Chapter 3
Getting up early every day had served Luke well for many years, giving him the edge he needed to excel. But now the depression that usually didn’t settle in until he was alone at night was seeping over into the mornings. Or maybe it wasn’t depression. Did the label matter? He felt lost. Confused and disjointed. He couldn’t find the right words to describe it. There were periods of wondering if he really was as naïve as many others thought, interspersed with brief moments of clarity when he could see his vision and he knew all was working out as it should—just to be slammed back down when he realized how long he had been pursuing his dreams. And then there were the times when he would catch himself staring into space, wanting to do nothing more than cry. In his better moments, he had known this would happen, but it still didn’t make life any easier when it did.
And Luke wasn’t happy with himself. He was drinking too much, and that made everything harder. It felt like all the practices that he had built into his life over the last three decades were now more of an illusion than his foundation. And he was scared—scared that he wasn’t up to making his way as a writer, to be able to support himself with his own efforts. He had overcome so many challenges to get to this point, but now he was wondering if he had reached his limit. At times it didn’t feel like his life was his own. The pressure to perform, to find his special offering, had taken over everything else. He’d been riding the edge for so long, needing so much help along the way. And still he had difficulty taking care of his needs, much less helping those people closest to him. Why was it so hard for him to find his place in this world? Or to be compensated for the time and effort and massive amount of work his journey had taken? The people from his past who had stuck it out through the boredom of the daily grind were now looking forward to retirement. And here he was still trying to figure out what he was going to do with his life. While these experiences humbled him over time and, if anything, he had needed a bit more humility in his personality, he wished he could find an easier way to cultivate it. In the end, he knew all he could do was get up every day, stay present, and remain in the flow. He knew he was a member of something much greater than himself—that everyone was. And the more he held life lightly, the more the universe could respond to his needs. But to do that, to release his illusion of control over anything but himself, required daily practice.
Luke’s morning meditation had been developed over the last three decades of searching for ways to best engage the world and understand his purpose for being. While he had tried to follow the paths of some of the ancient wisdom practices, he always found their cultural baggage distracting. He had little patience for pomp and ceremony in life, and none when it came to humans claiming special knowledge of Spirit. Somehow Luke knew we each had to follow our own path in the search for the Truth—that our journeys are different, and while we may need help getting started, at some point we have to step out and find our own way forward. Yet many of those who chose to immerse themselves in a tradition or sit at the foot of some guru looked down on his decision to take only what worked for him and to leave the rest as resulting in some kind of spiritual mishmash without foundation or validity. For them, being identified with an ancient linage had more significance than the practice itself, which, for Luke, meant it was ego–centered and diminished the sacredness of it all. So he had decided to keep this aspect of his life private. Few people knew of the daily practices that held him together, much less his chosen source for contemplation, The Urantia Book.
Luke had adopted the belief that Spirit invested itself in minds that had shown the ability to choose toward truth, beauty, and goodness, thus creating the potential for a new soul. In this way the traditional goal of enlightenment, the coming to the recognition of oneness, becomes only a step on the path to realizing we are each unique beings, the same as, yet different from all other entities in the kosmos. Each of us a blending of the ultimate personality of the Divine, with the partial personality of the creature birthed at conception. And to facilitate this pairing of the mortal with the Divine, Luke engaged Centering Prayer: entering a space of quiet, attentive receptivity where he allowed Spirit to meditate the infinity, eternity, and universality of the Ultimate to him, rather than him attempting to meditate on Spirit. In so doing, he joined with God to foster his growth to the final melding of the two into a new soul never again to separate.
After giving himself to Spirit, Luke entered the space for blessing others in his life. Using a form of the Buddhist practice of Tonglen, he brought forth each person in turn, breathing in their pain and sickness as he visualized them radiating forth Divine energy. Moving next to gratitude, he gave thanks for all in his life and visualized his participation in bringing greater compassion to the planet. Knowing he is a portal for Divine love and a focal point for experience, one with Spirit, all sentience, and all things yet still unique, he breathed himself back into to the manifest world.
***
Buy, The Boétie Legacy, and a World in Peril, HERE.
Out on the street in front of the apartments, Luke oriented himself according to the small hand–drawn map of the surrounding area he saw pinned on the wall in the lobby. To his left, the road went north, and to his right, south, which was the main compass point for Granada because you could often see the Mombacho volcano in the distance, its crater shrouded in clouds. Straight ahead looking out of the apartments was east. Luke took off down the street in search of the coffee shop highlighted on the map inside. He found it within five minutes.
After ordering a large Americano with milk, Luke sat down at one of the three small, round tables inside María Elena’s panadería and pastelería, or bread and pastry shop. The large upright cabinet next to him was filled with cakes made for La Purísima, the Nicaraguan holiday celebrating the conception of Mary that was happening on Sunday. He learned last night that the explosions going off throughout the day and night were called bombas, and that they would increase in intensity throughout the holiday and into January, until they eventually tapered off. And “bombs” was the right term for them. The whole emphasis was on noise, not visual effects. Whether they were Chinese rejects or reworked munitions from the Contra War of the 1980s, they were much stronger than any fireworks Luke had seen in the states. More like dynamite than firecrackers. And there were enough people around without fingers or hands to prove it. Luke was already tired of jumping when one would go off close to him, and he wondered how many people with PTSD from the revolution were cowering in their closets this time of year. Or if Latin American machismo kept that bottled up too.
“Moleskin,” the middle–aged man at the counter with a yoga mat slung over his shoulder and rainbow–colored sweatbands on each wrist said, pointing to Luke’s journal. “I just adore those even if they’re a bit expensive. Can I join you?”
Luke looked up from his writing. “Sure,” he said, sticking out his hand and getting a gentle squeeze back. “You bet. I’m Luke.”
“Simon. I’ve never seen you here before. New guy in town?”
“Yeah. I got in a couple of nights ago. Still getting my feet on the ground. You heading to yoga?” Luke asked, nodding to the mat.
“Coming back, actually. I was supposed to teach my first class today, but it got canceled. That happens around here,” he said with a look of dejected resignation.
“That sucks. Yoga’s been a mainstay most of my life.”
“Nice. Do you teach?”
“No. I keep it private.”
“What are you doing in Granada?”
Luke was silent as he gathered his thoughts. He still wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “I needed a place to take a break and start writing. And I need some dental work I can’t afford in the states. I hear it’s a lot cheaper here and just as good, so we’ll see.”
“You’re a writer! How wonderful. Writers are just the best! Oscar Wilde’s my favorite. And what kind of juicy tale are you spinning?” Simon asked, perching his chin on the palm of one hand and giving Luke an intent gaze.
“I’m still working on that,” Luke said, smiling. He was still unsure how to react when men showed sexual interest in him, and he wondered if these situations were as comical to the women he’d been attracted to. He hoped not. “Well, the what’s not so much the question. It’s the how. Somehow I want to help people realize they don’t have to accept this world like it is. That what we’re experiencing has been built on ideas that we now know are not true, but they’re still guiding our beliefs and actions. And a lot of times they’re being promoted by people who know better—or at least, people who should—but they keep the status quo in place, so they’re hard to change.” Luke felt himself becoming more serious. So much for a relaxing cup of joe and writing in his journal, he thought.
“Like what?” Simon asked, nodding with a look of appreciative skepticism.
“For example, there are three falsehoods most people believe that support a state of perpetual war. Things like believing that violence is the most powerful force. And that people are violent by nature. Or that war, like we know it today, always has been and always will be part of our world. When people accept this stuff, they think we can find peace by waging war.”
“Like Orwell’s ‘war is peace’ thing,” Simon said.
“Kind of,” Luke said. “And granted, maybe at one time violence was all–powerful. But the world has evolved. Humanity has evolved. Things are different now. Nonviolent methods are trumping violent oppression.” And that trend is increasing, Luke knew.
“But we’re still just brutes no matter how smart we think we are,” Simon said, shaking his head. “Survival of the fittest means the biggest, baddest boy wins, right?”
“No, neither of those ideas are accurate, but people still believe them,” Luke said. “Violence is not innate in most humans. The willingness our troops show today to kill on the battlefield is not natural. Up until about the Second World War, the evidence shows that less than twenty–five percent of the troops ever fired their weapons, even when ordered to do so or when fired on by their enemy.” Luke had seen how skeptical people could be when hearing about this research, and he wondered what Simon was thinking. “But when this became known, our military changed its tactics and started conditioning—in other words, brainwashing—soldiers to kill people, instead of training them to have courage on the battlefield.” And it worked, Luke thought. “The firing rate is now up in the ninety–some percent rate. But breaking down so many people to accept levels of violence so far beyond their nature is having, and will continue to have for many years, huge detrimental affects on our societies.”
Simon’s face was impassive as Luke continued. “Now, though, we know that instead of being violent by nature, humans have links to both violence and cooperation. And it’s the context of the situation, what’s happening at any specific moment, that determines which of them we draw on. That’s how we determine if violence is appropriate or not.” Luke tried to keep his intensity down. He sensed Simon was considering his ideas but not quite there.
“Well, that would be wonderful. I’m just not sure I agree.”
“Look at it this way,” Luke said. “Sometimes using violence is correct. Like defending our family from someone breaking into our house. Or a society protecting itself from violent minorities intent on promoting their own agendas, like religious terrorists try to do. I’d even argue that saving ourselves and our world from insane or criminal minds is one of our primary responsibilities as a person or a race, regardless of our personal feelings about violence.” For many people, he knew this was one of the things that held them back from considering nonviolent conflict as an option. They were confusing individual welfare—the right to protect one’s self and family from criminal elements—with collective welfare, the need to improve or transform societies using means that reflect the end desired. “But there are other times when cooperation is more important. When violence isn’t appropriate. Even in nature, being able to get along with others is as much of, or maybe even more of, a survival trait than being the strongest or most aggressive. So it’s the situation that determines if we use violence, not our genes. We have a choice.”
“Reminds me of bonobos,” Simon said, smiling. “It seems environmental changes a long time ago resulted in gorillas and chimps living together north of the Zaire River in the Congo, and bonobos living by themselves south of it. Because the bonobos didn’t have to compete with the gorillas for food like the chimps did, they developed a more peaceful tribal structure with the females in charge. Pretty fascinating.”
“I love bonobos. When two groups encounter each other in the jungle, instead of the males fighting, they have to stay in the back while the female leaders meet out in front and have sex.”
“The G–G rubbing thing. That’s so nasty.” Simon rolled his eyes. “But it keeps them out of the zoo prisons. Offends too many of the straights seeing the girls getting off together,” he said, and they both laughed at the thought of mom and dad trying to explain to the kids what was going on.
“And when it comes to sex with the males, the women get to make the choice. And they don’t have just one mate. They get as many of them as they want,” Luke said. “So even though the males don’t have much say in the process, they get laid on a regular basis. No need for competition between them, so they fight less. Bonobos have been called the original ‘make love, not war’ tribe.” And they invalidated all the old assumptions that humans were condemned to war and violence just because our chimp cousins were, Luke thought.
“Wish we could do that. Let the women take over. Sure would take a lot of the pressure off of us,” Simon said, smiling.
“But that wouldn’t work either, Simon. The primary differentiation between humans is gender, and it causes us to engage life in different ways. We need an equal mix of both to better meet the global challenges we are faced with, and we can’t wait for that to happen on its own. We need to transform the systems we operate in so we have an equal number of men and women at all levels of leadership throughout our societies, in both government and business.”
“But, guy, that’s not going to change anything,” Simon said. “Women are just as big of pricks as men, even if they don’t have one. And they’re a lot meaner. Even if they were in charge, we’d still have war. It’s our eternal pastime, darling.”
“But that’s not the case.” Luke rubbed the back of his neck. Was anything he was saying getting through? he wondered. “Look, if we were predisposed to war, then we would have seen it acted out across all cultures throughout history. But we don’t. And not only does the evidence show great variations in the amount of war and violence in humanity’s history, the war we’re seeing today is different. Before it was mostly soldiers who were the casualties. Now it’s the opposite. And a lot of times that’s intentional.”
“Yeah,” Simon said, casting his eyes down at his cup and looking dejected again. “I guess it is. Sure glad I’m down here.”
Luke could tell that the conversation was coming to an end. He had a tendency to lecture that he knew he somehow had to stop. But he also knew these topics could shut people down. They were too big, and there were too many incorrect assumptions considered common sense by most people that had to be countered. It made them feel helpless. Most people are too busy just trying to make it through life to question what’s happening around them, Luke thought, which is what entrenched power wants. Somehow Luke knew this was part of his mission—helping people realize that they aren’t helpless, that we can change our world. But he still didn’t know how he was supposed to do this.
“So anyway,” Luke said, “with those beliefs in place, it’s easy to get people to support the next war that comes along. And these ideas are self–perpetuating. They change how we interpret what happens according to them. They get us into conflicts, and then they justify that decision, which leaves us in a perpetual cycle of war.” He took the last sip of his coffee.
“Hey,” Simon said, collecting their cups and the miniature stainless steel pitcher of milk off the table, “my roommates are having a party tonight at our place. Want to come by? I’ll introduce you to my partner, Philip.”
“Sure. Where at?”
“Right down around the corner,” Simon said. “Come on. If you’ve got a minute, I’ll show you. It’s not far.” He stepped outside as if Luke had already agreed.
Luke got up and paid the forty–five córdobas, about two US dollars, for his coffee. Another thing that was almost as expensive as in the states, he thought. He caught up with Simon on the street. The morning sun was already high, and Luke felt himself starting to sweat. He hated using antiperspirant and hadn’t done so in over ten years, but he thought he might have to reconsider that decision here.
“There’ll just be a handful of us,” Simon said. “The couple I share the house with—Liam and his wife, Ady—are cooking dinner. Well, at least she is.” Luke could tell by Simon’s tone and slight shake of the head that he wasn’t too fond of Liam. “They have a couple friends they’ve invited too.”
Simon led Luke down the street and took a left at the intersection. Walking past the street leading up to Luke’s apartment, they followed the road down and around the corner. After going about half a block, Simon stopped.
“And right here it is,” Simon said, standing in front of a nondescript door with its own security gate just like all the others on the street. “Come about five thirty or six. Just push the buzzer and someone will let you in.” He pointed to the button high on the doorframe to the right.
***
Luke took his laptop and sat at a table by the pool in the shade of the plantain trees. He was feeling the pressure to perform again—to be back at work, at something, anything. But he also knew he had to give himself time to relax and create a space where the ideas could start flowing. These periods were the hardest for him to hold lightly. He brought up one of the alternative–news websites he liked to read and started to scan the headlines.
“Hey, dude!” Aubrey said, walking over and lighting up a cigarette. “How’s the morning going?” They went through the fist–bump ritual.
“Still a bit tired from the trip. Not sure if it’s me or those bombas going off all night or that fucking rooster that starts crowing at two in the morning, but I’m not sleeping too well.”
“Oh, that rooster totally crows all the time. Doesn’t matter if it’s morning or not,” Aubrey said just as the rooster let loose from the other side of the wall surrounding the pool. “I’m still not used to it.” He got into the hammock in the shade.
“Hey, Luke,” Claire said, coming out to the pool in her bikini. “Enjoying Granada yet?” She gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek.
“Yeah. The heat’s a bit much, but I’ll get used to it. I met a guy at the coffee shop today and got invited to a party tonight right down the street.”
“Oh yeah? Sweet,” Aubrey said.
“Shit, we were going to invite you to one tonight too,” Claire said. She sat at the small table next to Aubrey’s hammock.
“Where are you going?” Aubrey asked.
“Right down the road. Straight out the door, take a left at the end of the street, and it’s about half a block around the corner on the right.”
“That’s where we’re going!” Aubrey and Claire said in unison.
“Liam and Ady’s place,” Aubrey said.
“That’s it. I met their roommate Simon at María Elena’s. We had a cup of coffee together.”
“Don’t know him,” Claire said, looking over at Aubrey. “But Jo should be there too. You’re totally going to like her. You two have so much in common.”
“Come on, guys,” Luke said, feeling a bit flustered. “I just got here. I’ve got plenty of time to find a woman. Appreciate the help, but I don’t need you setting me up. Besides, I’m looking for something special. I’m ready to find the one I can settle down with. And the chances of that being the first woman I date here are pretty slim.”
“We’re not setting you up,” Claire said. “And don’t be so sure. Just saying.”
“So, we’ve been talking about this whole nonviolence thing of yours,” Aubrey said, rocking with one leg hanging off the hammock. “I don’t know. I just don’t see that many pacifists in the world.”
Luke took a deep breath. So much for having some time alone, he thought. But he was glad Aubrey had moved the subject off this woman they wanted him to meet. Letting people set him up on dates had never worked out in the past, and he saw no reason it would now.
“This isn’t about pacifism,” Luke said. “That’s about not fighting back. Pacifists believe it’s better to accept oppression than it is to resist it. But at times pacifism can be a cover–up for cowardice. And even Gandhi said violence was a better choice than cowardice because at least then the people were doing something to resist their oppression, something that could bring about change. Otherwise, there’d be no hope.” Luke looked down at the ground and paused a moment. Memories were flashing through his mind. He had embraced pacifism when he rebelled against violence, and he remembered his confusion when the only options were the extremes—violence or pacifism. It left one either accepting oppression or acting against one’s beliefs, neither of which he could do. Looking back at Aubrey, Luke went on. “Nonviolent conflict is different. It’s a way to both fight for our rights and win while still upholding our highest values. And in the process, we cause the least harm to others and our planet. But it takes just as much strategy as waging a war does, and maybe even more courage.”
“So it’s like protesting,” Aubrey said. “But come on, that doesn’t work. We see protests all the time, yet they don’t change anything.”
“Protests are only one of many tactics,” Luke said. “And anyway, most of the protests you see in the states can’t be called nonviolent conflict.”
“What do you mean?” Claire asked.
“The people have three choices for bringing about change in their society. First, they can stay in the institutional channels, like going through the legislative process. That’s the normal route, and it’s usually the best one. But if that way no longer works, if the laws have been changed to stop the people from having a real say in how they are governed”—like in our country, Luke thought—”then they only have two other options. They can start a violent revolution, or they can wage a strategic nonviolent campaign.
“But that’s what Aubrey’s saying!” Claire said. “People take to the streets and wave posters and sing songs, and none of it does a fucking thing anymore. It might have stopped the war against Vietnam, but today’s totally different.”
“Most of the protests in the states are still people staying in the system,” Luke said. “They’re applying for permits to speak out. That’s cooperating with power, not resisting it. And you’re right—that doesn’t work because there are no consequences for the state. The laws in our country have been changed to let the people bitch without disrupting society. It’s like letting a dog growl after its teeth have been pulled.”
“So you’re saying don’t get permits? Just protest? Fuck, these days they’d call you a terrorist and throw you in jail. People can’t afford to do that!” Claire said.
Luke clenched his jaws, and he took a moment to collect his thoughts. Claire had strong opinions, which was okay, but it was irking him right now, and he didn’t want to become defensive. “I’m saying that nonviolent conflict is a whole process, not just isolated events like protests. It needs a strategy integrating a lot of different tactics to achieve the people’s goal. Nonviolent conflict goes outside of the institutional channels without asking for permission. Its purpose is to disrupt the system—not to work within it—to break down the government’s ability to function and force a change in leadership.”
“Like Thoreau,” Aubrey said. “Civil disobedience.”
“In a way,” Luke said. “Thoreau was speaking more to the individual. But to succeed, a nonviolent campaign requires massive action. Huge numbers of people have to be involved. And by the way, Thoreau was a pragmatist.” Luke paused a moment to let that statement settle in. Pragmatism, if taken too far, could cause problems for a nonviolent campaign. “He was willing to use violence if that was the only way to accomplish a goal. And using nonviolent conflict just because it works better is similar. It puts too much emphasis on the end and not the means. Which at times can open the door for violence, and that almost always hurts the effort.”
“I don’t agree,” Aubrey said, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t it be best to combine violent and nonviolent action? Just do whatever works to win and clean it up afterwards? Isn’t that like what Mandela did?”
“He did,” Luke said, nodding his head in agreement. He understood from his own experience how strong the lure of violence was to young men. “He supported the ANC’s decision to go violent in the sixties when they started a bombing campaign to end apartheid. Look, it’s hard to criticize the tactics of anyone who’s fighting for their rights when they’re being violently oppressed. No one has the right to tell others how to resist oppression, or when.” As much as Luke believed in the power of nonviolent conflict to transform the world, he held more to the people’s right to stand up for themselves. “But violence didn’t end apartheid in South Africa, it just made it worse. It gave the government a reason to crack down harder. Apartheid ended because almost every country in the world boycotted South Africa until they dismantled it. And like we talked about earlier, that’s the external backing the Egyptians don’t have. But while Mandela isn’t a poster child for nonviolent conflict, he also called for reconciliation with the whites. Not revenge. And he pulled it off. So he has his own unique place in history.”
“I don’t know,” Aubrey said. His lips were pressed tight as he looked over at Claire.
“We’ve been talking about this for a long time,” Claire said. “The last two years of college, Aubrey was going through case studies about stuff like this. Not necessarily nonviolent conflict, but oppression for sure.” She looked over at Aubrey and got a nod in return. “Like, over in the Middle East and what the Palestinians are going through. It’s so fucked! I’m totally on their side for fighting back. What the Israelis are doing is so much shit!”
“Yeah,” Luke said. He understood her frustration. “And by the way, Israel was about the last country to join the sanctions against South Africa. The Israeli government has a history of racism.” As does ours and many others, he thought. “But now Israel is suffering from a similar boycott because of the occupation. That’s one reason why it’s so important for the Palestinians to remain nonviolent.” Even though they cringe at the word, Luke thought. For many people in the Middle East nonviolence implies submissiveness, which has little support in the region. For nonviolent conflict to be embraced anywhere, it has to be expressed in terms appropriate for that culture.
Luke scooted his chair back from the table and leaned forward. “Right now there is no way the Palestinians will ever receive justice unless the rest of the world forces it,” he said. “Or rather, until the US takes their side. And that won’t happen by blowing up buses or lobbing homemade missiles at Israel. As soon as the Palestinians go violent, the US pulls any support for them and says Israel is protecting itself.” Luke remembered watching an Israeli prime minister address Congress on television in 2006, and how shocked he was at the standing ovations the guy got for spouting Old Testament myths as fact. It was clear few of our representatives believed in a secular government, and it was obvious the Palestinians wouldn’t receive much sympathy from the US anytime soon. Our leaders were groveling for bones, and it had disgusted Luke.
“And by the way,” Luke went on, “saying the Israelis are defending themselves is a ruse. It’s a trick to shift reality. They’re not defending their country; they’re maintaining an occupation. The Palestinians are throwing rocks and Molotov cocktails, and the Israelis are using jets and combat helicopters and other modern weapons. That’s not a defensive posture.”
“Exactly!” Claire said. “They have a little war over there and a thousand or two thousand Palestinians get killed compared to, what, a dozen or so Israelis?” She held her hands up and out, shaking her head in disbelief.
“It’s really fucked,” Aubrey said. “And while I’m totally on the Palestinians’ side, that doesn’t mean I’m siding with Hamas or any other religious fanatics.”
“I agree,” Luke said, nodding. “This is about the people forced to live through that shit. But there’s another angle too. A lot of people in the Israeli government think the Palestinians are less than human. That they’re not really people in God’s eyes, and that means it’s okay to kill them.”
“But that’s not new,” Aubrey said. “My uncle used to say the ‘fucking gooks’ in ‘Nam weren’t really people. For him the war was sport, like hunting.” He looked down and shook his head in disgust. “I hated that fucker.”
“But this case is different,” Luke said. “Many Israelis believe that Israel has to be the actual land in Palestine rather than an idea held in their hearts. They don’t want peace with the Palestinians; they want them gone. Just like our ancestors wanted to exterminate the Native Americans.” And our policy hasn’t shifted that much, Luke thought. “If some of them could justify killing every last Palestinian, they wouldn’t hesitate. Israel doesn’t even need the Palestinians for workers like the whites in South Africa needed the blacks.” This was a crucial piece to the conflict, Luke thought, though he knew few people were willing to discuss it. “Carter caught hell a while back for comparing Israel’s policies to apartheid. But I think that’s understating the situation. About the only thing stopping Israel from the complete genocide of the Palestinian people is the backlash from world opinion.” And the fact that a lot of the Jews living outside the country, which accounts for most of the Jewish population, would turn against them, he thought. “To survive, the Palestinians have to embrace a nonviolent strategy. They have to hold on long enough for more people around the world to support their cause, and then force their governments to back them.”
“But doesn’t that go against what Gandhi was saying?” Aubrey asked. Luke could sense Aubrey’s impatience growing from the frown on his face. “Wasn’t Gandhi’s whole idea that if people remained nonviolent, the ones oppressing them would feel some sort of moral obligation not to hurt them?”
“No, that’s not what Gandhi was saying,” Luke said. “If success with nonviolent conflict was dependent on the oppressor’s level of development, it couldn’t work. When people say Gandhi would have lost against the Nazis, they’re missing the point.” He remembered this discussion when studying integral theory. His peers had been right—there will always be people willing to kill others without remorse. But they had also been wrong—success with nonviolent conflict has never been predicated on changing the opposition’s mind.
“Hell, Aubrey, sometimes when people don’t resist it just makes the people beating them angrier,” Luke said. “That was one of the things reported back to the world about the British when they were putting down Gandhi’s followers. And that increased violence helped to turn world opinion against them. So the idea isn’t necessarily to touch the hearts of the people beating you, though that can happen. It’s to make other people aware of the oppression so they will sympathize with you and support your cause.”
“But what about Tiananmen Square?” Claire asked. “Everyone was watching that, and they still massacred thousands of people.”
“That wasn’t the case,” Luke said. “Few people were killed in Tiananmen Square itself, and there wasn’t any massacre where soldiers mowed down protestors with automatic weapons. Instead, the deaths occurred in other parts of Beijing when the soldiers trying to get to the square came up against roadblocks, and pro–democracy activists armed with guns and clubs and Molotov cocktails attacked them. A lot of soldiers were killed and troop carriers burned, and a lot of protestors got shot. The Chinese claim several hundred people were killed, but of course it could have been more. The point is that the protestors didn’t maintain nonviolent discipline, and once they turned violent, they lost any chance of winning. These days, when it comes to violence, the state has the overwhelming advantage. And it’s important not to give them an excuse to use it.”
“But eventually they will,” Claire said. “So what are people supposed to do? Just get beat up?”
“No. You’re missing the point,” Luke said. “Getting beat up isn’t a requirement for nonviolent conflict, though many people will accept those consequences, because they want to both stand up for themselves and honor their highest principles when they do.” That, Luke thought, was the supreme level of courage. And he still wondered if could rise to the occasion should it ever come. “But there are things that people can do to limit the violence used against them. For example, it’s harder to hurt someone when they’re looking you in the eye, so maintaining eye contact can be important. And tactics like sitting cross–legged in a Buddhist country or kneeling in a Catholic country have stopped soldiers from firing on protestors. It’s important to leverage any commonality between the soldiers and the activists, because it’s harder to hurt someone you’re connected to. At times this happened with the Nazis in Northern Europe. And again in the Philippines when the People Power movement overthrew Marcos back in ‘86. Both sides were of the same culture. They had the same language, same religion. Many of the troops had family members in the opposition. So when the people put down statues of the Virgin Mary on the ground in front of the tanks, the drivers wouldn’t run over them. They were Catholic too. But while having a connection with the troops can help, it’s not necessary for the campaign to succeed. Nor does it ensure it will if there is one.”
“So are you going to become a professor and teach nonviolent conflict?” Claire asked.
“No.” Luke shook his head. “I don’t think I’d fit too well in a university setting. Too much of higher education is about conforming—being indoctrinated into a mind–set supporting the status quo.” Luke sat back in his chair and rubbed his neck. He was feeling tired and worn out from the conversation. “I want to find a way to help people see through the lies they’re being fed—to give them the hope and inspiration and ideas and vision needed to transform our world. To let them know that the individual isn’t helpless against the machine—that we not only don’t have to accept what’s happening on the planet, we have a responsibility to counter it.” Luke leaned forward, excited again, and looked back and forth between Aubrey and Claire. Whenever he stated those goals he became energized by the possibilities flooding his mind. “There’s got to be a way to use nonviolent conflict globally like people have used it nationally. We’re at the point where humanity has to have more say in how the earth is run. I just haven’t figured out how to do it yet. I guess I need a woman to come along and take my thoughts off it for a while.” Luke grinned and slouched back in his chair, feeling more relaxed.
“Pretty sweet,” Aubrey said, looking at Claire. “About all I want to do is raise some kids and catch waves.”
“That’s cool, too,” Luke said. He caught the blank look on Claire’s face when Aubrey mentioned children and sensed she wasn’t on board with him. Some tasks in life went smoother when couples were closer in age. “Everyone has their own story to live.”
“Well, Jo’s going to be there tonight, so maybe she’s your distraction.” Claire winked at Luke.
“Right,” Luke said, rolling his eyes. “Look, I need to go in for a bit if we’re going out later.”
“Meet you out front about five thirty,” Aubrey said.
Luke gathered his things and headed back inside, glad for the break.
***
Toweling off after her shower, Jo stopped and looked at herself in the full–length mirror. She still stood as erect as when she was a sergeant in the Air Force Police thirty years ago. At least she was until being demoted and kicked out of the service for beating her boss with a Maglite after he raped one of her sister APs. Strength training had kept her athletic body hard and lean over the years, ensuring she was seldom without someone vying for her attention, man or woman. And though she tolerated the interest to an extent, the last guy who went too far and grabbed her ass was probably still holding his balls in agony. While a lot of the girls in middle school had put up with the boys ganging up on them and groping them on the playground as they all entered puberty, Jo had vowed never to let it happen to her. And it didn’t. Josephina Novak learned to fight early, and she had no fear of men.
After letting herself into Claire and Aubrey’s apartment, Jo sat at the kitchen table and checked her email. She could hear Claire and Aubrey talking to someone by the pool, right below the window, and found herself distracted by the conversation. This must be the new man in the apartments, she thought. The one they wanted her to meet. She found herself being drawn to his voice. Soft, yet powerful. And confident, even if he did sound naïve. Give the people hope and inspiration? A vision? Change the world system? Who the fuck was this idiot? Jo had hardened over the years and held little hope the world would ever get better. Still, she he had to see what he looked like. Jo stood up and peeked out the window from behind the curtains, but the palm fronds of the plantain trees hid his face. He was tall, she could tell. Taller than her. And watching the muscles of his arms and shoulders as he gestured while talking to the others, she could see that he was in good shape.
What am I doing? Jo wondered, putting aside the sudden urge to go downstairs and meet him. For ten years she had kept men away. She had gotten tired of not being able to find one up to her level of thought or passion or fitness, and fucking them was always a disappointment. The few times she needed to satisfy her sexual urges, she hooked up with girlfriends who were discreet about their orientation. Like Megan. Ones who were bi and not wearing their sexuality on their sleeves like it was the defining element of their lives. Jo had been shocked when she learned some of the more hardcore lesbians hated women who went both ways more than they did men—like, that’s what someone chooses to get upset about in this world? Having an occasional sleepover worked to satisfy her needs as long as they kept it to just fingers and tongues. If she was ever going to get laid again, she still wanted it to be a cock attached to a man and not a woman with a strap–on. At least not yet.
Sitting back down, she decided not to go to Liam and Ady’s party tonight. And she didn’t want to have to explain herself to anyone. She shut down her computer and went back to her house before Aubrey and Claire came back to the apartment.
***
“Where’s Jo?” Aubrey asked when they met outside the apartments that evening.
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “She might already be there.”
Luke could sense something happening. A shift. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Some people would call it intuition, but that label wasn’t enough for him anymore. Intuition usually referred to gut feelings, which he had learned were fear based. No. This was coming from his heart center. It was energy, power, a movement. The subtle caress of a kosmic breeze. He was in play, again. Engaging a new vibration. But it was peripheral. The more he tried to focus on it, the less he felt it. Somehow he knew it had to do with this woman whom Claire wanted him to meet.
Walking slightly behind the others, Luke ignored the conversation. Dog and horse shit kept him watching his step. Small piles of trash and the remnants from last night’s bombas smoldered on the side of the road, the smell reminding him of a burning dump. An old man was cutting down the overgrown weeds at the back of the vacant lot they were passing. Bent over ninety degrees at the waist, he used a short stick to support the grass before cutting it with his machete. Manual labor was cheap in Nicaragua, and things like lawn mowers or weed trimmers were luxuries only the rich could afford.
“You can get pretty much anything you want in there,” Aubrey said, breaking into Luke’s thoughts.
Luke looked at the pharmacy Aubrey was pointing at. Three large pull–up, metal, garage–type doors opened the entire storefront to the street. Inside, Luke could see a long glass counter, and behind it half a dozen tall, upright shelves filled with medications.
“I totally stocked up on codeine when I got here,” Aubrey said. “Didn’t need a prescription or anything. And if you don’t know what you need, just tell the clerk what’s wrong, and they’ll set you up.”
“And they even have a doctor in there,” Claire said as they continued down the road. “Or I think he was a doctor. He took me into a little room with an examining table, asked me some questions, and gave me what I needed. Took like ten minutes and cost me fifteen bucks. Totally insane.”
Luke nodded without responding. His brain felt full, and he was tired of trying to keep track of all the new things he was learning. They continued on in silence until Claire said, “We’re here,” before reaching up and ringing the buzzer behind the gate.
***
Liam and Ady’s home opened off the street into a large Mediterranean–style courtyard framed by what Luke guessed to be about sixteen–foot–tall plain stucco walls. A roof covered the space around the edges, with the center area open to the sky above. With the heat constant throughout the year in Granada, there was no reason to enclose an entire house, and many homes had open–air kitchens and living areas. A large, three–tiered fountain surrounded by green palms and plants with bright pink and purple flowers was to the left, the water trickling between the basins, softening the space. On the other side was a long, rectangular living area with rattan chairs and a couch situated around a low glass table. A small desk with a computer was set hard against the wall. One–foot–square light gray marble tiles covered the floor throughout the courtyard except for the rectangular area in the middle that wasn’t covered by the roof. Here, they had planted a small herb garden, broken up by blue–tiled channels fed from the fountain.
Liam walked ahead of the group and led them to the back of the courtyard where the open–air kitchen and dining area were separated by a long breakfast bar covered in white tiles with blue filigree. Luke took a seat with Liam at the table, and Claire and Aubrey went into the kitchen to greet who he assumed was Ady. Behind Liam, a pair of oversized wooden doors was ajar.
“The bedrooms and pool are back there,” Liam said, nodding at the doors.
“Your place is beautiful,” Luke said as he took in his surroundings. “This is what I was envisioning before I moved here. Where you from?” He still had a hard time pinning down people’s accents.
“Australia, mate. Can’t you tell?” Liam asked. “Yeah, we did pretty good.” He looked around the room.
Liam was a big man, taller than Luke, and heavier built. He had short–cropped blond hair and a couple days’ worth of stubble on his face, and he put out an aura of self–assured confidence. Luke figured him to be in his early forties.
“But it also took us three years to find it,” Liam said. “And now we need to find another place for next year. Everything in Granada is always up for sale, so you never know when you’ll get the boot.” He poured them each a glass of wine out of a tall red carton. “Wine in a box. Works here. Too damn expensive otherwise. But you know, it’s not half–bad.” He took a drink. “Cheers, mate!”
“Cheers!” Luke said before taking a drink. “I’ve been swilling something called Clos out of those small, square cartons like what milk comes in. It still feels odd pouring out of a box, but yeah, it’s not bad. I saw a three–liter box going for over seventy bucks in the states the other day. Seems to be the new trend. But no matter, there’ll always be people who’ll look down their nose at it.” Luke took another drink and relaxed back into the chair.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty much a scrooge,” Liam said with a short, gruff laugh. “I’ll buy it in the box and pour it in a bottle with an expensive label and most people never know the difference.”
“What do you guys do here in Nicaragua?”
“I’m setting up a surf tour business, but it’s taking a bit more than expected,” Liam said.
Luke saw the woman in the kitchen glare at Liam. Nothing’s ever as sweet as it looks, he thought, wondering how much of the contention between them would surface tonight.
Liam pointed toward the kitchen with his chin, seemingly unaware of the look he had gotten. “And she’s teaching English at a small school here, but the pay is so fucking bad she’s doing it more for the experience.”
“And we need the money,” the woman said as she came in from the kitchen. She was thin and fit and almost a foot shorter than Liam. Her blonde hair was pulled back tight into a ponytail, and while she was pretty, Luke sensed a hard edge. This one could have a tongue, he thought.
“Hi. I’m Ady.” She leaned over and gave Luke a quick kiss on the cheek. “Even if the pay is bad, it’s still money, and we have to keep something flowing in until you get your shit together.” She crossed her arms and stared at Liam.
“Yeah, she’s right,” Liam said, picking up a half–burnt joint from the ashtray and then using a Bic to light the end of it like someone would a cigar. “I’ve been smoking this rag weed all day for the last couple of weeks. I’m just not into trying to make it all the time. Gets fucking tiring on a guy, you know, mate.” He examined the end of the joint to ensure it was well lit, then took in a long drag before passing it to Luke. “So what’s your gig?” he asked after blowing a large cloud of smoke into the air above the table.
“I’m a writer,” Luke said. He took a short toke, and then passed the joint to Ady, who had sat down between them. “Or at least I want to be. I took a break from work and went back to school for a while. Guess I didn’t feel like I was living up to my potential. Now it’s time to find out if I have anything original to offer.” He saw Liam roll his eyes. And if I don’t, then I’ll find someone who does and support them, Luke thought.
“How the fuck did you pull that off?” Liam asked. “Going back to school mid–life?”
“A lot of student loans. Just like most of us in the states these days. Part–time jobs when I could find them. Living cheap. And lots of support from the few friends I have.”
“Sounds impressive to me,” Ady said. She was glaring at Liam again as she stubbed out the joint. “At least you’re not just sitting on your ass talking about it.”
“Bloody fuck,” Liam said. He shook his head at Ady before turning to Luke. “You sound like a dreamer to me. No offense, mate. But I’m a player. Been one all my life. Never have had a job. Been catching my own rabbit the entire time.” Luke caught Ady’s look that indicated otherwise. “Well, mostly anyways,” he said, trying to hide a smile. “The world’s what it is, and it’s not going to change. Take care of yourself and your own and let everyone else do the same. Fucking do–gooders and save–the–world types just get in the way.”
“Hey, guy!” Simon walked in from the back of the house. Luke stood up and Simon gave him a hug that lasted longer than he cared for. “Glad you made it. You’re looking so robust tonight,” he said, still holding Luke by the shoulders as he looked him up and down with obvious appreciation. “But I have to go. My partner’s sick, and I need to give him some loving energy.” Simon looked at the others. “Luke and I were talking over coffee this morning about all the reasons we end up going to war. Fascinating stuff.”
“Like what?” Liam asked. “You mean bombing countries just to get their oil? Pretty common knowledge, that is.” He let out one of his short, gruff laughs.
“No, like…” Simon looked over at Luke. “Wait, I’ll let him explain it. I’ve got to run. Ciao’sy ciao, darlins,” he said, giving the group a quick wave before turning and leaving.
“Not the reasons for any particular war,” Luke said, putting aside the slight from Liam’s earlier comment. “It’s the misbeliefs being used to justify war. Things people think are common knowledge and that they assume are correct but aren’t.” He looked around the room and saw that he was getting blank looks in return.
“You mean the stuff about nonviolent fighting or whatever it was you were talking about at the pool earlier?” Aubrey asked, coming in from the kitchen area with a double–sized Toña.
“No, but they’re related,” Luke said. “We were talking about the beliefs most people hold that make this state of constant war seem normal. Like thinking violence is the most powerful force. But it’s not. Now nonviolent methods are more effective. And that’s been shown across the world and against the harshest dictators.” Luke remembered how excited he had been when first learning this, and how he wanted to tell everyone he met. “But there’s more to it. When people use nonviolent methods to change their society, the result is often greater freedom and democracy. And there’s also a better chance that those fighting will eventually reconcile afterwards. So that means less chance of civil war.” Luke could see he had their attention. Sometimes his lecturing worked, other times not. He decided to run with it while he could. “Another misbelief is that humans are somehow hardwired to be violent, which leads to the idea that war’s inevitable. But while that stuff isn’t true—”
“Who says it isn’t true?” Liam asked. He lit a cigarette. “People are fucks. We’ve been fighting since time began, and we’ll never stop. It’s our nature.” He stared straight at Luke, the barest of smiles at the end of his lips, before blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth.
This guy likes to stir up the shit, Luke thought.
“I never thought we were naturally violent,” Ady said, looking at Liam, her pinched lips and tight stare showing her annoyance. “Just the opposite.” She looked back at Luke. “Nonviolence is our nature.”
“But it’s not just nonviolence,” Luke said, looking at Ady. He felt his chest tightening. Somehow he needed to find a better way to explain this stuff. He was beginning to feel like a message on a voice recorder. “That word used by itself is hazy. It’s confusing. And for a lot of people, when they hear it they think it means some kind of religious vow against violence, and that turns a lot of them off—”
“That’s good,” Claire said from the kitchen, “because I’m totally not doing the God thing or the religious thing or whatever. Those guys are so lame.”
“But what about all the stuff you were telling me about at the pool?” Aubrey asked. He was slouched on a stool at the breakfast bar, nursing his beer.
“Those were some of the misconceptions people hold about nonviolent conflict, not necessarily the reasons people support war. Look, I feel like I’m talking too much, guys,” Luke said, looking around the table. He didn’t want to be one of those people who monopolize the conversation, especially when he just met this crew.
“Nah…go on, mate,” Liam said. “Good stuff.”
“Yeah, Luke,” Claire yelled in. “I want to hear about this. You’re professorizing us.”
“So what’s the deal?” Liam said. “Not fighting back’s supposed to make the other guy feel sorry for you? And then he’ll stop thumping you? Aye?” He looked around at everyone with a sarcastic grin.
“Dude! That’s what was throwing me,” Aubrey said, looking at Liam. He stood up from the stool. “The bullies I knew had fun beating us up. So that idea never made any sense.” He looked over at Luke. “Kind of like the bit about the troops not wanting to hurt the people because of a common culture. I mean, remember that fucking cop in California bending over and macing the protestors in the face who were sitting on the ground? It was like he was killing ants. We see shit like that all the time in the states. The fucking cops are acting more like they’re at war with us than protecting us. And they’re getting worse.” He walked into the kitchen and threw his bottle into the trash before getting another Toña from the fridge. Then he took his seat again at the breakfast bar.
“That’s one of the effects of perpetual war on our society,” Luke said. “What do you think is going to happen?” He paused for a moment and looked around at the others. “Too many soldiers and too much military equipment has been transferred from our wars to our police departments. The whole mind–set of law enforcement shifted as we militarized the country.” Luke had the highest regard for the men and women who upheld the ideals represented by the badge, and utter contempt for those who abused it. And it was very clear to him that if he was a young man today, he would be killed for standing up to the cops like he and his buds had done in the ‘70s and ‘80s. They just don’t have a sense of humor anymore, he thought. “The police are supposed to be public servants whose most important duty is to protect the safety of the citizens, even at risk of injury or death to themselves. But today cops put their welfare before that of the people or their constitutional rights. That’s the main difference between police in a true free and democratic society, and security forces supporting a dictatorship. The first have loyalty to the people, and the other to the state.”
“No shit,” Claire said, leaning across the breakfast bar to talk with them. “And when they take people down these days, it’s with full force, whether it’s justified or not.”
“Just like they’re taught to do in war,” Luke said. “Any level of perceived threat to them or the government seems to justify killing the person. They either don’t or they’re not allowed to moderate their response to the situation anymore. And they get away with it because now it’s policy and they’re covered.”
“Fucking robots,” Claire said. She pushed away from the breakfast bar and returned to what she was doing in the kitchen.
“Look, Aubrey,” Luke said, turning in his chair to face him. “I wasn’t saying that coming from the same culture would stop someone from oppressing you. Just that sometimes a common link between the protestors and the troops can work to the protestors’ benefit. But nothing in nonviolent conflict works every time.” Just like in combat, Luke thought. “But there are a lot of other tactics too. The number’s probably endless. And with nonviolent conflict, everyone can participate, even if they’re not on the front lines. That’s one reason why it’s so powerful. Not like in war, where fit young men carry most of the load.”
“So you have all these tactics,” Ady said. “Then what? How do the people win?”
“The key is to figure out what the opposition needs to continue functioning,” Luke said. “And then find ways to tear down that support. Governments can’t run by themselves. They have to have the people’s cooperation to a certain extent. And when enough of them stop cooperating, the government falls.”
“So it’s all about being a pain in the ass to the man,” Liam said. He started to fill a rolling paper with a mixture of pot and tobacco from a torn–up Marlboro. “If that’s the case, what happens if we all just become a pain in the ass whenever we don’t like what’s happening? A lot of my mates from the hood have no problem with civil disobedience. Been doing it all their bugging lives.” He laughed and returned to rolling the joint.
“Yeah, but civil disobedience doesn’t work that way,” Luke said, glad Liam brought up the topic. Luke knew this was one reason a lot of protests had trouble gaining support from the general population. “Civil disobedience isn’t about people just breaking the law. It’s about people who normally uphold the laws breaking them because they feel the situation is so bad they don’t have any other choice. And when other people see upstanding citizens so pissed off that they’re willing to risk jail, that’s powerful. It gives the movement credibility. And when that happens across most sectors of the society, with people of different ages and classes and ethnicities and professions, then it makes the campaign legitimate. And that’s what’s needed to get people outside the country to support the protestors.”
“I’m missing something,” Ady said. “Can’t people just come up with a cause whether it’s right or wrong and go out and protest all the time? Isn’t that like anarchy? Bloody fuck! Luke, how’d we ever get anything done or hold our societies together?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Luke said. He was enjoying the discussion. It seemed every time he spoke about these things, his purpose was becoming clearer. “For a nonviolent campaign to be successful, both the reasons for it and the solutions being offered have to be considered legitimate by most of the population. And that’s the only way they’ll support the movement, and the only way the nonviolent campaign wins. It has to have massive participation across all segments of the society. That’s why it has such strong ties to democratic ideals. Both require the population to be informed about the issues and to participate in the process.”
“So you’re saying some group like the white supremacists couldn’t use it?” Aubrey asked.
“Sure they could,” Luke said. “But their arguments and solutions wouldn’t appeal to very many people. They’d be seen for the racists they are. Causes that aren’t inclusive of everyone or that don’t honor the rights of all people or that don’t treat the planet in a sustainable way won’t get support. The people who participate in nonviolent campaigns are constantly self–checking themselves—ensuring their values mesh with the reasons they’re fighting for. They have to. They’re putting their bodies, their lives, on the line for them. And, guys, it takes a lot more courage to be willing to die for your beliefs than it does to kill for them.” Luke wondered if they understood—that if we could both stand our ground andwin against those using violence without resorting to it ourselves, we would transform life on the planet. But he could tell by the blank stares on some of their faces that they were no longer interested, and that was okay. Luke was experiencing one of those moments, those brief, immediate insights into the kosmos where reality fell away and he knew with his whole being that all was coming together as it should be.
“Well, mate”—Liam took a toke off the joint—”you believe in your stuff. That’s clear.” His voice was strained as he tried to stop himself from coughing.
“At least he believes in something,” Ady said without looking at Liam. “Okay, I need some help if we’re ever going to eat.” She got up and went into the kitchen to join Claire, Aubrey following.
Luke was glad to move on to lighter conversation the rest of the evening. While the state he just experienced energized him in the moment, sessions like the one they’d just had tended to drain him. But Liam was generous with his pot throughout the night, which always reduced Luke’s tension, and he was thankful to be making friends.
End Chapter 3.
Bob
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