positions need to do is align. Align with those to whom you plan to apply for a job. Or align with those whose hate message you endorse. Or align with those from whom you want to attract money, or votes, or standing, or position, or contracts. Or align with those whose evil you want to harness for your own ends.

But sense? Nothing needs to make sense; it just needs to make friends and, with friends, what else?—money, maybe.

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Babies can do as they please. They’re allowed to barf, poo, sleep and eat. And when they don’t get what they want, they cry, till they get it. Because they’re helpless and vulnerable and sweet and ours.

Everything a baby does is forgiven. We protect them and secure their environment and, when they wander into places they shouldn’t be, we chide them softly, so as not to upset them and cause tears and tantrums. Babies are so manipulative, they should be in advertising. Oh, they are.

The same goes for those who are convalescing. If they’ve been through a dreadful illness, we make allowances. “There, there,” we say, as we pat the back of their hand with empathy. Those who have been wronged by fate can do no wrong. A cancer survivor told me, “I cheated the doctors, you know!”

As it so happened, I did know, but not from him, who’d not even informed me he was ill. I think responding as if someone had betrayed his medical history to me, or as if he was so important that his illness would have been on the front page of the newspapers, was out of place. “How much of their bill didn’t you pay, then?” I asked him. Cheating the doctors is something other people say of those who cheat doctors, isn’t it? Maybe this guy was cured without any doctors. Anyway, how could I have known—he wasn’t wearing his medals.

Anyway, over time, Uncle Frederick’s war wounds begin to pale a little. “Can’t he ever get up and fetch a fork himself?” “I fought for King and Country, didn’t I?” Yes, Uncle Frederick.

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We lost six million in the Holocaust.
- Yes, we know. We’re sorry. We’re truly sorry you had to suffer that.
Well, I wasn’t myself in Auschwitz, but our people suffered none the less.
- Yes, they did. Dreadfully.
Hamas killed over a thousand of us.
- It was frightful. Awful. Those poor, innocent people.
So, we are right to wipe out the scourge of human animals in Gaza.
- No, you’re not.

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We were attacked without provocation.
- Yes, we know. We’re sorry. We’re truly sorry you had to suffer that.
They bombed maternity hospitals, tied people’s hands behind their backs and shot them, shot a man on his bicycle, raped children in front of their parents, then shot the children, then shot the parents.
- Yes, we saw the pictures, we saw the horror, we saw your President’s face.
Thousands of innocent citizens killed by the Orcs.
- It has been frightful. Awful. Those poor, innocent people.
So, we are right to insist that you always agree with everything we say.
- No. No, you’re not. Not if we think you’re wrong. We can tell you we think you’re wrong.

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I have had enough spikes up my arse. I have decided.

Thou shalt not kill. It’s that simple. To me, that makes sense, even if it loses me friends.

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