If hawks played banjos
After Senator Lindsey Graham’s death in July, I read an account of his funeral in The New York Times which stated, “President Trump eulogized Graham as ‘one of the great figures in Senate history.’ Graham, he said, was truly hawkish: ‘He never saw a war that he didn’t like.’”
I was dumbfounded. Is it psychologically sound to “like” war? That the president of the United States should find this trait complimentary is disturbing.
When I was a kid, I had this glorious notion that war was becoming a thing of the past. In school I learned about historic wars—although I didn’t find the lessons captivating. It was clear to me that blowing each other up made no sense at all. And if I could see that, surely people of consequence could see it, too.
It never occurred to me that maybe some people actually like it.
Since Lindsey Graham and I were born mere months apart, the notion that he liked war and I don’t is not generational. So, what’s the deal?
I tried to research the psychological soundness of enjoying war. I couldn’t find much. A quote attributed to the NIH said, “Evolutionary psychology suggests humans—particularly males—evolved a predisposition for collective group aggression because it historically boosted survival and status.” I also read that “War replaces the confusing gray areas of daily life with extreme clarity, clear goals, and a sharp sense of an enemy.”
So, in order to feel clear-headed and reduce the fuzzy parts of my life, I could use a “sharp sense of an enemy?” And if I achieve this animosity in a group setting, we’ll create an intense sense of belonging? (Sounds like American politics.)
I do have a group of friends with whom I gather regularly. We play music together. We go line dancing. There’s nothing that fills me with more joy than communing with these folks. But sometimes a few days go by when I don’t see them. We’re all busy with that gray civilian life that’s not conducive to creating intense bonds. And sometimes during those spells, I feel lonely. Maybe even a bit anxious—when a backlog of household responsibilities floods the forefront of my mind. If my friends and I shared an intense anger toward some common enemy, would I feel less alone when we’re not out dancing? I doubt it.
Last week I heard the national deficit reached 40 trillion dollars. And I read, in multiple places, that the cost of war accounts for a sizable chunk of that debt. A Brown University article cast an interesting light on that money: “The post-9/11 wars were funded largely through debt, rather than through increased taxes or the sale of war bonds, as U.S. wars of the past were funded. The use of debt rather than increased taxes makes war more invisible to taxpayers, obscuring the true costs of war by pushing financial obligations to future generations.” Clever!
Maybe if all these hawks went dancing and learned to play the banjo, they’d be less inclined to send young men and women into harm’s way—at your great-grandchildren’s expense.
I read a wonderful quote sometimes attributed to Walter Cronkite—the esteemed newsman of my era—although there’s apparently no official record of him saying it. Still, it deserves to be heard: “War itself is, of course, a form of madness. It’s hardly a civilized pursuit. It’s amazing how we spend so much time inventing devices to kill each other and so little time working on how to achieve peace.”
Wish I knew who said it. Sounds positively presidential to me.