From the issue dated October 26, 2001
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Declarations of WarBy MICHAEL KIMMELI am 50. The span of my years matches exactly the second half of the 20th century.
Oh, sure, I've witnessed, through the news media, numerous invasions, police actions, revolutions, and undeclared wars all over the globe. I've protested against the possible invasion of Cuba, the undeclared war in Vietnam, the "incursion" into Cambodia, the engineered coups in Congo and Chile, and covert military operations around the world. There has been plenty of violent conflict. But no actual, declared war. Now there is. President Bush has said that we are at war. But against whom? This is a war unlike any other, because it's not against another country, or a particular population within a country. We've declared war on an idea -- specifically, the perversion of Islam that calls for holy war against Jews and their allies, and more generally, any form of theocratic antimodernism. And we've declared war on those individuals who, in the name of that idea, seek to destabilize that part of the world they see as their enemy. To be honest, I don't know how to act during a war. I know how to oppose wars, not how to support them. I don't know the appropriate behavior for a citizen during wartime. My parents know. But when I ask them, they speak of war bonds, rationed sugar, concentration-camp revelations, the way my grandmother spoke of knitting mittens for men at the Western Front. The context has changed. When confronted with crises, both personal and political, I've always looked to feminist women, and to the left generally, to give some perspective, provide some context, help me shape an analysis. That's where my heart lies, where my politics start. In the wake of September 11, however, the abstract political analyses of the left seem one-dimensional and flat. I've been as disappointed with them -- no, more disappointed, because these are, after all, "my people" -- as I have been with my political leaders, who seem almost eager to get down to the business of fighting wars, which is what the right has always said it wants and hopes for (nothing like a good war to soften opposition to military spending). My president wears a compassionate face, but essentially repeats the unofficial motto of his state: "Don't mess with Texas." But that's to be expected. We elected -- OK, not really, as the Supreme Court appointed the electoral loser -- soft-spoken hard-liners, men of stoic resolve, to protect corporate profits no matter the damage to life or earth. They're acting as we might expect. But the left's response, here and abroad, is a perverse mirror image of the response by Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson, who, the day after the attacks, proclaimed them God's judgment against a country that had grown lax about abortion, homosexuality, and the American Civil Liberties Union. The left has been equally myopic, minus, of course, the theocratic impulse. We've been treated to a recitation of the accumulated evils of American hegemony -- the toppling of democratic regimes, the economic transformation of globalization (a nice word for imperialism), the massive costs in human lives as we have supported one dictator after another, not to mention the permanent environmental devastation. All true. I've been protesting against these since I could carry a placard. It is important to provide a context for the terrorist attacks, especially in relation to the issue of American imperialist control. But it seems equally true that some events change the context so dramatically that they create new contexts. Yes, I am critical of my government -- as I always have been. But I am also feeling fiercely patriotic. And I believe more than ever that the separation of church and state is one of our most fundamental freedoms, since theocracy, foreign or domestic, is the cloak of totalitarianism. To be sure, the U.S. role in international affairs is mixed. But for every person whose life has been unmade by economic globalization and our steadfast support of right-wing dictators, there are others who sleep better at night, knowing that the United States guards them against intolerant theocracies that would kill them for their "heresy"; those who think that the United States still offers individuals the best opportunity to make choices about their own lives without interference. As a Jew, I know I sleep better for it, however disturbed that sleep may be now by the price being paid. After all, the people we are fighting are bent on ethnic cleansing; they are the descendants of Nazism, not anti-imperialist struggles. They would "cleanse" the world of me. The name of the umbrella organization that encompasses Al Qaeda and other terrorist groups is the International Islamic Front for Holy War Against Jews and Crusaders. I guess the left forgot about that. Granted, this is not a war of clear good and evil, like World War II, for which we are recently so nostalgic. But neither is it like Henry Kissinger's murderous coup in Chile, nor the sustained aggression against the people of Vietnam. Would I lose any sleep if the Taliban were destabilized as the ruling junta in Afghanistan and Bin Laden's forces destroyed? Not one wink. Equally wrongheaded has been the response of some feminist women, and their male allies, who have thrown up their collective hands at traditional masculinity -- the current, bellicose penis-wagging, the macho posturing, the vacuous chanting of "U.S.A." Isn't it just like a man to take the feelings of vulnerability, defenselessness, and helplessness -- all of which are rational responses to the terrorism of September 11 -- and turn them into the only legitimate emotion men allow themselves to feel -- anger? But that traditional masculinity has also shown us some magnificent displays of sacrifice. Just yesterday, it seems, firefighters were being criticized for their resistance to women's entering their ranks, for their ferocious defense of their frat-boy, locker-room mentality. Now they've exhibited a selfless courage that makes me weep with admiration. And what of those men on United Flight 93 who decided to fight back against the hijackers when it became clear that their plane was going to become a bomb? It appears the men called their wives, found out what was happening, and decided to take action so that others wouldn't be killed. Such heroic sacrifice from ordinary men speaks of a love that dares not speak its name: a deep and unselfish love of one's fellow human beings. Actually, I found it moving beyond words that the first impulse of those men, and of so many in the World Trade Center, was to call home, to tell their wives how much they loved them, loved their kids. Throughout these terrible days, we have heard stories of how men went rushing back to save their friends, how they made sure others were safe before they tried to get out. One man carried a woman down 68 flights of stairs on his shoulders because her wheelchair couldn't fit in the stairwell; he never even told her his name. Another man remained by the side of his quadriplegic colleague, refusing to abandon him. They perished together. Traditional definitions of masculinity certainly have their imperious sides, brimming with homophobia and sexism. But they also contain the capacity for quiet heroism, selfless sacrifice, steadfast resolve, deep wells of compassion and caring, and, yes, a love that made these men magnificent. At the moment, I feel shaken. I no longer stand on solid ground. I find myself in tears a few times a day, perhaps because I want to stay with the feelings of vulnerability, helplessness, and fear without turning them into anger, so much more familiar. I stand on even less-firm political ground, as the platitudes of feminism and the left seem shallow and reactive. Where are the politics of ambivalence, the sense that neither diplomacy nor military invasion is the answer? Where is the box for those who want to check "none of the above"? It's a time for neither uncritical patriotism nor critical unpatriotism. When I was 15, marching in one of my first demonstrations against the undeclared war in Vietnam, I was confronted by a heckler who told me to go back to Russia. (How did he know that's where my ancestors came from?) I replied in typical arch-adolescent precocity, declaring that I was an American, and that it was my duty to protest against bad policies. "I'm a patriotic American!" I told him. Then, I felt that it was patriotic to criticize my government's actions in Southeast Asia. Today, I feel a patriotic duty to support a war against terrorism, against those who would gladly, in a perversion of their religion, wipe me and my kind off the face of the earth. For the first time in my life, maybe, we're not the enemy. They are. They have declared war on me, on my people, on the ideals of freedom and democracy that protect us all. In the 50 years of my life I have always been struck by the contradiction between ideology and reality. "America has never been the aggressor and never lost a war" was a constant mantra in schools in the 1950s and 1960s. After Vietnam, we learned that we could lose a war. And it is clear to many that we have been the aggressor. But now, for the first time in my life, we are not the aggressor. We know how the other side feels. Can we stay with those feelings long enough to generate a new empathy for all victims of violence and aggression? And can we marshal the best that is in us to bring about a just and decent peace, anchored by the twin towers of our vulnerability and strength? Michael Kimmel is a professor of sociology at the State University of New York at Stony Brook. http://chronicle.com Section: The Chronicle Review Page: B18
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Copyright © 2001 by The Chronicle of Higher Education