Poor Richard Phillips: may his wife have a short wait until he is safe. Four pirates in a lifeboat that seems to be some kind of raft, pirates who have the nerve–because of greed or because of desperation or because of influences I don’t understand–to hold Capt. Phillips hostage, do so in spite of a rather large military presence in the area and in the face of one and soon-to-be two military vessals. What kind of catastrophe is building here?
Watching the news on television, I was struck by a quick solution to end this mess, and I mentioned that perhaps we should capture their families and display them on deck, cutting off fingers periodically to speed things up. !!! That was a horrible flight of imagination, born from some red flash in my brain. I know and truly believe that cutting off fingers is not any way to treat human situations, and there is no justification for treating the wives, parents, and children of the accused this way. It’s not civilized, and we need to evolve a bit before we’re truly civilized anyway, so those of us who are aware need to be on our best behavior.
But no, said hubby: that’s some little efficient Nazi scenario you’ve got going there. And he went on for minutes telling me things that I already know about propriety. I was abashed.
Reflection tells me that the really, really proper thing to do is exactly what is being done: negotiations. How could I so disregard the well-being of living things to say such a horrible thing? Thinking about my blasphemy, it occurred to me to wonder if eight years of influence of televised Republican ways had somehow seeped into my perspective. Would that explain how a concern for the well-being of two strangers could become a flash of rage that would cause such words to come from my mouth? Or is this the reality of the terrible person that hides in me, barely concealed by a pacifist veneer? Is it me, or is it the T.V.?
Believe me, one can follow this line of thought forever, or at least for an hour or two. Totally separated from hubby in spirit, I sat quiet, steeping in questions about my underlying motives, until something broke through and dissipated the mood. I began to think about the situation, the negotiations, the kind neighbor who spoke to the media for Capt. Phillips’ wife. I thought about the four skinny men holding huge weapons on that liferaft. Who are these men? They’re probably pretty tough, but they are in a scary situation now. I hope they will negotiate some sort of deal, and I hope it ends with Capt. Phillips home again, holding his wife and getting his groove back. No harm; just foul. Everybody living to fight another day. Or maybe reconsider a life calling.
I’m going to lie down for a while and contemplate civilized ways.