And so it was war. True was not going to sit by and let the natives blow up his troops. Curfews were set and a force was sent after the people considered most likely to have set the bomb. But the force was met by a greater one, and Lt. True lost more personnel – and so did the natives.
The eye-for-an-eye escalated. and it was not long before we had a full-fledged series of battles on our hands, with men, women and children dying and property being destroyed.
By the time my class met for the next time, the idea of noncooperation was well on its way to dying of neglect. Somewhat painful was the identity of the student who led the argument against me.
“What option do we have?” Buffalo Springsteen said, her eyes flashing but her voice betraying an almost apologetic tone. “When the tyrant invades your home, you have to repel him, and people will be hurt.”
“People will die,” another student said – I should have noticed who, but I didn’t.
“Yep, people will die, maybe some of us, maybe even me,” she said. “But that’s the price of freedom. That’s been the price of freedom through the ages.”
I value the right of disagreement, and so I love it when students listen to me carefully and form their own opinions anyway. But the applause that greeted Buffalo stung a little.
“Dying for a cause is a noble thing,” I said. “And defending yourself against a violent attack often requires a return of force. But going so far as to take lives is a very serious proposition.”
“What else are we supposed to do?” cried Carson McGillicudy. “They started this thing.”
“And with every death their will to finish it becomes more secure,” I said. “You may convince them to leave eventually, but they die and they fly away more convinced than ever that Sirius 4 should be an Earthian possession. And we have maintained the precedent that killing for a noble cause is acceptable. When does the cycle of violence stop?”
“‘When it’s kill or be killed, there must be a third alternative,’” Buffalo quoted me. “You said the alternative would present itself when the time comes. Well, time’s up, they’re killing people, they’re coming for us – what’s the third way?”
“I’ve told you – noncooperation. They can’t force a whole planet of individuals to recognize their authority if we choose not to.”
“What, just ignore them?” Carson said. “What do you do when a soldier sticks the barrel of a gun in your face and tells you to obey?”
“You refuse. You push the barrel aside and tell him no. You defend yourself if you must, but you stop short of killing him,” I said. “If he dies, he dies believing you were wrong, and his survivors will believe the same even more, and they’ll be back to punish you, and then your survivors will punish them and on and on. The only way to stop the cycle is to make your case without killing.”
“You have a great theory and maybe someday humanity will be ready for it, but this is not that day,” Buffalo Springsteen said, and her eyes had softened. “There’s a time for theories, and there’s a time for taking up arms. I’m taking up arms.”
I presume there was another burst of applause and more conversation before the class broke up, but my memory of that day ends there for the most part. When the flames of war are rising, the Great Cause is seen as more important than the concerns of a young couple, but that rarely softens the pain of separation. And in this case, I didn’t see how she and I could ever be the same.
Entry 59
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