When we talk about peacemaking and the ‘third way of Jesus,’ people inevitably ask bizarre situational questions like, ‘If someone broke into your house and was raping your grandmother, what would you do?’

The thing is, I don’t hear the Source of Love calling me to adopt a non-violent strategy for getting by in the world. The call I hear is way simpler, and, in some ways, harder. It’s a call to drop my agenda, to surrender, all the way, to love.

I don’t get to decide whether to get in an airplane and fire a missile intended to destroy people and property in Libya. I don’t get to decide whether to walk with my family to the town square in Benghazi to protest. I don’t get to decide what anybody else should do, only what I will do. And what I will do, when and as I can, is to love.

Sometimes, that love involves action, and sometimes it involves sitting with pain, tears streaming down my face. Sometimes it involves getting in the way of someone who would cause harm, and sometimes it involves not getting in the way. I’m never sure I have found the most loving path. But once each moment passes, I find myself in a new moment, with a new opportunity to love.

War used to be easy to identify. It happened between states—governments, actually—according to predictable rules. But when someone blows up a building for a political cause, is it an act of war, or a crime? When bin Laden’s people did it in September, 2001, it was an act of war. When McVey et. al. did it in 1993, it was treated as a crime. When Iraqis do it, it’s treated as both at once.

It’s important to know the difference, because our constitution limits what police can do. They are forbidden, for example, from driving down the road shooting whoever looks suspicious. They aren’t permitted to arrest people and put them in secret prisons with no access to attorneys, and without filing charges.

The idea isn’t new that “rights” just don’t apply to certain groups of people. We’ve all heard someone say that child molesters don’t have rights. Lately, we hear that terrorists don’t have rights.

But here in America, we’re supposed to understand that people are innocent until proven guilty. Innocent men have rights. If we forget that because of the horror of the crimes involved, we will have given up on what it means to be freedom-lovers.

On my first trip, in April-May 2003, we would walk out on the streets of Baghdad at night, albeit with caution. Even on my second trip, in the summer of 2003, I would feel comfortable hopping in a car and driving 100 miles north from Baghdad to Tikrit. To do either of those things now would be suicidal.

His chronicle of the war, Fiasco: America’s Military Adventure in Iraq, gives senior military officials a voice for their frustrations, and brings us a clear view of both the heroes and the tragic mistakes of this “adventure.”

We are supposed to be at war in Iraq, but not against Iraq. And certainly not against the Iraqi civilians. But I wonder if part of the problem is that we don’t know who we’re fighting.

In World War II, when U.S. forces fought in France, it was clear that we were fighting against German Nazis. The French were happy to have us there. When U.S. troops entered Afghanistan, the war was (and is) against Afghanistan under the Taliban government, who provided refuge to Al Quaeda.

When soldiers entered Iraq, the war was with Iraq under the rule of Saddam Hussein. You may have noticed that Hussein is no longer in charge there. But we are still fighting. No one there has weapons of mass destruction. Who is the enemy? With no Hussein, can we still call this thing in Iraq a war?

By now, some foreign America-haters have taken the opportunity to join the fray. Mostly, though, we’re fighting Iraqis who don’t want us there. Maybe instead of calling it a war, we should call it “helping the Iraqi government restore and maintain peace.” But helping would imply that if the Iraqi government said “Thanks, we’ll be fine now. Bye-bye,” the U.S. troops would come home, that if the Iraqis elected not to host foreign bases, we’d quietly move on. And nobody believes that.

It’s been called a “war on terror.” That doesn’t actually name an enemy, but we’re not supposed to notice that. I do notice, though, and I also notice that terrorism seems to be what you call the acts of war committed by the weak side. When the strong side terrorizes civilians in order to gain compliance, we call that “winning the hearts and minds.”

What we’re fighting is rebellion. “If you’re not with us, you’re against us.” Terrorism is simply a method for rebellion. It’s what small forces use to fight large ones. It’s horrible, but no more horrible than war.

If you can’t really be at war against terrorism, an idea, maybe we’re at war against terrorists, the people. Let’s see. There’s Al Quaeda. That’s a given. Then there are the Sunnis and Shias that kill each other in Iraq. Then there’s the Iraqi military, and you never know who they’re going to kill. (Same for the U.S. Military, apparently.)

Here’s the point. If “the war” were against Al Quaeda, then when Al Quaeda’s leaders are brought down, it will be over. If “the war” were against Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, it’d be over now. After all, Americans are not fighting the Republican Guard. That war is done.

But this war is not going to be over anytime soon. The reason we don’t have a named enemy is that the American government is fighting a war against rebellion, against anyone who doesn’t follow its plan.

It’s been called “the long war.” And it will be long. Rebellion isn’t going to be eradicated any time soon.

Meanwhile, Iraq is a prison, with our soldiers the guards, trapped right along with the rioting inmates. Rebellious or just potentially rebellious, all prisoners are suspect, and presumed guilty of something.

The song, in turn, was based on a traditional story about a fellow who, when he was to be released from prison, wrote a letter to his sweetie asking her to let him know if he would be welcome by tying a yellow ribbon around the oak tree in the yard.

The connection between the story (made popular by the song) and the current yellow ribbon craze is a bit strange. But don’t worry; the history lesson will be brief.

In October of 1979, the deposed leader of Iran, the Shah, was admitted to the U.S. for medical treatment, angering many Iranians. In November the American Embasy was attacked, and 66 Americans were taken hostage. Some were released, but most were kept for the next 14 months.

It was a very difficult time in America. Anger against Iranian-Americans was strong, prices were high, and people were afraid. Yellow ribbons sprouted on trees and cars and houses saying “We haven’t forgotten you, we are working to get you home, and we will welcome you.”

It’s a lovely message, and it’s a darn shame that it’s been lost in the current hysteria. I’d be proud to wear a yellow ribbon that means “We’re sorry you’re trapped in a horrible place. We haven’t forgotten you, we are working to get you home, and we will welcome you.”

If you’re interested in really getting what’s going on with this war, you should definitely watch it. It’s not some whacked-out conspiracy thing. It’s the real story, with interviews with real, somewhat ordinary government people talking about what our foreign policy is about.

(And as an added bonus, you can see a picture of Rumsfeld having a buddy-buddy chat with Mr. Hussein.)

But I was sitting in the bookstore yesterday, and was pulled away from my thoughts by something that sounds like “Old Dan Tucker.” And it was!

My feet were tapping, I was humming, and I was thinking “Why am I enjoying this so much?” Then, a banjo and a fiddle and something about “Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal,” and I’m still loving it! I was surprised over and over by folk songs that really rocked. I tried to get back to work, and next thing I know I’m humming “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize.” So I got up and asked what it was.

The album, We Shall Overcome, is Bruce Springsteen’s tribute to Pete Seeger, and it’s another 21st Century protest album. (See also Neil Young’s new album, Living With War.) Something tells me we haven’t seen the last of them.

On August 6, 1945, President Truman ordered the bombing of Hiroshima, Japan. The U.S. forces affectionately named the nuclear bomb “Fat Man.” August 9, a second bomb, “Little Boy,” was dropped, this time on the town of Nagasaki.

A year later, George W. Bush was born.

He has recently declared that he will not rule out the use of nuclear weapons against Iran. “All options,” he tells us, “are on the table.”

“All options are on the table.”

On the Man

Born in the shadow of power,
in the shadow of Fat Man, that
little boy must have wondered
what kind of bombs there
would be when he
took charge.

Ducking
and covering
weren’t enough to
stop this boy
from wanting to reign
destruction.

On the Bombing

I thought there might be
some poetry in this news.

But there is only quiet, only
humming of traffic out my window,
murmur of neighbors’ voices
next door, selection of
fruits and vegetables at
the corner market, and
fresh clean water, dripping
from my tap.

Only the fourth generation,
but our sins have grown
impatient.

I’m relieved to see it, hoping that things really will begin to change. On the other hand, I don’t feel very hopeful at the moment.

It really seemed like things would change 40-50 years ago, before those philanderers and radicals, Martin Luther King, Jr., Robert Kennedy, John Kennedy, and Malcolm X., were shot. And I guess they did change, in many positive ways (and some not-so-positive ones). But not enough.

I’m looking forward to my sunny optimism returning, but for now, I see the lies all around us and I don’t see the way out.

I got junk mail that was all about lying and misleading the other day, and I realized that there are people all over the place who make their living lying. I mean, your next-door neighbor, the lady at the post office, everywhere. Is it any wonder people won’t stand up against it?