I survived, but it's not a happy ending.
- Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried
How nice -- to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five
In the midst of this one particular war—the war in Gaza, the war on Gaza—there were too many dead children and too many wounded orphan children. Doctors Without Borders gave them a name: Wounded Child No Surviving Family, WCNSF.
What is too many? One is too many.
Apart from rescue operations, many of which fail even as they inspire hope, the stench of death is absolute in every war zone Unless they are soldiers or humanitarian workers, most Americans are spared the sorrow of witnessing such losses: 25,000 dead children, 50,000 wounded children (UNICEF). Even the horror of 9/11 does not come close to such devastation. Nor does a hurricane, or other natural disasters. Of course, the U.S. of America has sent plenty of soldiers to fight in wars overseas, and supported others with armaments, expertise and intelligence. Are there just wars? Necessary wars? Probably, most definitely in some obvious instances. To stop a genocide, for example, as in WW II, or Rwanda. The soldiers never arrive on time, or they simply never arrive.
I am raising questions because, in truth, I am not an expert, and I do not understand destruction and mayhem most of the time. Why this war? Why that one? Is a response to an attack "appropriate"? Or not? And if it is not, who will be held to account? And how? Will the international courts and international humanitarian law still exist in ten years? In twenty?
And then, closer to my home, I read that a survivor of the war in Afghanistan, who is attending Bard College, has been swept into detention. And we see images of masked men—are there any women?— smashing the heads and hearts of protestors. Are we now living in a war zone, the first war on American soil since 1812? Are these masked men "the enemy within?" It certainly seems so.
In the midst of evil we carry on regardless. We want to protect our friends and families and co-workers. We do our best to stand up for them, and for ourselves. We must not stop. But there are days, and moments within those days, when we must withdraw to rest. The broken cup on my kitchen floor remains shattered, or it is partially mended when there is good news, but remains mostly shattered.
Usually, as Thanksgiving approaches, I plan a gathering of friends and family, and I cook, which is unusual for me. The gathering is a promise I made to my husband when we married: I will cook you a Thanksgiving meal every year wherever we are. Since I have lived in upstate New York, I have invited one or two international students from the local college to join our celebration. Sadly, there are very few international students on campus this year. I'm grateful that there are airplanes crisscrossing the country again, though, and our relatives from California can join us at the table.
Is the end of war and suffering—international and domestic—ever in sight? Or will it come upon us unexpectedly after years of struggle? Or arrive only piecemeal, one victory at a time? Or never arrive at all?
This post is dedicated to all children in war zones.