“The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them: that’s the essence of inhumanity.” — in George Bernard Shaw’s play The Devil’s Disciple
Warriors and war protestors have more in common with each other than with almost everyone else in between — especially those cold and timid souls who never set foot in the arena. In 2005, I went to hear a book talk in Harvard Square, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The author is a friend of mine who I served with in the U.S. Marine Corps, and we were now civilians overlapping in graduate school. Nate Fick was there to talk about his new book, One Bullet Away: The Making of a Marine Officer. A woman in the audience asked Nate, “How do you feel about war protestors — people who are opposed to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that you just fought in?” I will never forget Nate’s answer, “I love war protestors because at least I know they care about me and my men.” He followed up with some explanatory comments and the gist of it was active dissent shows they know we have people deployed in combat, they are engaged in the debate to bring us home, and they value his life and the lives of his fellow Marines. Warriors and war protestors care deeply about the guy and gal to your left and right. Do you?
I cannot stand the increasingly popular phrase, “it is what it is.” It has become a cowardly catch-all excuse for people to crawl under a rock, suck their thumb, and cling to a warm, comfortable blankie called the status quo while the world burns down around us. It ranks right up there with “not my problem,” “not my job,” and the crasser “I don’t give a [bleep]!” Many of my more well-centered friends will tell me I need to “let it be,” “let it go [trademark Disney],” “lighten up,” and “give less f**ks.” Well, I am here to say, that when it comes to other people, I have an unlimited supply of f**cks to give. And I think we all should give them — about each other — starting this Christmas.
I admit it is an important life lesson to learn how to accept the things you cannot control. In fact, my grandmother’s favorite prayer was the Serenity Prayer. She had it in her kitchen above the sink and I would read it each Wednesday night when she would host my sister and I for dinner during our visitations with my dad. After dinner, I would help her with the dishes and read the prayer. You have probably heard or read the version she had:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.
What you probably did not know, is that the original version written by Reinhold Niebuhr asked for courage first, before serenity, and specifically for changing what must be changed, not just what can be changed:
Father, give us courage to change what must be altered, serenity to accept what cannot be helped, and the insight to know the one from the other.
No surprise, I like Reinhold’s original version better.
If you are reading this, there is a good chance that your Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanza, Winter Solstice, or Festivus has been or is going to be better than that of many other people around the world. You have a mobile device, access to the internet, you are literate in at least one language, and you have enough free time to be reading this amateur blog. You are in a position to care for others and maybe even help someone else in need. Congratulations you!
I won’t deny that things still might be hard for you and if they are, I hope they get better soon. All I am asking you for this Christmas is for each of us to care just a little bit more about one another. Love thy neighbor, near and far. Like the Good Samaritan, walk toward the robbed, naked, beaten, and half-dead man on the far side of the road. Take pity on our fellow travelers. Apathy toward others is tearing us apart much more so than hatred. Hatred for another person at least means they acknowledge the person exists and they see the person as worthy enough for their time, energy, and emotions.
Apathy has led to the United States having well over 15% of the world’s COVID-related deaths (surpassing a record 800,000 American deaths just last week) while only having about 4.25% of the world’s population. Maybe if we gave more of a [bleep] about each other, then more grandparents would still be alive this Christmas to spend it watching their grandkids opening presents.
Historical film maker Ken Burns was interviewed early in the pandemic about what lessons we should take from the Great Depression and World War II that could help us through the current crisis and he said this:
We need to understand that our Latin motto is perfect — E Pluribus Unum — Out of Many, One. If we don’t follow that, we don’t survive. When we have done it in the past, we have survived magnificently, but it’s taken shared sacrifice, and that’s something for which we’ve lost the muscle memory for, and we need to get it back.
This idea that we are all cut from the same cloth and need each other for survival transcends our man-made borders. We are one big, interconnected, global network of people fueled by other peoples’ smiles, the holding open of a door for you when your hands are full, helping you fix a flat tire, bringing you a warm beverage when it is cold or cold water when it is hot, or literally helping you get back on your feet when you have fallen down. Each little display of caring concern and each small act of kindness matters. I love what the philosopher and psychologist William James said about this:
I am done with great things and big things, great institutions and big success, and I am for those tiny, invisible molecular moral forces that work from individual to individual, creeping through the crannies of the world like so many rootlets, or like the capillary oozing of water, yet which if you give them time, will rend the hardest monuments of man’s pride.
I believe the Christmas Truce of 1914 is one of the greatest examples of James’ point — seeing molecular moral forces work from individual to individual to rend the hardest monuments of man’s pride. I also believe it is one of the most magical Christmas stories of all time. These ceasefires along the Western Front during World War I were not sanctioned by higher commanders or coordinated between military leaders. In fact, after this truce, future truces were banned (no surprise, but then Corporal Hitler was against them). This was a grassroots effort which eventually included around 100,000 British and German soldiers who wanted to reconnect to their common sense of humanity and shared brotherhood in the middle of a bloody battle. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, all artillery fire ceased. Troops on both sides stopped shooting at each other and sang Christmas carols instead. In the No Man’s Land, they greeted each other, exchanged small gifts, and recovered and buried their dead. Some units even engaged in football matches.
Alfred Anderson, a Scottish veteran of World War I, recalled his memory of the 1914 Christmas Truce:
I remember the silence, the eerie sound of silence. Only the guards were on duty. We all went outside the farm buildings and just stood listening. And, of course, thinking of people back home. All I’d heard for two months in the trenches was the hissing, cracking and whining of bullets in flight, machinegun fire and distant German voices. But there was a dead silence that morning, right across the land as far as you could see. We shouted ‘Merry Christmas’, even though nobody felt merry. The silence ended early in the afternoon and the killing started again. It was a short peace in a terrible war.
The path to a longer peace in a terrible crisis starts with each one of us caring a bit more about each other — especially our enemies. Starting this Christmas, please give a f**ck about others. Grab some tissues and watch this tear-jerking glimpse of humanity. Merry Christmas and see you in the New Year!
