What Do We Owe the Country We Love?
The story of my life matters more to me than life itself
Would you die to save democracy?
Die here is not a metaphor. Heroism is easy on paper. But when it comes to it, either bow your head or lose it?
Do you sense me squirming? I support democracy with all my energy and intellect. Life, I’m convinced, would not be worth living without the freedom to think and speak. I have visited totalitarian countries. Their subjects are gray (subjects, not citizens). I’d mope so confined, maybe wither of inanition. No way!
And yet… Wouldn’t I still have books to read, music to listen to, grandkids to hug, my kids, friends, Jane? Wouldn’t the sun still rise and daffodils announce the spring? Hope, however dim, remains hope. No regime lasts forever. If not now, maybe in my children’s children’s time…
And what good would my dying do? Christian martyrs had it easier, even easy, they were going to a better place. I wouldn’t be. I’d be going to the dump with the rest of the trash, any potential usefulness snuffed just like that. What a waste! If my death was certain to topple the tyrant, maybe it would be worth it. But I am no assassin – I’ve never shot a gun – wouldn’t know how. Isn’t it more sensible, even courageous, to “live to fight another day”?
Besides (I am still squirming), we’re “not there yet.” Yes, the signs are bad, the jackboots are nearing, but let’s “cross that bridge when we come to it”? So much will have changed by decision-day – in our nation’s circumstances and my own. Declare my resolve here and maybe when the time comes, I’ll cave, shaming myself. (Haven’t I read Lord Jim? Maybe I should reread it.) Enjoy today and let tomorrow evolve as it may: that’s dog-pal Henry’s advice. Why darken my atmosphere with dread?
The reason to anticipate crises is to behave better if they occur. I will expire graciously, I’m hoping, because I’ve rehearsed the event and watched others funk it. We’re remembered by how we die. I want my death to inspire, not embarrass.
I love America. I love life. Which more? Would I love life if I “couldn’t look myself in the mirror”? I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but as of today, I’d grant myself an honorable discharge. Would I feel that way if I quailed in a final hour?
This calculus isn’t easy. It raises questions we’d prefer to ignore: What does life mean, what’s a life worth? Don’t be a ninny, Henry sighs, adjusting himself on his cushion, take each day as it comes.
I would if I could. Only I can’t. The story of my life matters more to me than life itself. I long to embrace myself at my finish line like a loving coach, “You did me proud.” Let not my deeds mock my words: yes, he talked the talk, but he also walked the walk.
We do not choose our wars, they choose us. The present effort of Americans to destroy democracy makes me sad and mad. The pusillanimity of my fellow citizens turns me misanthrope. I subscribed to the American myth, that we were good at our core, when the going got tough the tough got going! No longer.
We deserve the evil that has befallen us. I’m ashamed to be an American. But I will not decamp or disavow. Courage is proven by valor in a dire hour. In the story of my life, I’ve cast myself as hero. If my choice is death or surrender in this war to save our freedoms, let me not shirk.
Your imaginary conversation with Henry the dog brings to consciousness the internal conversations we all have in an attempt to process the feelings of despair, helplessness, and ennui triggered by the execution of our previous hopes and dreams by the political thugs we have collectively embraced.
All of us would prefer to live in the simple grace of the moment without awareness of past and future consequences. Sadly, we don't live in Henry's animal world, but in a world of symbols and illusions created by our anxious conscious minds. Our brief turn on the stage must have a dramatic purpose, or we "bombed" and deserve to be booed off the stage into our anonymous graves.
Henry simply lives in the world as it is without compulsion to bend it to his doggie will. He is not personally responsible and not fearful of "review". We, on the other hand, share the blame for creating the ungodly mess we now inhabit. We are the stars (and producers) of our own show. "The buck stops here."