What does peace mean when a gun is pointed at you?

Exactly one year ago, on December 14, 2007, I was shot.

Here are the details. It was a Saturday evening, a week before Christmas. At 5:00 p.m. I walked to my car from a grocery store at Selby and Dale in St. Paul. As I neared the parking lot there was a loud bang and I felt what seemed like an explosion of sharp rocks hitting my legs. I looked across the street and a man in a large SUV was pointing a gun at me. After running back into the store and checking that I wasn’t bleeding (I wasn’t) a store clerk called 911. I took the policeman who arrived to where the shooting occurred. Next to where I had stood, windows of a car had been shot out.

Perhaps more than the image of a gun pointed at me, the blown out windows said, this is real, this really happened. This feeling was confirmed even more starkly when a few days later I received a letter from the police department that began with the words, “You are a victim of a crime.”

I was unable to give the police clear identifying information of either the vehicle or shooter, so there was little the policeman or the squad cars that kept showing up could do.

In the next days my first inclination was to not talk about what happened. After all, when someone asks, “How was your weekend?” unless you’re a drama queen, who wants to say, “Oh fine, except for when I got shot at”?

But I did need to talk about it, and sharing the story gave my friends openings to talk about the things they don’t say when someone asks, “How you doing?” I learned a lot about how violence touches or has touched many people I know.

One of the things I have been meditating on this last year is that an experience like this can give one an opportunity for insight into the kind of conditions all humans feel. In particular, I have thought a lot about what it means to be vulnerable. Is there a more vulnerable position to be in than standing on a sidewalk with a loaded gun pointed at you?

It is our human condition to be vulnerable—vulnerable to acts of random violence (such as the terrible shooting spree in Mumbai), vulnerable to loss, vulnerable to chance catastrophes like the collapse of the 35W bridge, vulnerable to our own dying—it is an ongoing condition we all know but rarely acknowledge. And does not the issue of vulnerability play out on the larger scale of nations? America was always vulnerable to such attacks as those on September 11, and we still are. Instead of admitting our vulnerability, America sought the bully’s role and hammered Afghanistan and Iraq with fists of fire. Our weapons and armies showed the world that we could kill more people than they did, that we are anything but vulnerable. Perhaps only some Americans bought that fantasy. It is my hope that Obama’s election shows how many people did NOT buy that fantasy!

When I told one friend about the incident, her first reaction was “To have something like that happen to someone who teaches peace.” Other reactions told me that what happened to me was most people’s worst nightmare. So what does someone who teaches peace and is committed to nonviolence do with all this?

I strangely have a better appreciation for why decent, kind people buy guns. I know now why many lock their car doors when driving through the city. Maybe I even appreciate better why countries expend so many resources to arm themselves.

But I ask myself this, if I had a gun in that situation, what value would it have had? I could have shot back. And such an act would have violated every value I have that is engrained in each cell of my body. I will not live a life on the ready to shoot back.

I stand on different ground than I did before this incident. It is a more uncertain ground, and I have more questions than answers. Will I feel safe again? Is safety actually an illusion? How are you supposed to respond to violence? What should you do with your fear? What do I do with this insight into vulnerability, and does it have something to do with compassion? And what does peace mean when there is a gun pointed at you?

I have no answers. And maybe not having answers to such questions is one more thing that we all have in common.

Hope Regained

"And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright - tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes NOT from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope."
Barak Obama, November 4, 2008

Barak Obama’s election as America’s 44th president is truly a grand victory for anyone who cares for peace and social justice. I don’t have to repeat here the great significance of not only an African-American elected president, but the fact that it took white votes to make it happen. November 4 was a day to be proud to be American. When is the last time any of us who have been working for a more just America been able to say such a thing?

At stake was more than just a choice between Obama or McCain. We had before us a choice as to what kind of America we want our country to be. In that regard, this may have been the most important election since Lincoln. The Obama America is one that celebrates diversity, a country whose government works for all its people and not the most wealthy, a country that plays well with others on the world stage where words like “diplomacy” and “cooperation” are not epithets.

McCain’s America would have been an escalation of W.’s narrow vision of a parochial nation, where fear trumps trying to understand the “other,” an Orwellian dystopia of paranoia and control. McCain was adamant about making America an even more powerful superpower (i.e., bully), and his election would have balkanized the world, strengthening the paradigms of “us” vs. “them.” It is an out-dated vision that deserves the death it received.

Will we who seek peace and social justice get everything we hope for in the Obama government? Probably not. No sitting on our laurels for us. But we can take heart that the better vision of America emerged from this election. Our work may not be done, but it will have to be easier than it’s been since Ronald Reagan started our country down the path of never ending war and economic implosion. We have our work ahead of us. The clean up alone may take a generation. But it will be good work. And I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that at long last, I have hope regained.

Ancient Elections

The run-up to the presidential elections has gotten me thinking about elections in ancient times. Thinking about how democracy, governance, and elections were handled thousands of years ago is a good reminder that how we do things today is not how they were always done, nor do they have to remain the status quo. There are other models; America is not the first society to care about common voices being heard, fairness, and the responsible governance of our resources. May we not be the last.

I’ll start with the obvious ancient society of Athens around 500 BCE. Other Greek city-states set up democracies, but none were as powerful or as stable (or as well-documented) as that of Athens. In the experiment of the Athenian model, the people did not elect representatives to vote on their behalf but they voted on legislation and executive bills in their own right. Participation was by no means open, but the selected participants were constituted with no reference to economic class and they participated on a scale that was truly phenomenal.

When the Ancient Greeks had need of appointing officials—especially decision makers—they used a form of lottery called “sortition” (also known as “allotment”) drawing colored pebbles from a bag.

No candidates. No attack ads. No swift-boaters. At the basis of the Athenian system was the belief that governance was a civil duty, and no man was better or worse for the job than anyone else. (And yes, it was “men” who could vote and hold office. The Ancient Greeks were egalitarian in ways that may even have been beyond us, but not so great in others.) They even had special machines, Kleroterions, to ensure fair drawing of the lots. Hanging chads may have been unique to Florida elections, but corruption goes way back.

In Athens, "Democracy" (literally meaning rule by the people) was in opposition to oligarchy (rule by a few), which was the most common form of governance of the time. And so Athenian Democracy is characterized by being run by the "many" (the ordinary people) who were allotted—by lottery—to the committees which ran government.

The Ancient Greeks practiced another type of election very different from what we do today. It was called “ostracism,” a procedure in which a prominent citizen could be expelled from Athens for ten years. Imagine the rules of TV’s “Survivor” being applied to government. While this practice sometimes expressed popular anger at the victim, ostracism was often used to defuse major confrontations between rival politicians (by removing one of them from the scene), neutralizing someone thought to be a threat to the state, or exiling a potential tyrant. There was no charge or defense, and exile was not in fact a penalty; it was simply a command from the Athenian people that one of their number be gone for ten years.

Each year the Athenians were asked in the assembly whether they wished to hold an ostracism. If they voted "yes", then an ostracism would be held two months later. In a roped-off area of the agora, citizens scratched the name of a citizen they wished to expel on “ostraka” or potshards (“ostraka” which is where the term is derived from) and deposited them in urns. If a minimum of six thousand votes were reached, then the ostracism took place: the officials sorted the names into separate piles, and the person receiving the highest number of votes was exiled for ten years.

The person nominated had ten days to leave the city—if he attempted to return, the penalty was death. The property of the man banished was not confiscated and there was no loss of status. After the ten years he was allowed to return without stigma. It was also possible for the assembly to recall an ostracized person ahead of time, especially during a crisis.

Even public heroes could be ostracized. One of the most dramatic ostracisms to take place was when Themosticles was voted into exile. Themosticles saved Athens from destruction by the Persians, devising the naval strategy that won the war against what was then the world’s greatest super power. His big problem happened after the war when he strengthened Athenian walls and the Spartans feared the growing dominance of Athens in Grecian affairs. It is likely that Spartan factions in Athens led to his ostracism. On the other hand, his sense of self-importance may have led non-Spartans to fear that Themosticles had the makings of a dictator. So he was voted off the city and he never returned.

What if instead of voting for a president we instead voted someone “off” the country? It might sound like a silly idea at first, but knowing that at any moment you could be voted out so dramatically, you would have to make sure that you were taking care of the common good, that your actions were transparent, that you sought neither fame, power, nor financial gain. It would be to the people you were most accountable. It might not be such a bad thing.

The Ancient Greeks were not the first to practice ideals of egalitarianism and wise governance for the common good. One of my favorite stories is of the ancient Mesopotamian city Uruk. Uruk was situated east of the Euphrates and its heyday lasted 800 years between 3200 and 4000 BCE. It is perhaps best known as the capital city where much of the action of the epic poem “Gilgamesh” took place. What I love about Uruk’s governmental structure is that the people of Uruk believed that being a leader was a “civil service.” No name of any leader of Uruk was ever recorded. Displays of wealth were even forbidden. Thus none of the leaders of what was at that time the largest city in the world are remembered for posterity. Their governance has remained anonymous.

Would that our society had such an ideal. If no one is going to remember your name throughout history, does that not change how you will relate to your job of governance? Knowing that your work will remain anonymous, will you not invest your energy into doing good work for your people as their “civil servant” instead of starting wars and removing heads of other states so that you could be remembered by abstract posterity as some kind of hero?

Lotteries, exile, faceless governance. Might it not be time to bring back some of the ancient ways of elections and governing? I’ll admit that sortition and ostracism may not be in the mix anytime soon, but I sure would like to see the ideals behind Uruk’s governance enter our vernacular. Athenian Democracy was a short-lived experiment that ended with terrible tyrannies after the death of Pericles, while Uruk lasted much longer. In the last 8 years with “W” as president and atrocities such as government sanctioned wire-tapping and the death of Habeas Corpus (just to name a couple), the great American experiment has been flirting with tyranny. I pray that we turn a new road, and use as our model the idea that governance is a civil duty dedicated to nothing more than the common good.

Our Journey Home: Finding Peace Through Creativity

A few years ago I set myself a challenge. I had once taught a class called “Writing Peace into the World” and I decided that I would not teach this class again until I felt hope for peace in the world.

Anyone can find evidence for despair. I won’t enumerate here all the reasons we can become cynical about the future. It could be a long list.

So where do we look to make a different kind of list, the evidence of good will and harmonious future?

I found the answers I sought in a book. This particular book was a treasure trove, The Future of Peace: On the Front Lines with the World’s Great Peacemakers by Scott Hunt. This is a collection of interviews with the big names in peacemaking including the Dalai Lama, Aung San Suu Kyi, and even Jane Goodall.

What fascinated me was how all the great peacemakers clearly defined peace as more than the absence of violence. Suu Kyi talked about how peace is the freedom from fear. Not surprisingly the Dalai Lama said that “Peace is actually, I believe, an expression of compassion, a sense of caring.”

More importantly the overwhelming theme throughout the interviews was how we should endeavor to develop a peaceful mind, that doing so is more important than anything else we can do. We should not seek to change the world, but do our inner work. The great Vietnamese Buddhist monk and peacemaker Thich Quang Do said,

“The human heart contains a good seed. It is concealed deep within the heart. It is always there. When this concealed seed is realized, the whole world will be better. When you have peace in your mind, there will be peace in the world.”

Inspired by the powerful words and stories I read, I felt I could teach my workshop that uses writing to learn more about peace. It was not so much that I found the answer to world peace, but my heart had been opened to the possibility for hope.

An interesting sequence of events then followed. After teaching this workshop students asked that they continue to meet. This led to the formation of the Loft’s Peace and Social Justice Open Group and we continue to meet monthly to share our writing and discuss works by inspiring writers so that we can use our creative craft to promote peace and sustainable justice.

The philosopher Epictetus once said that one can immediately become a better person by finding and emulating worthy role models. Initially my role models began with people like the Dalai Lama. That has changed these last years thanks to the people I’ve met in the writing group and through our festival we organize called The Art of Peace. My new role models are every day people who, through their actions, give evidence for a hopeful future and include:

• Karla Gergen, a writing group member who has now left the US to teach young girls in Honduras for the next couple years.
• Sami Rasouli, an Iraqi-American from Minneapolis who is right now in Iraq promoting peace through his organization Muslim Peacemaker Teams.
• The people who form Nonviolent Peaceforce—headquartered in Minneapolis—which is an unarmed, international peacekeeping force composed of trained civilians who are saving lives in violent conflict areas around the world every day.
• Local writer Carol Pearce Bjorlie who through her writing, music, and teaching inspires students and writers to, as she exhorted in the May-June issue of A View from the Loft, “remove the mute” in behalf of peace.

You can find similar inspiration at the Loft on September 21, the International Day of Peace, when the Peace and Social Justice group presents its second Art of Peace festival. This year’s theme is “Our Journey Home: Finding Peace through Creativity.” The festival will present speakers Sami Rasouli and Carol Pearce Bjorlie, many workshops including one on nonviolent peacekeeping by members of the Nonviolent Peaceforce, a labyrinth you can walk on, performances and readings including The Voices for Peace chorus,Pangea World Theater, poet Todd Boss, and a rare art show bringing together American and Iraqi artists, all of which will demonstrate how to use your creativity in the service of peace.

Regularly updated information can be found at http://www.michaelkiesowmoore.com/artofpeace.html.

This article was printed in the September-October, 2008 issue of A View from the Loft.

A Country of Flaming Love

I don’t know if the timing is fitting or ironic that I begin this Peace Blog in the midst of the occupation of the Republican National Convention in my backyard of downtown Saint Paul. As I write these words helicopters are flying over head and I hear sirens nonstop. The streets are filling with National Guard troops and riot-clad police. The club and machine gun totting police outnumber the residents of my city.

I could fill this blog with reportage of the MANY incidents in which the police have arrested and brutalized innocent people. I even witnessed tear gas and flash bombs set off by police to move a befuddled and confused crowd of people who did nothing illegal. Others have been doing a great job documenting how Saint Paul has been turned into a brutal police state and I recommend looking at this reporting at http://www.minnesotaindependent.com/.

I instead focus this first blog on the image here – a peace pole sitting before rows of rusted fence that the RNC erected. To me nothing symbolizes the America that Bush/Cheney have created in their image than this – the lonely call that peace prevail on the earth surrounded by barricades of wire. The America our government wants is one of fences, an America that keeps people out, an America that deploys the show of force rather than the tools of diplomacy.

In the course of this week I have watched police fill my streets, harass anyone they deem a potential criminal (and they use an arithmetic of their own making), and use tear gas as their main method of crowd control. Sure, there were break away demonstrators who sought to create havoc. Some broke a Macy's window and others threatened even worse, thus stealing the message of peace that so many others expressed. But of the thousands of protesters who marched for peace, these splinter groups only represented a handful of what had been a generally well meaning, peace centered presence of people of good will.

One of the most chilling stories I heard was of a 17-year-old pacifist who because he set a backpack on the ground to look for a lighter for someone who asked for a light was wrestled to the ground by five officers, and according to his mother, were “repeatedly kicking, beating, dragging and hitting him.” The boy was left bloody and his back covered with the imprints of police boots. The full story can be found at Minnesota Independent.

The many images of long phalanxes of club wielding police and stories of them overreacting and hurting innocent people beg the question, if we do not want a police state (ostensibly the free wheeling police and the curtailment of our once protected rights are all for the purpose of “keeping us safe from terrorists”), then what kind of country is it that we yearn for and what would it look like? I see this peace blog as an ongoing meditation that will seek an answer to that question. And so I begin with a radical vision.

A.J. Muste in “Getting Rid of War” makes an argument for unilateral disarmament, saying that “the enemy is not the other nation, but war.” A unilaterally disarmed America is a bold image. It is an idea that says we will take shelter in the conviction that a national commitment to peace will protect us and not arms.

Muste anticipates what questions will arise with this idea, namely, What will stop any country from running over us? One answer he gives is that, “It is our contention that, whatever the provocation or the danger, there is no justification in heaven or on earth for our arms indiscriminately wiping out any other people, men, women, the aged and the babies. If we have no words harsh enough for those who would do such a thing to us, what are we if we do it to others?”

Muste proposes a United States which dares to “risk sanity” and establish a “true, racially integrated democracy here at home.” Such a country would be an example to others.

Ralph Waldo Emerson in his essay “War” echoes a similar answer to the fate of a nation that chooses not to declare war or carry arms - a “nation of lovers” whose motivation is that of “flaming love”: “Whenever we see the doctrine of peace embraced by a nation, we may be assured it will not be one that invites injury; but one, on the contrary, which has a friend in the bottom of the heart of every man, even of the violent and the base; one against which no weapon can prosper; one which is looked upon as the asylum of the human race and has the tears and the blessings of mankind.”

What country do you want? To quote Emerson one more time, Shall it be war, or shall it be peace?