Long ago, a martial arts teacher told me the first and most important lesson he wanted to impart to his students was, Do everything you can to avoid conflict.
I’d expressed concern to him that the martial arts craze that began sweeping the nation back in the 1970s was encouraging boys and young men to violence. And, believe me, boys and young men don’t need any extra encouragement in that matter. I’ve long held that were I to be named King of the World, I’d ship all males aged 18-24 on rocket ships to the Moon, where the XY-chromosomed could reside until they passed out of those feral ages. Living for many adult years in neighborhoods reigned by gangbangers hardened that wish within me. Then, after moving to Bloomington and witnessing the drunken, preening, strutting, brawling, sexual predating deportment of so-called educated lads, I realized Male Assholiness is a universal condition, not limited to those in poor neighborhoods with bad schools and scads of street drugs.
Don’t get me wrong: I would have been among the first rocket-load of temporary exiles. In fact, I should have been shipped off the moment I reached the age of 13. I could have safely returned to Earth when I was 18. My schoolteachers always told me I was advanced for my age.
That martial arts teacher, I’m sure, would have been aghast at the notion of all those Stand Your Ground laws benighted states began enacting a number of years ago. The sensei said his students’ first response to someone snarling, staring, menacing, or threatening is to turn and walk away. His students were to do so again and again. So long as the putative bully didn’t have you cornered or up against the wall, it was your responsibility to defuse the situation. Only a very strong, confident person, this teacher said, could maintain peace.
Then, there was the Trayvon Martin case in Florida (where else?) In February of 2012 Martin, a Black kid, was walking through a predominantly white neighborhood where he was confronted by George Zimmerman, a self-appointed neighborhood protector. Zimmerman demanded to know what Martin was doing there. Martin told him to go fuck himself and tried to go on his way. One thing led to another and Martin ended up getting shot and killed. Zimmerman was eventually brought up on a second-degree murder charge. He was acquitted under Florida’s Stand Your Ground law.
Zimmerman already had called the cops before coming out of his house to face down Martin. They were only moments away when the shot was fired. Zimmerman had stood before Martin and when Martin tried to push his way past, a fistfight ensued and Martin wound up pounding the hell out of him.
All Zimmerman had to do was get out of Martin’s way. He’d already done what he considered his civic duty. He’d dropped a dime on the stranger in his midst and let him know he was under observation. Instead, Zimmerman stood his ground, with the result being a dead teenager.
BTW: we’re not even taking into account the fact that Zimmerman was spooked by the presence of a Black kid on his block, a detail that would turn him into a Right Wing media darling. For pity’s sake, if we start letting Black kids walk down white neighborhood streets, what’ll be next? A Black family living next door? A Black president? (Too late, by the time of the incident, Barack Obama already was nearing the tail-end of his first term — another reason the likes of Zimmerman became such a Fox News/YouTube celebrity. Someone’s gotta hold back the tide!)
Anyway, the Martin killing cemented the idea that there are only two kinds of people in this holy land: Us and Them.
Now, news channels, social media, and all other forms of public discourse are nothing more than arenas for the armchair gladiators among us. I’m always right; you’re always wrong. That’s why I have chosen the sensei’s path in regard to online dialogue. I try like hell to avoid chiming in on tête-à-têtes on that old people’s home called Facebook. No matter which stance I take, I run the risk of being called a Nazi, a commie, an idiot, a pedant, or a mansplainer. One guy once ridiculed me by saying I was using big words in a Facebook argument.
Not terribly long ago, I posted my reaction to Donald Trump taking the Fifth in a legal deposition. I remarked that he was the first ex-president in US history ever to take advantage of the protection against self-incrimination. That’s all. One guy, an old elementary school chum, sprang up almost instantly, railing against me. My only response? “Let’s just say we disagree on this point.” Funny thing is, I don’t even know what we were disagreeing on.
I haven’t really posted anything political since then — and that’s just fine by me.
Right now, there are only two sides to the Israel-Hamas War. Mine and yours. If I disagree with one iota of your position, I am either a bloodthirsty, savage terrorist lover or a bloodthirsty, colonialist despot lover.
The contretemps over Palestinian artist Samia Halaby’s cancelled exhibition at Indiana University’s Eskanazi Museum is the latest case in point. It reflects the larger Israel-Palestine fray. In this college town, Israel is, and always has been, an oppressive, colonial power and the Palestinians are plucky, resilient victims. There’s lot of truth in both statements. Just as it’s true that Israel can defend itself and Hamas wanted to ignite a bloody war.
The week after Hamas carried out its brutal attack on Israeli civilians in October, I said on this global communications colossus that I’m taking no sides, as both are full of shit. Events since then have proven me out: Israel’s response is over the top, bordering on deranged.
I won’t go on social media to say October 7th was an evil act, nor will I assert the incursion into Gaza is barbaric. Even though I believe both things.
Like the sensei advised, I’m avoiding the conflict. On social media, at least.
