Dearest Rachel –
Conflict is a necessary part of storytelling. In a situation where everybody abides peaceably with each other, it’s all very drama-free and let’s face it, that’s boring. There has to be something – or someone – to overcome in order for there to be an actual story worth telling. That story could be something like a quest – which could be as simple as a shopping trip – or it could be all-out war, with all the little sub-plots within it, as each combatant plays their part and deals with their role in it.
It’s wild to realize how conflict, and combat, can range from comedic to tragic. The tragedy is obvious; real life is full of the awful results of war (and very little obvious benefits, although I’ve been assured that we have gained so much, technologically speaking, by trying to destroy our enemies more effectively and efficiently than they can). And yet, somehow we manage to make light of, and laugh at, the actions and the effects of conflict. Be it the interminable power-ups of Dragonball, with the viewers reduced to yelling at the screen for the characters to “get on with it” after countless minutes of crescendoing screaming, or the antics of, say, Wile E. Coyote trying (and failing – because who wants to see him actually kill the Road Runner?) to secure himself a decent poultry meal, it’s surprising how much violence is inherent in our comedy, even the stuff aimed at our youngest audiences. You’d think we had some sort of vested interest in teaching war to our children.
The weird thing about that being that it doesn’t really seem to be all that necessary. For all that we are told that children need to be “carefully taught” to hold prejudices against certain ‘other’ people, the fact that we are a fallen race by nature means that anger – and all the kinetic actions that it spawns within us – comes perfectly naturally to all of us, practically from the moment of birth. And since we can’t possibly be responsible for our own dissatisfaction – we certainly can’t be blamed for whatever it is we think we deserve and don’t have – we lash out at others for possessing, undeservedly, what we don’t. We don’t need to be taught any of that.
And yet, that was where my dream had placed me last night; teaching war to a group of middle and/or high school students somewhere in the Balkans, of all places. You would think that, given their history, these will be the folks that would need the least amount of encouragement toward conflict, let alone instruction in tactics, since war has been their lot since at least the time they were the central spark igniting the alleged War to End all Wars, which most certainly did not live up to its billing. Be it Serbia, Bosnia, Kosovo or Croatia, instructing these kids on warfare would be like instructing Gary Kasparov about chess strategies. What could I teach these grasshoppers that they didn’t already know, and so much better than I?
Granted, this was a dream; since when does logic ever apply?
On the subject of illogical, part of my curriculum for them was to set them at each other in mock battles – but they were to use live ammunition throughout. That’s right, it was all a training exercise, but no punches were to be pulled; this was to use lethal force from the word “go” (or whatever their respective words were for that – I really don’t know how I managed to get around the language barrier, either. Dreams). Evidently, this was in order to breed grudges and revenge for the deaths of their comrades, as if that would be necessary.
At some point, both sides had been very nearly wiped out, but the one that had suffered the greatest losses wanted to go out with a literal bang – if they were to be utterly annihilated, they would take the others with them. They consulted with me (and I was, by dint of my educational mandate, required to provide them with the knowledge) about a rudimentary Manhattan Project. That’s right; they wanted to unlock the secrets of the atomic bomb on the ‘enemy’ team, under the assumption that as long as they were on the brink of defeat (and all that entailed), they would ensure that the other side would not live to have the satisfaction of victory, either.
Notice that things like spite don’t have to be taught, any more than anger, honey. At the same time, one has to be impressed at how much of a motivator it is, regardless.
Criticize me all you like for providing them with that instruction – by the rules (such as they were) of this dream, I didn’t have any choice in the matter. I’m still mildly surprised that I had that knowledge to give them, but that’s how these things go.
Needless to say, in the heat of battle, there was no time, let alone desire, to test this ‘gadget’ before using it; they just got it as close as possible to the other team’s lines, and set it off. It occurs to me that certain powers in the real world would do much the same thing. We know that Iran, for instance, doesn’t have the bomb yet because, if they did, that they would likely ‘test’ it by dropping their prototype on Tel Aviv. Even if it was a dud, the impact of its landing would do a fair amount of damage, and that would be good enough, in the mullahs’ opinion, I would imagine.
Such were the thoughts going through my head as I wandered through the ruined landscape left behind by the explosion. For whatever reason, I was left completely unscathed by the chaos I had taught these kids to wreck. By contrast, there were none of them left to work any more of that chaos, but since they had flattened an entire community, they had done more than they could have anticipated being able to when they first started the class. I don’t know if – or think that – they should have been proud of that. Then again, they were only following their teacher’s instruction, and I was only instructing them as per orders by my higher-ups, who I never knew (and who apparently had granted me immunity from the effects of my instructions).
It’s not something I should (or was) proud of, either. I’m grateful it was nothing more than a dream, to be sure, but what does that say about me that I could generate such a scenario in my mind? Do I think that the only way we can have “peace on earth” (as is the sentiment of the season) is when we are all resting in peace? I would tell you “no,” but apparently my subconscious would beg to differ. At least I can take comfort in the fact that I’m in no position to work its will; now, I just need to fear those that are, as I can be assured that they’re no better people than you or I.
In which case, I’ll ask you as always to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I – and the world at large – am going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 