November Poem for Pacifists

For toast with cream cheese and blueberries, we give thanks.

For medications that calm our bodies and our minds, we are thankful.

For jobs and trips and relationships that were once a nightmare of worry but are now a joy, we are grateful!

For original poems, for time to write and time to read,

For loving, cuddly dogs,

For coffee and for walks,

For caring friends and partners and children, for sisters and mothers, we are thankful.

For the children who made it out of wars in Somalia, Afghanistan, and war-like places in El Salvador, Ecuador, and Mexico, who have come to my classroom, I am grateful.

For recess time, for refugee resettlement agencies, for churches and community groups, for shared meals, for lakes and parks and picnics and music, we are grateful

-for it is these things that make us safe.

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What do you do when you feel something in your heart – a feeling you eventually identify as a belief – so strong that it chokes you up and leaves you looking like a fool in front of your boss because, it would seem, no one else shares it?

Each year my school, like many, hosts a Veteran’s Day program. Red, white and blue streamers, eagles and banners cover the walls. Clipart soldiers line the halls holding signs that read “Because of you, I am safe and able to ________.” The students fill the blanks with “play basketball,” “go to school,” and “ride my bike.” On the day of the program, the entire student body sits on the floor of the lunch room while grandpas, uncles and aunts, dads and moms who have served in our country’s military join as guests of honor. We say the Pledge of Allegiance. We listen to the songs from each military branch and we clap as members from each group stand. At last the students sing the song we’ve all had in our heads for weeks:

When I lay my head down every night and go to sleep in peace,
I can stay there knowing all is well while you’re standing on your feet.

Keeping watch, protecting shore to shore, in the air and oceans too.
Defending freedom at all costs for the red, the white, and blue.

Thank you, oh thank you, men and women brave and strong!
To those who serve so gallantly, we sing this grateful song.

And I am so uncomfortable.

Subtly, I start asking around to my colleagues. “How do you feel about this program? Do you… get uncomfortable?” They shrug. “I mean, I’m surprised we don’t do anything for MLK  or World Kindness Day. Weird that we can’t celebrate any holidays at all in school, but we celebrate this one. But I’m fine with it.”

I’m not. November 10 found me teary eyed and irritable.

Conversations not combat, relationships not military ranks, quiet presence, listening ears, and shared music – not weapons, drones, guns or soldiers – protect our rights and bring us peace.

Billions of dollars in military spending do not keep these students safe. Stock piles of weapons have not kept guns out of schools. The brave and loyal members of our armed forces did not stop the shooting from happening outside of our high school’s homecoming football game – nor was it their job to do so. Weapons of mass destruction do not keep black boys alive on our streets. If we do have freedom to hold our opinions and to say what we feel and believe, I do not see how men and women going into combat guarantees this. Unless we’re talking about the Revolutionary War, which I agree did grant the United States freedom from Great Britain and with it the ability to craft our own constitution. These days, our elections, our constitution, our court system and civil liberties organizations defend our rights – and isn’t that they way we want it?

When they sing of going to sleep in peace, my heart hurts. Which children sleep in peace? Not the children who are living in active military areas. Our Afghan families tell stories of lying awake – waiting, hoping that their fathers, brothers and uncles would come home. One student explains, in cartoonish dramatization, that her father cried like a baby when the Taliban wounded his leg. Of course, these children are here now. Was it the U.S. military that brought them to this safety? Out of Afghanistan, Somalia, Ecuador, and Mexico? And perhaps engaging in combat was necessary.

It’s complicated. It’s difficult. It’s painful.

When I mention my discomfort to my friend, she says, “I don’t think many veterans do feel honored. I think many of them feel ashamed of the things they’ve seen and the things they’ve had to do.”

Joining the forces is brave choice to make, certainly. And one with a deep and lasting cost. What do we say to these students, five- to eleven-year-olds, about the wounds – internal and external – that plague our veterans? Do we mention that destroying other humans destroys the self? Do we let slip that wounding the other – even in the name of loyalty and patriotism – wounds the self?

As our principal probably wondered I sat ridiculously blubbering in her office, what am I trying to say?

Do I think we should not honor veterans? Huh? Am I against children saying thank you to those who’ve served our country? Don’t I care about the troops? Am I trying to say that our armed forces don’t keep us safe and defend our freedom?

It’s delicate. It’s fragile. And it’s not happy.

Every day in our schools, we teach children to work out conflict and to create relationships without violence. While I realize that others feel differently, I believe – vehemently – that guns make us less safe. Never, ever, ever would I condone a weapon inside the school. No finger guns, no Lego guns, no pencils used as guns. No. My work is to teach nonviolent strategies. Connections, relationships, new ways of managing that might, possibly, replace combat.

So let us gather in grief and let us say that we are thankful to those who had to serve. And that we are sorry – so deeply sorry – for the pain that they endure and the pain they’ve been obligated to inflict. And let us commit, over and over again, to creating a world in which kindness and peace rule and where no human will never be sent out to destroy humans.

“You’re a pacifist!” my boyfriend exclaimed after I read this to him. Oh. I guess I am. And that’s okay.

As it turns out, the same values that make me so uncomfortable with a program that glorifies the military also make it very difficult for me to talk about them. Because I believe in relationship and connection. I believe that we need more community involvement in school. Yes – bring in the grandpas, the uncles, and the dads. (But could we also bring in a few more grandmas, mamas and aunties?) Let’s serve coffee and cinnamon rolls! I don’t want to force my perspective on anyone.  I don’t want to be disrespectful. I want to listen. I want to be grateful.

I just need to figure out how to do that in a way that teaches and honors this other way.