I Voted… Now What? (1)

I work hard to avoid hyperbole. I despise sensationalist headlines that hide the lack of genuine content in a news piece. So, I don’t say this lightly.

This is the most consequential election I have ever participated in.

In 2016, we knew of Donald Trump. He was a “media figure” whom it was difficult to take seriously. And whatever I felt about Hillary Clinton, I never really thought she would lose.

Until she did.

And then Trump’s presidency was a disaster. I say that as a public health practitioner who helped lead the response to COVID-19 in my local community.

It’s not simply that the president mismanaged the whole affair. At turns he minimized it or mobilized it to achieve his personal ends. Over time, he ended up leading an attack on public health institutions and leaders that risks our health every day, and leaves us nearly unprepared to face the next pandemic.

It was a disaster because so many died unnecessarily.

It was a disaster because it destroyed trust in public health structures, policies, and programs that, unfortunately, too many took and still take for granted. We are and will be sicker for it.

I am speaking about Donald Trump’s harmful impact on a single domain I know something about. He repeated that harm repeatedly, touching many institutions and people who work to make our communities nice places to live (see this for an example of what I mean).

Despite this, he might win again.

And I don’t know what I will do if he does. I am angry, sad, and confused—confused mostly, I guess. Confused that so many citizens of this nation seem to accept this man as a leader worthy of their respect.

But before I even start thinking about what will happen after November 5, 2024, if he wins, I need to figure out how to get through the days until that date.

So, I have decided to put away the news, the blogs, the social media feeds—all of it—and write instead.

But write about what?

When Mr. Trump won the first time, I was mayor of Davis, CA. In the days after his election, already knowing that his tenure would mean harms for many we loved, the people of Davis came together to prepare ourselves for this new world.

As mayor, I was asked to speak.

At the event, I tried to remind everyone who we are, what we value, and, most importantly, what our vision for our community is. It was a small speech—perhaps an inconsequential speech—but it helped me remember that without a vision, people wander. Without vision, we react. Without vision, we have no path forward.

But by articulating a vision, we can, in small and sometimes big ways, begin to move towards a future we value.

So in these days leading to November 5, 2024, I will lay out my vision for my community and my nation.

This might seem like hubris. After all, what gives me the right to lay out a vision? What does it even mean?

My response is that I do not expect my vision to prevail. But if I am to continue to contribute to a place I love. If I am to stand against the evils being let loose in our nation and world by people who care only for themselves, I must have something to offer in contrast to what I condemn: if not a plan, then at least a direction.

And I guess I would invite you to do the same.

What do you want for your community and nation? What ends do you want to pursue? What will drive you in a positive way in the days after November 5, 2024?

For, indeed, no matter who wins, it is incumbent upon all of us to know what we value and where we want to go to achieve the ends we desire for our community: to bring healing to the social, cultural, and physical world we inhabit.

See you tomorrow…

Installment 2

My Father’s Resurrection

This is not a theological reflection on what happens after death. Though I know if my dad’s somewhat confused understanding of bodily versus soul resurrection is true, he is in a good place right now.

But this is not that.

To be truthful, this is really about the resurrection of some of my father’s cherished beliefs.

Like the locusts that emerged in the Mauritanian desert after a period of dormancy, his beliefs never really went away. And like those locusts, once they return, they quickly spread—decimating everything in their path.

A great, moving and devouring, cloud of beliefs.

And these beliefs were not just his.

It turns out that dad’s views were held by many more people than I dared imagine. I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, dad was part of Nixon’s “silent majority.” A group of aggrieved “victims” who dredged up their victimhood from the scummy ponds of racism and the brackish creeks of xenophobia.

Mom was declining fast and we needed to find a place for her to go. All she had was Social Security and whatever passed as government support for end-of-life nursing care. It wasn’t much, but we needed it—Dad needed it.

We were in the car somewhere between Akron and Lititz, PA and I waxed oh-so-eloquent about how the tattered safety net that was giving mom a room in a subpar nursing facility was a god-send.

I was digging at dad because I knew he hated “entitlements.” Yes, I was acting like an ass.

Dad came back at me like a caged beast telling me how government aid was a horrible blemish on our history and how he wished he could go back and make sure Roosevelt had never lived. He hated it.

But he needed it.

Things got hot and I asked dad whether he was pulling down any social security benefits (I knew he was and I relished the opportunity to reveal his hypocrisy).

He said

“You bet I am, but at least I earned it.”

And there it was.

The deserving poor.

Dad knew he was. He also knew that “those people” who, in his view, most ardently sucked at the teat of the federal government most definitely were not. They were mostly urban. They were mostly black. And he knew without any nuance at all that the failure of our country was because of “them.”

Dad’s views were not spoken in polite circles in those quainter times. Now, they are espoused by a vice presidential candidate who has a Yale badge to go along with his apparent Appalachian bona fides.

Dad has gone mainstream, except today “black” is “Haitian” or, more generally “immigrant.” And while it’s not polite, it is, by now somewhat of a yawner in the mainstream media precincts.

And then there is the matter of Israel.

What I need to write, I am afraid to write. And what you are going to read in the following has likely been carefully edited—out of fear.

These days to criticize the Israeli state is to run the risk of being tagged with a moniker that no self-respecting person desires.

I will have to take that risk.

Dad was Anti-Semitic.

He was so in the most casual ways and in the most conspiratorial.

Dad would regret getting “Jewed”—cheated in some financial way in a transaction (usually involving an automobile).

And, dad, in his more ardent John Bircher moments, would also bitterly decry the ways Jews ran a worldwide shadow banking system that kept people like him down (always the victim).

These were both banal and dead serious.

But Israel—what even he referred to as the “Jewish State”—was untouchable. It was unassailable. It was not to be questioned or critiqued.

The reasons, to the non-initiated, are laughable.

But to the initiated—to those steeped in the arcane ramblings of Darby and his theological spawn—they are dead serious. They are existential.

To them, and I must oversimplify here, the establishment of the State of Israel was the final piece of God’s cosmic puzzle. It would, within a “generation” usher in the rapture of the saints (a kind of UFOesque snatching away of the chosen), seven years of earth-shattering “tribulation,” Armageddon, and then, the arriaval of Christ’s kingdom on earth.

Israel was a necessity—even if Jews were NOT among the “new” chosen (that particular view has changed in recent times).

But it was not just a necessity.

Because it was a precursor to everything that must come

AND

Because Jews were/are the historically blessed people of God…

Any nation that did not support Israel would incur the wrath of God. And that would not be good.

In the end, support for Israel, was a kind of insurance plan for the United States (or any nation). During the Cold War, the Soviet Union’s disdain for the state was the cause of its decline. Conversely, the US support for Israel is why we “won.”

Dad believed all this and our bitterest arguments—especially after Sabra and Shatilla in 1982—were about Israel. Dad feared for my mortal soul.

(Years later, after I returned from the “Middle East”—southwest Asia, perhaps—and I talked to dad about my Palestinian friends, our relationship almost ended. I begged him to consider his brothers and sisters in Christ who had been wronged by Israel, but he wanted nothing of it. And then later still, when I told him of standing in a Beirut mosque where the victims of the 1982 massacre were buried, he held firm.)

Dad’s beliefs were definitely not mainstream in those days.

But like the locusts, they have now swarmed the land. Who could have imagined that they would become the dominant doctrine of a Democratic administration.

Having grown up in that world, I could never have imagined that we would give Israel a pass on a massacre that is many orders of magnitude beyond Sabra and Shatilla.

But here we are.

Beliefs resurrected—or beliefs spreading like long dormant locusts, scouring the landscape of our time.

There was a time, no too many years ago, when I believed these beliefs were gone for good.

But just as I saw the reemergence of the long-dormant locusts, so too, have I seen the resurrection of his ideas. The resiliency of these beliefs is astounding and remind me that I must steel myself against that others that might come.

And, yes, there are others…

When You (Begin to) Realize it Was ALL a Lie

Mispah Grove Camp Meeting “Tabernacle” (there WAS a sawdust trail)

The start of my awakening to the lies and to the truth was at Pinebrook in the Poconos when I was about 21 years old. Pinebrook had inherited the mantle of an “old fashioned camp meeting” from Mispah Grove and, while there was no sawdust trail at Pinebrook, there was fiery preaching from the fundamentalist backbenchers who filled our churches in those years.

But that year, Pinebrook had a superstar: Henry Morris. Morris was an engineer who along with John Whitcomb had written the authoritative work on the young earth creation “theory.” Indeed, it was not a theory at all, but a mash-up of claims about how the world was only about 5,000 years old and evolution was a godless myth.

Not too many years before that Pinebrook awakening, I sat in the living room of our neighbors, the Kirkpatricks, and listened to my youth leader (curiously, a woman—she was at the limit of what SHE could do in that church), as she painstakingly chronicled the genealogies within the Hebrew Bible to come up with the c5,000 timeline that Morris and Whitcomb had proposed.

By the time I made my way to Pinebrook with my mom and dad and future spouse to spend a week basking in the mountain beauty and the stern reminders of why so many people were destined for hell, I was starting to doubt a whole bunch of stuff I had been raised to unquestioningly believe.

(Doubt was weaponized to question your “salvation” and place in heaven. Ergo: if you doubt “the faith”, you probably are not saved. You are damned.)

Sadly, I had no one with whom I could entrust my deepest doubts.

But a high school biology teacher, whose name I will never remember, was at Pinebrook that summer too.

And that was the beginning.

I latched onto him because he had an education outside the Bible colleges, which, we were taught were the only places committed to the truth. And one night that week when we all went bowling (an annual tradition), I sat next to him on the bus and, quite innocently, asked him what he thought of Morris’ teaching.

He lowered his voice and said something like: “I could get in trouble for this… but… it’s simply ridiculous.” He said little else except to note that none of Morris’ claims would hold up under any kind of scientific scrutiny.

But the damning thing he said, and what stuck with me forever after, was in response to a somewhat arcane argument Morris advanced about how light from starts that are millions of light years away could reach earth if the universe is only 5,000 years old. Morris claimed that God created the light to arrive at earth to make it seem like the universe was billions of years old (or something like that). My biology teacher’s response (stated in that same lowered voice) was that why would God do that? What kind of God would engage in that kind of bizarre trickery? To what end?

The teacher was profoundly offended by a God who would be so manipulative.

(Just another proof that these preachers had all created a god in their own image.)

And that was when I began to give myself permission to wake up. Permission to question. Permission to walk away. Permission to doubt the whole project. Permission to call BS on the entire package of lies meant to keep me in line.

But even though I gave myself permission, the actual escape, the actual liberation, the actual exit from that world took a long, long time. In some ways it is ongoing.

It’s hard for people who were not raised within a cult (take that term for what it typically means—a system that controls all aspects of one’s life and allows no questioning) to understand how hard it is to fully escape.

Believe it or not, Donald Trump has been a blessing in this regard. Imagine me saying that Donald Trump is a blessing—but he has been. As a truly apocalyptic figure (a figure who reveals), Trump has removed the veil from what the true project of Morris et al has always been.

Morris wanted control. He wanted control of a narrative. He wanted control of the explanation for how the world works. He wanted us to swallow the vision of a God who is unpredictable, punitive, and wholly lacking in grace. He wanted us to be afraid of that God because he wanted us to stay in line.

And though Morris is gone now, those who follow in his tradition want the same thing. That is why they attach themselves to a vile human being whom they believe will offer them the control they desire.

The biology teacher was, perhaps, the first truth teller I had ever engaged on questions of deep importance to me. And while he did not know it, he was granting me a key—a key to unlock the door to a world that transcended hate and control.

I wish I could thank him. I wish we could discuss the journey he set me on.

A Descent into Cynicism

I know where I do not want to end up. It gets harder to avoid it as the years go by.

I think of certain things I want to avoid as I age: meanness, stubbornness, aversion to change… I work hard to stymie them and, to date, I have kept them at bay.

Cynicism is another; perhaps less visible than the others, it is, nonetheless, more corrosive to the psyche. I don’t know what I will do if I end up there, but I struggle with it more every day.

I have been to the “killing fields.” There are lots of them and I have seen many—almost always after the fact; though Afghanistan was in real time.

I have seen what warlords do. The havoc that death squads—paid for with my tax money—wreak on a people. I know what happens when an occupying army lets local ethnic hatred turn to bloodbaths. I have stood above the crypts hollowed out in the floors of mosques where the school children are stacked like wood. I have seen what Made-in-the-US big guns look like perched on a hillside pointed at a neighboring village. I have walked the streets where the war on drugs breeds social cleansing.

Most Americans have not seen these things. Nor have they been to Southern Lebanon, Beirut, the refugee camps of Jordan and Syria, Peshawar, San Salvador, the country-side outside Managua, or Mazar-Esh Sharif (as the Taliban—whom the US created—drew near). I have walked among the blowbacks of US foreign policy and met people who were “cleansed” by its “democracy-loving” allies.

My descent, in other words, has causes born of seeing the devastation of what the power brokers in a powerful nation can and will do. Have done.

(Post 9-11 I listened to the fear of my Mauritanian friends who were sure they were next in the Global War on Terrorism (GWOT). I assured them they were not, then left the country on a flight deep into the Sahel with an American who clearly was there to scout out the potential targets.)

I think the long trip down may have started at Sabra and Shatila (which I visited many years later). It was hastened in the first Iraq war, and accelerated when, despite our marches, the US went back to war in Iraq after the WMD lies.

I want to be clear about something right here. I will do everything I legally can to ensure that Donald Trump never enters the White House again. He is a brutal thug with a taste only for himself. Narcissus must soon yield to what someday will be renamed trumpist/trumpism—a pathology about which Christoper Lasch, were he still with us, would certainly write.

However.

However. Just as I withheld my allegiance from Clinton over the “acceptable” deaths in the Balkans; just as I withheld my support when Obama failed to close Guantanamo and extrajudicially murdered Americans with drone strikes (carried out by good American boys sitting in a mountainside in Colorado); so, too, must I withhold my loyalty to the current candidate who supports (take your pick): a pogrom, ethnic cleansing, genocide—in Palestine.

(And I am NOT just talking about Gaza.)

And the contradictions contained in the prior two paragraphs only speeds my downward spiral into what I fear will entrap me—very soon, perhaps within the year.

Because I want, I desire, I yearn for a leader who will shepherd us beyond the hyper violence of the military industrial wasteland that our country has become. We are destruction and if I accept their terms, I will join the tacit confirmation that death dealing is my birthright. My obligation. My sacred duty.

And so I sink.

They Are Attacking Us

I have never worked as an election inspector (poll worker), but I have known several in the various places I have lived. They were/are my neighbors. I know the local Elections Clerk and Registrar of Voters. He lives in a nearby community.

I have sat on juries—one a horrific murder trial years ago in Baltimore and another in Yolo County, where I live now—that case was too bizarre to summarize in a sentence or two. Everyone on both juries lived not far from my home—they held a variety of jobs, and in a few cases, I got to know them personally in other ways after the trials were over. They, too, were/are my neighbors.

The “neighbor” part is important here. These people, be they election inspectors or jurors, are people pretty much like me. People who live, work, raise kids, and contribute in many ways to the well-being of the community of which I am part.

They are not members of a faceless bureaucracy or political operatives. They are citizens roughly committed to the same ideals I have. They want a safe place to raise their kids. They want to be fair. They want the best for their communities.

So, when I see Republicans (and let’s not dance around this one—they are, at least at this point in our history, all Republicans), when I see them attacking jurors because of where they live or the decisions they make when I see them attacking elections as rigged and suggesting that those whose job it is to ensure fair elections are corrupt or involved in some ill-defined conspiracy, I take offense.

And I am not alone.

Conservative (using perhaps an outdated meaning of the word) political theorist Patrick Deneen argues that the failure of liberalism (not political liberalism but the “western liberal project), is a function of a too great focus on individual autonomy at the expense of commitment to local community.

Wendell Berry, who I would also argue espouses essentially traditional conservative views (he writes exhaustively about “conserving”), emphasizes in nearly all his writing the importance of place-making, of sinking deep roots in a locality, and of fostering the deep interconnectedness that can only take place in a defined community.

An attack on election integrity—because all our elections are managed locally by people who live in the communities where elections occur—is an attack on our neighbors. It is an attack on the value of the local. It is an attack on the conservative values of place and the people who collectively inhabit it for the common good.

An attack on jurors (or their decisions) is an attack on my neighbors. Juries are tricky things, but having sat on two (cases that lasted over one month each), I can say that there is a sacredness to the process that transforms participants into deeply serious and committed community members (whatever they were before they were selected for that role). I have seen jurors cry out of fear that they would make the wrong decision. I have seen them agonize over the profound implications of the decisions we would collectively make.

(I remember an older white male juror in the murder case—the accused was a young black gang member—balk at making a finding of “guilty” because he did not want to be the one who altered a young person’s life forever.)

The point I want to make is simple: people who claim the moniker of “conservative” but attack elections and juries are not conservative. In their defense of a soulless man, they have abandoned the basic tenets of conservatism. In attacking the base of the local, they have revealed their commitment to attaining power by any means necessary. Whatever that commitment is, it is not a commitment to community, to the local, to the neighbor. And it is time that we articulate the truth that they are attacking the foundations of what creates resilience and meaning in our lives.

They are attacking us.

Power and History

History may be written by the victors, but in any age power confers the ability to manipulate history to achieve its ends. It does so in three related but distinct ways.  

  1. Mobilizing chosen traumas (collective myths)
  2. Appealing to recent (or “ongoing”) existential threats
  3. Promoting organized forgetting

Our world is one in which the “virtuous” powerful invoke a “rules-based order” designed to act as a check on aggression. But they transgress that order routinely in search of the talisman of the total defeat of their enemies. They accomplish this by manipulating history to remove the shackles of the “rules,” in order to engage in revenge, or to wage unlimited and endless war.

Chosen Trauma

In Transgenerational Transmissions and Chosen Traumas, Volkan provides an excellent recent example of the mobilization of chosen traumas in the case of the conflicts in Central Europe in the late 1990s.  In discussing the Serbian march to war, ethnic cleansing, and war crimes against Muslims, he describes how a historical event from the 1300s when the Ottoman Empire Turks (Muslims) in the Battle of Kosovo assassinated Prince Lazar. He notes how the mythologized tales of the battle were “translated from generation to generation” until “(w)ith the awakening of nationalism in Europe in the 19th century, Lazar’s image was transformed from that of martyr, victim and tragic figure to hero and then ultimately to avenger” (emphasis added). Lazar, as avenger, provided a foundation for the violence that was unleashed over 600 years after his death. 

Volkan notes: “Leaders intuitively seem to know how to reactivate a chosen trauma, especially when their large group is in conflict or has gone through a drastic change and needs to reconfirm or enhance its identity.”

He goes on to say: 

But when a chosen trauma is fully reactivated within a large group by stressful and anxiety-inducing circumstances, a time collapse typically occurs. This term refers to the fears, expectations, fantasies and defenses associated with a chosen trauma that reappear when both conscious and unconscious connections are made between the mental representation of the past trauma and a contemporary threat. This process magnifies the image of current enemies and current conflicts, and an event that occurred centuries ago will be felt as if it happened yesterday. An ancient enemy will be perceived in a new enemy, and the sense of entitlement to regain what was lost, or to seek revenge against the contemporary enemy, become exaggerated.

According to Volkan, history is manipulated, and those in power do it deliberately—intuitively.

Existential Threat

In addition to chosen traumas, the powerful use more recent traumas (not yet entirely historical) to maintain a sense of existential threat.  My son turned 33 this year, and I am reminded that throughout his entire life, leaders in the US have used perceived threats to maintain not only a global military footprint but also a global war.  

Perhaps that sounds like hyperbole, but long before the global war on terror (GWOT), the US was involved in various global policing exercises in the years after the fall of the Berlin Wall. The year my son was born found us in Iraq—well before the better-known Iraq war. I point to those years because those were the years when global communism crumbled, and the US was left as the sole superpower. It did not use that role for peace but to create and maintain global crises. 

The GWOT, however, was the epitome of appealing to an existential threat to compel acquiescence to continued military action. In the post 9.11 world, a visit to Washington was a visit to a city under siege—but the symbolism of the concrete barriers surrounding government buildings was not limited to that town.  In my small Northern CA city, we had the same visual reminder of the threat outside a local USDA field office.

It was the audacity of the GW Bush administration to maintain the existential threat and extend it to Iraq that was the hallmark of that historical manipulation.  Even as the color-coded warnings began to wane, we were reminded that 

America must not ignore the threat gathering against us. Facing clear evidence of peril, we cannot wait for the final proof — the smoking gun — that could come in the form of a mushroom cloud. (George Bush in a speech calling for military action against Saddam Hussein in October 2002).

It was all bullshit, of course, as we now know.  But revenge was needed against a former ally turned enemy, so…

Organized Forgetting

Of course, the entire GWOT (which continues in Southwest Asia and various parts of Africa to this day) also drew on the third form of historical manipulation: “organized forgetting.”

I first came across the concept of organized forgetting in listening to Philosopher Nathan Cartagena discuss it concerning critical race theory.  Cartagena attributed the idea to legal scholar Kendall Thomas, but Thomas traces it back to Roger Bromley in “Lost Narratives.” Thomas writes: 

Bromley describes the contested terrain of history as a dialectical unity of anamnesis and amnesia in which “[f]orgetting is as important as remembering. Part of the struggle against cultural power is the challenge to forgetting posed by memory. What is “forgotten” may represent more threatening aspects of popular ‘memory’ and have been carefully and consciously, not casually and unconsciously, omitted from the narrative economy of remembering.”

Most US citizens viewed the attacks of 9.11 as both unprecedented and unprovoked, and the leaders in DC did nothing to disabuse them of the idea that they were both.  By ignoring the role that the US played in creating the Taliban and Osama bin Ladin during the Cold War, they promoted organized forgetting.  They were successful in creating the narrative that far from the attacks being “payback” for US aggression around the world, they  were carried out by extremists who did it because (to quote the then-president) “they hated our freedom.”  

Later, there was a successful effort to promote organized forgetting about the support the US had provided to Saddam Hussein to wage war on the archenemy of the US—Iran during the 80s. In the aftermath of Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, and a decade later in the lead-up to the Iraq war, the US’s role in supporting this brutal dictator when it suited their purposes was rarely discussed.

The carefully curated, organized forgetting of the history of the US CIA in creating the Taliban to fight a proxy war against the Soviet Union in Afghanistan, or the substantial support to Saddam Hussein to assist him in prosecuting his war against Iran, led the popular press—print and visual—to largely ignore these histories as merely posthoc arguments against a just war proposed by the (usual) anti-war (anti-American) suspects. 

 Organized forgetting meant that, in a real sense, history started on 9.11 when a nation committed to justice at home and peace abroad was attacked without reason by nihilists whose religion was described as a death cult. There could be no historical reason why the hijackers might take these horrific actions, and any suggestion that there was bordered on a justification for their actions and was, therefore, treasonous. 

But there was a history, and it was not a pretty one. It rolled out in far-off places ignored by most Americans. But it did occur, and the intrepid employed words like blowback to describe how the death-dealing of the US “over there” brought the chickens home to roost here.  

Still, there was no place for this history in the rapid reaction to 9.11 in Afghanistan or the much longer march to war in Iraq. Historical analysis would have required a clear-eyed look at what we had wrought. But for those in power, such a clear-eyed look would have stalled the actions necessary to exact swift and destructive revenge on those responsible. 

Revenge (the Goal of Historical Manipulation)

It is hard to argue that despite all our “progress” as a species, we have left revenge behind and that we only wage war to achieve just outcomes.

And so, a word about revenge.

World War II—a few observations (see references for sources about the following):

  1. The United States imprisoned approximately 120,000 Japanese Americans during World War II following the signing of Executive Order 9066 by President Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1942. 
  2. The United States did not imprison German Americans during this war.
  3. The United States opposed the “area bombing” of Germany in the early days of the war. It limited its bombing campaigns to strategic bombing of sites of military significance.
  4. Great Britain, on the other hand, practiced area bombing and experimented with firebombing in Hamburg in 1943 (calling the effort “Operation Gomorrah”). The US participated in the Hamburg bombings but focused on strategic targets. British bombing killed 40,000 citizens of Hamburg. 
  5. Germany bombed British cities—first by accident and later with purpose.
  6. Churchill used the German bombings of British cities to justify the area bombing of Germany.
  7. Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, which, while not a state, was a territory held by the US. 
  8. The US firebombed Tokyo in 1945—killing over 100,000 civilians.
  9. The US used atomic weapons in Nagasaki and Hiroshima, killing over 210,000 innocent people.

These are simply facts, and they do not prove that revenge on a population is the goal.  Indeed, if you read the official justifications for the area, and specifically, the firebombing of these cities, it was to damage citizen morale (thereby weakening support for the wars being waged by their governments) and to remove vital workers from the war effort. But it is hard not to see collective punishment as the actual goal—revenge for actions taken against the US and Great Britain by Japan and Germany respectively.

Further, the intentionality of these realities demonstrates the will to avenge the attacks against the US and Britain. In an exchange with Keith Lowe, author of Inferno: The Devastation of Hamburg, 1943, he stated that the bombing of Hamburg over ten days was a “trial and error” approach to learning how to use incendiary bombs to maximum effect to destroy a city. This trial and error approach gave way to a much more deliberate approach to ensuring that hundreds of thousands would die in city firebombing.

In his book Dead Cities, and Other Tales, Mike Davis describes a visit to a restricted military site in Utah where the US built a replica German city and firebombed it, rebuilding it over and over to perfect the bombings’ effects.  The British built a similar “city” in the UK. The rigor with which the engineers and architects built housing structures and added typical German furnishings to maximize fire destruction is stunning. No expense was spared to ensure the creation of massive firestorms (see Fire Weather: A True Story from a Hotter World, by John Vaillant for a full description of what a firestorm truly is—it is devastating.)

Here is Lowe, citing civil and medical workers who entered Hamburg after the firebombing:

On a little open square near Boonsweg – I shall never forget the sight – there lay hundreds of men and women, soldiers in uniform, children, old people. Many had torn the clothes from their bodies shortly before their death. They were naked, their bodies seemed unmarked, the faces showed peaceful expressions, like in deep sleep. Other bodies could hardly be recognized; they were charred, torn to pieces, and had shattered skulls . .. There an old woman lay. Her face was peaceful, soft, and tired 

… And there, a mother with a child on each hand. They were all three lying on their faces in an almost gracefully relaxed position . . . And there a soldier, with charred stumps for legs. There a woman with a torn body, on whose bulging-out intestines the flies were feeding. And there a child, clutching a birdcage in his hand. And there, detached from the body, a boy’s foot with a black boot; a small, brown girl’s hand with a blue ring . .. The heart almost stops beating at such sights.

In Lowe’s telling, Britain maintained a pretense of bombing strategically but sought justification for area bombing—which it found.  Few in Great Britain rallied against this destruction of human life—most cheered it on, and the cheerleaders used the ongoing existential threat posed by Germany long after Germany had effectively lost the war to continue the practice.

In the US, the voices opposed to the area bombing of Japanese cities existed within the US military, but they were systematically sidelined (see Searle, 2002).

I have taken this excursion into World War II for two reasons. 

First, to make a case that the ends to which the powerful use chosen trauma, existential threat, and organized forgetting are bent on punishing their enemies—not merely to obtain a military victory. A close reading of Inferno reveals a chilling resolve to destroy and punish.

Second, the devastation of Japanese and German cities during the Second World War was so great and so visible that it led to the development of international accords about the treatment of civilian populations in times of war.  

This so-called “rules-based order” stands as a self-congratulatory but largely empty standard that the powerful use to condemn others but conveniently ignore when it comes to their own wars.

When Hamas launched its attacks on Israel in October 2023, all three forms of historical manipulation were on display, and even as the global south pointed to the vacuousness of talk of a rules-based international order, the US and most European leaders provided cover drawing on these historical manipulations.

To be clear, what Hamas has done to Palestinians over the years and what it did on October 7, 2023, deserves unreserved condemnation.  It was a crime against humanity.  

But Israel’s response has proven every bit as destructive in terms of infrastructure and housing decimated as any of the area bombing campaigns during World War II.  The global south is well within reason to point out the hypocrisy of the “West.”

And the manipulation of history?  Let’s examine them.

Chosen trauma – Probably the most fascinating historical manipulation in this war is the trauma that Israel (and the US media) chose.  Immediately after the attacks, the media was filled with statements such as “This is Israel’s 9.11.”  

This choice would seem to be deliberate in that 9.11 was carried out by a “death cult” bent on the destruction of the US due to their hatred of our culture and freedoms.  A chosen trauma that draws on the tropes of radical Islam is purposeful and powerful.

Existential threat – Israel’s Prime Minister has been a master at holding the Israeli population in thrall to a multitude of existential threats—with Iran as the source of most regional actors bent on the destruction of the state of Israel.  Hamas’ attack, though relatively limited and “low tech” compared to the destruction Israel itself has been shown to unleash on Gaza, has been portrayed—even now after the overwhelming destruction—as an ongoing existential threat, calling for unlimited war to destroy the enemy.

Organized forgetting – In reality, the organized forgetting surrounding this event has a long history that stretches throughout the entire history of the Israel/Palestine conflict.  I can think of no other conflict in my lifetime in which the forgetting has been so organized, ongoing, and supported by media as this conflict.

Each time there is a Palestinian attack, the clear message is that it was unprovoked, unforeseeable, and unprecedented.  Even as settlers use violence to displace West Bank Palestinians and the effective land “controlled” by Palestinians shrinks year by year, there is still no reckoning with a history of violence against these people. It is organized forgetting on a massive scale.

Conclusion

If there is one, it is this: as our weapons of war have become ever more “efficient,” precise, and destructive, those in power have attempted to convince us that we can have war with limited loss of innocent life. They seek to curate an image of war that is cleaner and only used in the most dire of exigencies. 

But they know that we know it is a lie because the images that live stream onto our devices show us it is merely the same old civilian massacres carried out in the newest ways. 

And because they know we know, they must manipulate history to assure us it is proper, necessary, and unavoidable.

It is time we reject this manipulation by refusing to be bound by the myths of the past, by telling the truth about history, and by refusing to be made afraid by the latest existential threat scare tactics.  

References:

Bromley, Roger. Lost Narratives: Popular Fictions, Politics and Recent History. Popular Fiction Series. London New York: Routledge, 1988.

Cartagena, Nathan. “Whiteness,” June 30, 2021. https://www.nathancartagena.com/blog/whiteness.

Davis, Mike. Dead Cities, and Other Tales. New York: New Press : Distributed by W.W. Norton, 2002.

Giroux, Henry A. The Violence of Organized Forgetting: Thinking beyond America’s Disimagination Machine. City Lights Open Media. San Francisco: City Lights Books, 2014.

Lowe, Keith. Inferno: The Devastation of Hamburg, 1943. London: Viking, 2007.

Searle, Thomas R. “‘It Made a Lot of Sense to Kill Skilled Workers’: The Firebombing of Tokyo in March 1945.” The Journal of Military History 66, no. 1 (January 2002): 103. https://doi.org/10.2307/2677346.

Thomas, Kendall. “Rouge Et Noir Reread: A Popular Constitutional History Of The Angelo Herndon Case.” Southern California Law Review 65, no. 2599 (September 1992). https://scholarship.law.columbia.edu/faculty_scholarship/2177.

Vaillant, John. Fire Weather: A True Story from a Hotter World. First edition. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2023

Yilmaz, Ruveday Celenk. “Srebrenica: The Result of a Chosen Trauma,” July 11, 2018. https://ruveydacelenk.medium.com/srebrenica-the-result-of-a-chosen-trauma-a2c3ea24326a.

Volkan, Vamik D. “Transgenerational Transmissions and Chosen Traumas: An Aspect of Large-Group Identity.” Group Analysis 34, no. 1 (March 2001): 79–97. https://doi.org/10.1177/05333160122077730.

Power was the Point

But really, to what end?

I never worried too much about the pastors and other “Christian” leaders of my youth gaining broad political power. They were insular, incurious, and paranoid. They derived their power, in part, from all three of these and by nurturing the same in their followers.

But their power was wielded in small fiefdoms. That is not to say they were harmless. Far from it. For the people—especially the girls and women—of their realms they caused real harms.

A word on those harms—from someone still seeking escape from them. The church in which I was raised taught that one could not lose one’s “salvation.” Once you said the “sinner’s prayer” you were saved and nothing could snatch you out of God’s hand. That was the good news.

But… power…

How do you maintain control of your flock if they suddenly believe that there is no sin that cannot be forgiven? How do you retain them in your reign, if they understand that their eternal destiny is secure?

You rig the game. You move the goalposts. You tweak the rules.

And this is where the harms begin. Oh, they JUST begin.

It goes something like this: “Yes, you cannot lose your salvation! Once saved always saved. God is faithful to his promises… But, if you sin—or maintain a sinful lifestyle (the footnote on what this constitutes would be longer than this brief reflection but includes things like card playing, and dancing, and drinking, and ‘running down the pastor’—you get the point)

“…If you maintain a sinful lifestyle or just keep sinning then it is fair to ask, ‘Were you ever saved at all?’”

And if you don’t think that little trick works, then you never spent sleepless nights hugging your blankets, crying, and begging eternal God not to leave you behind when Jesus comes to take the saved to heaven and leave you behind to face the tribulation and the lake of fire that appears sometime at its end. Because, after all, you were never saved to begin with.

And that’s pretty much how they ruled their little estates. And while it became clear at some point that they coveted the true power of the State, it just did not seem they could figure out how to break out of the smallness of their world to grab for the golden ring of their wet dream theocracies. But those dreams clearly existed.

Side note, it was not just power that was the point—power to control (my sisters couldn’t wear make up and were publicly shamed for square dancing at school), power to manipulate (“Do you really think it’s right to play baseball on prayer meeting night?”), power to abuse (“Just one little kiss,” the pastor begged my mom).

Power alone was not the point. Cruelty was the point. Abuse was the point. A lack of accountability was the point. Autonomy—the child of the lack of accountability—was absolutely the point.

(For all the talk of Christ’s love for humankind, I will never forget the sneering hatred for “others” (others include just about everyone who is not a virile white male) and the unhidden glee of an “enemy” dying and going to hell: “He got what he had coming”—so Clint Eastwoodian. So Christian.)

Like I said, I never worried…

Oh dammit, why don’t I just say it? They just weren’t very smart! And at a certain point we all saw through it and we just got out. For some of us it took a long time (fear of eternal death was, after all, a wonderful tool in their power-building arsenal).

I never worried…

But somehow. Now. After years of refining the tools of shame, manipulation, and abuse at a local level—and still fronting insulation, incuriosity, and paranoia—they hold some gavels and they control increasing parts of our national power infrastructure.

They have always ruled as a cruel minority—mocking those who are different, using myth and straight up lies and dissimulation to maintain a pliant flock. But now they have the tools to scale it all up. To lead a quasi-national flock of timid followers through manipulation and fear.

It would be hilarious, if it were not so deadly serious.

In hindsight, I always knew they would sell their souls to a master manipulator because they had sold their souls so many times before. I knew they would be able to point to the sin in others only because they knew is SO well in themselves.

So here we are.

The nightmares of my childhood are now out in the open for everyone to see. They always wanted the power, I never understood why. I still don’t. I just know they have it now and they will wield it in all the old ways. To control. To manipulate. To abuse.

And it’s always women, and brown people, and those without a voice who will pay the price.

On NOT “Moving On”

Time moves on from the incomprehensible murders that ripped two beloved people (sons, brothers) from our community.  

We grieve.

We desperately want the memories of their remarkable lives to endure.  We don’t want them to leave us. 

We also want the words we speak about them to represent who they were—we want to be faithful to them and for our collective memories to dwell on what their lives were and promised to be.

This is, perhaps, especially true for David Breaux, who had a very public face and message.  Compassion.  We deeply desire to honor his memory by challenging one another to be the kind of people David challenged us to be.  

I have struggled with this myself in every interview I have given and every speech I have been asked to give about him.  My question: “Have I been faithful to what David would have wanted—what David did want—for this community?”  I am left to wonder, but I press on to try to get it “right.”

Perhaps this is why some have focused on David’s words to his sister concerning forgiveness.  By invoking David’s exhortation to her to forgive if something should happen to him for which he could not respond, they are, perhaps,  merely trying to remain faithful to the man they loved—a man who changed their lives. 

And yet…

And yet, that word “forgiveness” is a word that we dare not speak lightly.  It is a word that contains a universe of meaning and nuance.  It may be a word that is too big for us to grasp fully.

Pope’s aphorism “to err is human, to forgive, divine” captures the difficulty of this word for all of humanity.  The great world religions either relegate the capacity to forgive to the deity itself or to humans exercising godlike forbearance.  

Those of us who have been harmed in personal relationships know that it is one thing to say “I forgive you” and quite another to live lives characterized by what true forgiveness would yield. We harbor an absence of forgiveness in practice even as we claim to have forgiven. Our hearts overrule our words.

And this brings us back to David’s admonition to his sister.  There are many victims in this series of crimes—crimes that we fear we will never understand.  The deepest wounds are in those closest to those who died.  The wounds of losing a son or a brother are deep and to organs vital to making sense in the world.  Their healing may never be complete.

Other victims—more distant in relationship—are likely to bear scars only after a long healing process.

For some, forgiveness might be something we believe we should strive for, if for no other reason than David asked us to.  For others, forgiveness is a destination beyond a very far horizon.  We cannot see it.  It may exist.  But we do not know if we can or should go there.  And for still others, forgiveness is a category error—a word that can’t possibly mean what those using it seem to mean. It is not a destination.  We cannot go there, and we should not try.

The problem with normalizing the idea that forgiveness is something we should strive for—to honor David—is that it negates the perspective that many who are deeply wounded have.  In suggesting it is our collective destination, it seems to say, “Get with the program; it’s time to move on.”  That may sound harsh.  But to those who do not view forgiveness as the “destination,” it feels like they are being asked to abandon their grief, get over their pain, and leave their deep wounds as if those wounds should have healed by now.

I know the temptation to push us to “move on.”  How many times when I was a public leader did I say some variation of “How can we help this community move on?” But what if it’s not time to move on?  What if the wounds will not allow it?  What if we cannot shortcut grief?  What if we can’t heal? What if there is no destination but grief itself?

What would David want? 

I think we know.  David would have said: “Have compassion for those who continue to suffer—to grieve. Act towards them with patience, love, and a commitment to their wellbeing.”

Some in our community are ready to take a step that they believe David would want them to take.  Others can never take that step. David would, I believe, want us to walk patiently with those who grieve.  He would want us to invite them to the bench, to offer whatever they need, to patiently mourn with them, and to never suggest to them that it is time to “move on.”

Liturgies of the Bench: Compassion and Lament

Compassion Bench, Davis, CA

Ibram Kendi, in his book Stamped from the Beginning, makes a bold assertion: people don’t start with racist ideas (beliefs) and then engage in behavior driven by those beliefs. Instead, people begin with racist acts and then find beliefs and ideas that justify or match those acts.

Philosopher James K.A. Smith develops an entire book–Desiring the Kingdom–around a similar notion. For Smith, humans do not begin with a “worldview”–a set of guiding principles that they use to structure their lives. Instead, people engage in acts that form them to be certain kinds of people.

Smith’s is a broad philosophical review of what makes us human. He concludes that we are not primarily “thinking” beings but beings who “love”–who desire. Our love and desire point to what we believe human thriving requires, but we do not start with the idea of what thriving is. Instead, we live into that understanding. Our actions form us to be certain kinds of people–they form us to love and desire. We do not “think” our way into our values; we “act” our way into them.

He discusses our identities as formed by rituals, many of which have lost meaning, but some of which are critical to understanding who we are. The latter, a subset of cultural rituals or practices he refers to as “liturgies.” A liturgy is a “formative practice”–a repeated act that forms us into certain kinds of people. While liturgy is a religious term, Smith describes secular liturgies that shape us in specific ways:

  • The liturgy of the mall (or, if he were writing today “Amazon), forms us to love instant gratification of our every desire–a kind of healing for our yearning for meaning;
  • The liturgy of the military-entertainment complex forms us to a deep allegiance to the nation as protector and savior; and
  • The liturgy of the university forms us to be productive consumers who will lead society to be faithful consumers.

The Compassion Bench in Davis, CA is a place of liturgies—over time and in recent days, it is a place where we have engaged in practices that have formed us to be certain kinds of people.

At the bench we have engaged in a liturgy of compassion—a practice that has formed us to be people of compassion. At the bench (and elsewhere) we have engaged in a liturgy of lament—a practice that has formed us to be people who mourn the brokenness in the world, and express a yearning for healing.

Liturgy of Compassion

David Breaux led us in a liturgy. He did not ask us to think about compassion. Rather, he asked us to write about it, and in the writing to own our ideas in a different way. He fully expected that the act of writing would lead to acts of compassion—and, in fact, for David, compassion meant action.

But beyond the act of writing, in which many of us participated over the years, David sitting at the bench created a daily liturgy. Every time we passed by the bench, we were required to think about our commitments to compassion.

His very presence prompted us to engage in an ongoing formative practice: Have I loved as I should? Have I forgiven? Have I sought forgiveness? Have I been reconciled? Have I pursued reconciliation?

His question “how do you define compassion?” and his presence formed us to be people of compassion.

Liturgy of Lament

David’s death brought many of us back to the bench to engage in another formative practice—another liturgy—that we, as a community, have practiced far too many times in recent years.

This is the liturgy of lament.

As our community has faced devastating events—either directly or in solidarity with others—we have engaged in the formative practice of coming together to express our pain, support one another, and commit to action in the face of our sense of loss.

Whether the event was a murder, a mass killing, a hate crime, or the coming to power of people who dehumanize and destroy, we have come together to lament. We have gathered again, and again, and again to participate in a liturgy of mourning. But our mourning has always been accompanied by a commitment to stand against the hate that we lament.

We have come together to seek and offer solidarity: a hug, a smile of recognition, a communal song, a shared promise, a commitment. This formative practice has had a profound effect on all of us who join in the liturgy of lament. We have left our shared time prepared to not just “carry on,” but to live lives characterized by love and support of our neighbors.

The compassion bench is a place where our community has and will engage in liturgies—formative practices: practices that form us to be people who will face the challenges of our time with grace, compassion, and a will to seek change.

Two Davids

In the space of just a few months, two dear friends, both unhoused, both named David, died in my hometown. My relationship with each one was complex. But I loved them both, and both of them taught me lessons I could not have learned anywhere else.

Because both were named David, if you search online you can find them. I sit here tonight sad that I was not a better friend to David—both Davids.

Two Davids

Two Davids taken this year

One by train

The other by knife.

Bodies riven. Life

Driven from them

(We cannot pause too long, to consider the violence that renders flesh inert)

Oh David

Oh David

Two Davids

There was no place for them, for

We made no place for them.

They slept in “locations not meant for human habitation”

A definition.

And we allowed that because

They might inconvenience us, or

They made choices, or

We lack the fiscal resources, or

It’s not our problem, or

I just don’t have any fucking time for this right now.

Two Davids

David behind a jailhouse glass, stable

We speak of Ellul, and Keizer, and Help and what it takes to succeed in the world—what would it take?

David on the corner, purpose-driven

We speak of sympathy, empathy, compassion and the potential to heal all of mankind—what would it take?

Two Davids

I see David on the curb between two cops—they will beat him

I see David on the bench—they will confide in him (and reveal their lostness)

I see David, sitting in a circle with a homeless crowd too impaired to speak—he shares pizza with them and binds up their many wounds. Oh, they are wanderers on the planet and they will never find peace, but David feeds them.

I see David, standing on the corner with a housed crowd too privileged to identify the source of their angst—he shares a space with them and binds up all their many wounds. Oh, they are wanderers on the planet and they refuse to find peace, but David feeds them.

Two Davids

Oh, god. They left too soon.

They were the best of us—without portfolio

We simply could not see.

In other times or places, maybe

Maybe we would have made a place for them

A space for them

But we are not in that space/time—that universe

Out here and now in this place—in this space

We are poorer

They are gone.

Two Davids

If there were fairness

If there were just a tiny space for justice that restores

If there were an economy that valued peacemaking, truth telling, and love offering.

If there were a world in which gifts of healing were honored

If there were a place for two Davids

Two Davids