On the Response to Violence

I almost titled this post "On the Proper Response to Violence," but I decided that I did not want to be that prescriptive.  

Frankly, yesterday sucked. I woke up to the news that a close friend's dog had died in his sleep the night before, suddenly and with no warning signs. I had not paid as much attention to Sandy as I usually did the last time I had visited, and so in addition to empathizing with my friend's loss, I was feeling guilty. During the day other inconveniences and problems piled up, among them the news that a family that had adopted one of my foster dogs would have to give him up because of circumstances well beyond their control. Nothing was going right.

Finally, I took my dogs to the Milam Park dog park for a break from the day, but there was no respite there.The dogs, usually good friends, were all unsettled and snappy, and then the news of the Boston bombings came in just as two dogs picked a fight. It seemed as if everywhere there was death, sorrow, heartbreak, anger, violence, and mindless destruction, close by me and far away; I gathered up the dogs - my two and my current foster - and left.  

The breaking news and posts in the blogosphere did not help. It seemed as if instead of thoughtful or compassionate responses that people were posting hair-trigger posts immediately, pointing fingers at their current ideological enemy before any real knowledge of the responsible party or motivations had been published. It is a left-wing conspiracy and the gummint is behind it!  OMG, look at what the right-wing gun nuts are up to now! Let's ban all the Saudis! Hell, let's ban all Muslims!  

I don't know yet what happened, any more than anyone else not directly involved. All I know is that simplistic answers and finger pointing won't help. As an historian, I know both how seductive a simple, direct answer can be - and how ultimately uninformative such a response proves. Yet the urge to respond! now!... To do! Something! Now!.... Seems overwhelming, even for those of us, like me, who have no loved ones in harm's way - this time. I can only dimly imagine how those whose family or friends were there must be feeling.

I wanted to crawl into bed and just escape. But yesterday demanded a response of some kind, to all of it. Analysis and understanding will come later - they have to, if we are going to begin addressing the reasons why people want to bomb marathons or hurl planes into buildings.  

I thought of those who say that "Freedom isn't free." Usually they are referring to the sacrifices members of our armed forces make, but I realize that it also means my response to things like the Boston Marathon bombing, or any other public threat. I can hide, crawl into ignorance, and not see what happens. I can scream and point fingers, or ask that others' liberties be curtailed in the name of my own.

Or I can show, through my actions, that death, anger, despair, and mindless destruction will not prevail. The first responders did that - those who ran toward the blast to help instead of running away or continuing on. They used their freedom to help in a material, meaningful way.  

Not being on the scene, not having lost any friend or family member, my response is affirmative only. I thought of the late Leonard Bernstein, who is supposed to have said, "This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before." So I went to rehearsal, and played - badly at first, missing simple rhythms and notes, but gradually playing my way into peace.  

That won't help those who hate, or those who mourn. It might not help anyone at all. But I think that maybe every time we stand up for something good, no matter how small or indirect, that it does have a positive effect. After my mother died suddenly, there were entire months that I only got through by thinking that somewhere, someone was playing music even if they wept while they did it - like Gabriel Faure, whose response to his parents' deaths was the deeply moving Requiem.  

The dogs are friends again today. They are subdued, but nobody is snappish, either.

Small candles in the dark. Please light one.