Entry 20. Breaking the cycle

“I think you’re full of crap,” Buffalo Springsteen said one day. The bemused eye twinkle was there, with the hint of the smile, but the challenge was unmistakable. Because I happened to be talking about my favorite subject – nonviolent passive resistance – the statement was a stab of adrenaline to my fight-or-flight response.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said, dabbing a napkin at her lip and tossing it down next to the coffee cup. “You’re full of crap.”

We were not far into our relationship; this was perhaps our second or third visit over coffee or lunch.

Everything had gone swimmingly so far – I found her as sharp and intellectually stimulating as my eyes found her a delight to look at. She was athletic, a skilled hunter and free-spirited. At some point in the not too distant future, I intended to test the waters of “Would you like to stop by my apartment after this?” and was getting strong signals the answer would be in the affirmative.

But first, it seemed, I would have to leap the hurdle that she thought I was full of crap.

“How so?”

“Are you kidding? ‘In a kill-or-be-killed situation there must be a third alternative?’”

“Isn’t that self-explanatory?”

“If it was, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” Again the twinkle. “What third alternative?”

“Well –”

“Guy comes after you with a gun. No time to talk. He’s aiming, going to pull the trigger. OK, you duck out of his way, and then –?”

“I’m –”

“He’s coming in your direction, he knows you’re unarmed, you’re famous for that. He means to kill you, and he’s not going to stop until you stop him.”

“Stop him, yes, but –”

“He means to kill you. Maim him, disable him, but he’s going to keep coming.”

“I’m not going to kill him!” I said emphatically. “There must be a way to stop him short of killing him.”

She looked at me skeptically. “Then he’s going to kill you,” she said matter of factly. “The nonviolence movement ends there.”

“I can’t accept that. There must be a way to defend myself without taking a life.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when it happens. It will depend on the situation.”

“And if there’s no choice but to kill the other guy, you’re willing to let him kill you instead?”

“There’s always a choice.”

“I don’t see it. I think sometimes you’re backed into a corner and you have to fight your way out.”

I had to think long and hard before speaking again.

“Yes,” I said finally.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, if I couldn’t escape, I would have to let him kill me. Well, I wouldn’t let him kill me – I’d defend myself to my last breath. But I couldn’t kill him. The cycle ends with me.”

“So, kill or be killed, you choose to be killed.”

“No – I choose to figure out a third way. I just don’t know what it is yet. I do know it takes us to a better place as a species.”

She looked me over in a way that made me curious about the taste of her lips.

“It’d be a waste,” she said.

“No one wants to kill an opponent who won’t fight back,” I offered.

“Now you are kidding,” Buffalo Springsteen laughed. “That’s a pretty dumb statement coming from a history prof.”

True. History is awash with the blood of victims unwilling or unable to fight the oppressor.

“There’s always a third way,” I repeated. “Take an option off the table, and another alternative will present itself.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” she said. “But I still think you’re full of crap.” And she laughed so musically I wanted to live forever.

Entry 21