#379 – Dick Bernard: Memorial Day 2011. Confusing Times

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Today I will probably attend a Memorial Day observance sponsored by Veterans for Peace near the Minnesota State Capitol; I’ll wear the Buddy Poppy purchased at Hibbing from a VFW member on May 13, and a Forget-me-not purchased from a Disabled American Veteran here in Woodbury a couple of days ago.
Yesterday I drove over to a Minneapolis Church and put up a display for and answered questions about World Citizen and A Million Copies. The founder of World Citizen, Lynn Elling, still living, was a Navy officer in WWII and again in Korea who witnessed the horrific aftermath of Tarawa Beach and has since devoted his life to seeking enduring peace. He is the subject of A Million Copies, along with Dr. Joe Schwartzberg, distinguished professor emeritus at the University of Minnesota. Joe is a military veteran in the Korean War era.
The ‘center piece’ for that display at the south Minneapolis Church was this photograph of Dad’s brother, my Uncle Frank Bernard, in happier times in Hololulu, before he probably woke up just in time to die on the USS Arizona at Pearl Harbor December 7, 1941. He is one of a boat-load of members of my own family circles who served this country in the military, including myself.
Some did not return alive.

Frank Bernard of the USS Arizona at Honolulu HI sometime before December 7, 1941


So it goes.
Memorial Day is a day of mixed messages. We honor the fallen, true, but only our own.
In too many ways we seem to still revere War as a solution, when it never has been a solution: one War only begets the next, and worse, War…. Their deaths justify more deaths….
I offer two other websites this day – places to reflect on this business of Memorial Day.
The first is this from the Washington Post, a site with photos of our soldiers who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan.
I did a rough count at this site, and it appears that in the year since the last Memorial Day, 132 in U.S. service have died in Iraq; 494 in Afghanistan. There have been 6,013 U.S. military deaths in all, just since 2001. Compared with WWII and Korea and Vietnam, the casualty numbers are small, which makes it easier to diminish our ‘cost of war’.
The deaths are tangible reminders of an endless debate over the need for or wisdom of War. This will be played out millions of times today, whenever somebody has a thought, or reads a paper or listens to radio or watches TV.
I looked at another long-standing website that has labored mightily to keep accurate records of the carnage in Iraq during the past decade: conservatively, over 100,000 Iraqi civilians dead from war – this in a country roughly the size and population of California. War is not one-sided, with only soldiers as victims. It is mostly innocent civilians who die.
The cost of war is far more than just our own cost in lives on the battlefield and, now, over a trillion dollars in national treasure just for Iraq. One of the last e-mails of the day, yesterday, was from a friend who had just attended a funeral of her friends husband “…62, mental illness, cancer, Agent Orange. His Purple Heart was there and other medals. His son [both are Marine vets] told me the Veterans Administration wouldn’t listen to his Dad. Do you know where [the son] could get some help?” Was that man a casualty of war too? There are lots of ‘walking wounded’.
I will follow up on the request. I’ll see what I can do.
We are a nation in love with War: if you’ve been to Washington D.C., or any State Capitol, see the monuments.
Can we act for Peace?
I’d invite you to visit the website for a group of which I am proudly a member, the U.S. Peace Memorial Foundation.
Consider joining.

#375 – Dick Bernard: Dooms Day 2011: Remembering a trip to Israel, January, 1996

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It is appropriate that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu is in the United States on the very day that Harold Camping has determined is Judgment Day: May 21, 2011, at 6 p.m. (As I write at 8 a.m. CDT, it is already 6 p.m. in Kabul, Afghanistan, and later still in Japan and Australia, and there have been no bulletins as yet, so perhaps Camping’s calculations were again off, as they were the last time he made his definitive prediction, but no matter…as I learned the End Times business in Catholic school, nobody knows the day or the hour or anything else for that matter. Sometimes mere mortals manage to attract and capture attention before returning to well-deserved obscurity. But people panic anyway.)
I’ve long considered New Jersey sized Israel to be the U.S.’s 51st state, albeit unofficial, and I’ve long considered the little country to have something of a death wish. With those biases up front, here are some memories from a January, 1996, trip to that tinderbox, particularly for those who’ve never been able to go there (it is worth the trip, by the way.)
First, three ‘background’ pieces:
1. Here is a geopolitical ‘picture’ of the place, from a postcard somebody distributed two or three years ago (click on photo to enlarge):

2. Here’s a recent and fascinating geopolitical history of the Middle East that takes perhaps two minutes to view.
3. Roger Cohen of the New York Times had an interesting column about the general history May 21. It is here.
In January, 1996, I was able to join a Christian group which spent a very meaningful week or more in Israel. One of our leaders had an apparent connection to the conservative Zionist ‘side’ – something I didn’t realize till much later, particularly when I reread the tour book we each were given. This sanction gave us a perspective and access probably not as readily available to other groups.
It was a powerful trip.
This was a time of relative peace in Israel:
There was no wall separating Palestinian Bethlehem from Israel; in Manger Square fluttered a two story banner with an image of Yasir Arafat, a candidate for President of Palestine.
I spent too much money (my opinion) buying a Christian manger set from Palestinian merchant in Jerusalem: I still have the figures carved from Olive wood, and we still display it at Christmas time.
We were able to visit the Moslem Dome of the Rock on Temple Mount. No shoes allowed….
Earlier we had visited Armageddon, actually Megiddo, which overlooks the Plain of Armageddon, which is where the end times are supposed to materialize; later we visited the south end of the Dead Sea, the fabled place of Sodom and Gomorrah. (There’s a hotel there now, fronting on the smelly sea. I suppose someone could actually drown in the Dead Sea, but they’d have to work at it.)
Even though it was a time of relative peace, belligerence was not far below the surface. We visited the fresh grave of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, assassinated by a right-wing Israeli barely two months before we arrived, on November 4, 1995.
At the purported site on the Sea of Galilee where Jesus appointed Peter to lead the new Christian Church, our leader was reading the relevant Gospel text, when his words were drowned out by two Israeli warplanes screaming low and overhead, coming from the southeast across Galilee, heading to some unknown place. When we visited the River Jordan, of John the Baptist fame, security was tighter than usual as U.S. Secretary of State Warren Christopher was apparently meeting some leader at a nearby location.
And so it went, at a peaceful time in Israel, an epicenter of three major world religions, January, 1996.
So, on today’s “judgement day”, the odds do not mitigate for a peaceful end for us, and particularly for Israel, and it will be humans refusing to deal with each other who will do ourselves in, if we can’t learn to cooperatively live together.

#373 – Dick Bernard: What to believe?

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A friend of mine just returned from a trip to Washington DC. He and his wife had last been there in 1978. There was much new to see. They enjoyed the trip.
He mentioned that their tour group visited the World War II Memorial (completed 2004).
A younger member of the tour group, a college student, apparently told the group that President George Bush was responsible for building this monument. It’s one of those things common in conversation: a factoid comes from somewhere, is passed along, and soon casually becomes fact. We don’t have the time or the interest to fact-check everything, much less provide reasonable context.
We chatted a little about the topic, and later in the afternoon I decided to satisfy my own curiosity about the issue. The easily found answer is here. Succinctly, the authorization for the Monument was passed by a Democrat Congress and signed by a Democrat President in early 1993. It takes years to plan such a major project and it happened to begin construction early in the administration of a Republican President.
Forty-eight years, including 28 with five Republican Presidents (Eisenhower, Nixon, Ford, Reagan, George H.W. Bush) passed by without authorizing such a Memorial.
Such facts likely wouldn’t much matter to the student on the tour. The WW II Memorial is George Bush’s accomplishment. And to some degree it is, albeit initiated and made possible by other parties and other presidents and endless numbers of other people.
Such is how political discourse goes in this country: fragments pass for truth.
It happened that my friend was in DC during the week of bin Laden’s death in Pakistan. We haven’t talked about that, and since they were on vacation, and he normally is not much into politics, there probably wasn’t a whole lot of attention paid to the barrage of information and misinformation that flowed during the week. Each constituency, of course, who appears on television or in other media, has a particular and carefully prepared ‘spin’ on what the event meant or means. I haven’t changed my interpretation since I wrote my commentary the day after bin Laden was killed.
The assorted bunches are all busy making virtual ‘billboards’ of their own particular bias: it was torture that got bin Laden; President Obama is a war President; on and on and on. Each takes some fragment of truth as they see it, and busily construct it into their form of whole cloth. If you follow only the iterations of one theory you can easily be convinced, as the college kid at the World War II Memorial quite obviously was, that there is only a single reasonable way of looking at the issue: George Bush built the monument to World War II.
I see no accumulation of evidence that President Obama in any way reveres war, or sees war as the answer to human problems.

We are, unfortunately, a society that does almost revere war – try to find any peace monument in Washington, DC. I’ve been there many times. On the other hand, you can hardly walk a block there without running into some monument to War. They are as ubiquitous as churches in Rome.
We have a national attitude problem about the virtues of war. Paradoxically, as we become ever more sophisticated and dangerous in the business of weaponry, we are ever more vulnerable, and losing capacity for long term success. When one fights war from cave-to-cave, or villa-to-villa, as we did finding bin Laden, all of weaponry’s magic is lost. There are too many villas and caves to cover.

Inevitably, there will come a time when our warriors will be back on horseback, or on foot, defending our village from those in neighboring villages. It is not a joy to contemplate this future for my descendants.
Consider becoming a Founding Member of the U.S. Peace Memorial Foundation – I have been since 2006 – and helped build towards something positive.
Bring an image of peace to the United States Capitol, as well as to your own community.

#367 – Dick Bernard: "I Am", the documentary

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May 4, largely on the recommendation of our friend, Annelee, we went to the documentary, “I Am”, at the Lagoon Theatre in Minneapolis.
Wherever you are, I would highly recommend you see this extraordinary and thought provoking film.
Then seriously consider the implications of what you just saw.
The official website is here.
Doubtless, there are other on-line commentaries.
For me, it was one of the most powerful commentaries on the titanic clash of contemporary western culture versus the natural order of things that I have ever seen.
The film boils down, in my opinion, to a conversation about “competition” versus “cooperation”. Of course, our contemporary world is ruled by competitors, who won’t like this message (and who control the media message we daily consume). But the outcome for their descendants is inevitable…competition is a fatal disease.
In the long run, competition doesn’t have a chance and thus we who play by competitions rules don’t either.
But, see the film for yourself, come to your own conclusions, and hopefully let others know about it.
Because it is an ‘art film’ release, it is guaranteed a low audience, initially.
My recommendation: everyone should see it.
SUPPLEMENT: 100 Years
Not from the film, but (in my opinion) directly related.
For a time last fall I watched a most interesting TV ad. The actors were a Mom and her little girl. The little girl was trying to blow out a hundred candles on a birthday cake. The message was that it was really, really hard to blow out a hundred candles, and that we had at least 100 years left of Natural Gas in this country, so not to worry.
The ad didn’t play very long…I’m guessing there were people who saw it as I did.
Recently, the exact same text has surfaced, from the same company, on the same topic. The only difference is that there is a single actor, a nice/Dad-like/young middle-age Engineer Type man conveying the exact same message: we have at least 100 years of Natural Gas left, and isn’t that reassuring?
In the recorded history of humankind, 100 years is but a tiny fraction of a second in time; far, far, far less if one considers the time it took to create this natural resource now all but depleted.
But the message is everything: not to worry.
When the gas is gone there’ll be something else…or so we hope.

#364 – Dick Bernard: "The Wicked Witch is Dead" The killing of Osama bin Laden

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I wrote a friend a bit earlier this evening saying I probably wouldn’t comment on the killing of Osama bin Laden a day ago.
I’ve changed my mind…a little.
All day I kept thinking about the hit song from Wizard of Oz, “The Wicked Witch is Dead”. There are endless analyses of what L. Frank Baum, author of
“A Wonderful Wizard of Oz” in 1900, might have been trying to convey in his characters and his story. I won’t enter that fray. The song did keep coming back to me.
The crowds celebrating the death of bin Laden last night and today reinforced the celebratory nature of the song.
Speaking just for myself, I believe President Obama picked the best of the bad options, and took a huge risk in opting for the mission into Pakistan. Close in mind was President Carter’s failed attempt to spring the hostages in Iran in 1979. So much is out of control in such missions.
This mission succeeded, with unknown future ramifications.
Oh that such decisions were to be easy.
I thought back to an uncomfortable conversation at the Nobel Peace Prize Festival a year ago.
At the neighboring table in the display area was a man, an Indian from India, who was a long-time and close advisor of Gandhi’s grandson. He was helping a friend of mine with her book selling.
It would be fair to say that he was extraordinary in all ways, including intensity. There was no escape from at least considering his line of reasoning. He didn’t expect agreement, nor did it seem that he necessarily even wanted agreement, but neither was it easy to wiggle-waffle around. He much preferred that the person be eye-to-eye and deal with whatever the topic might be.
He told me a little about himself, and then he circled round and presented a scenario, which I remember to be something like this: you are on your property, and you are approached by someone who you know to be very dangerous. You have a weapon, but you believe completely in non-violence. The person approaches the fence and shows every indication of doing violence not only to you, but to everyone else who also occupies your space.
“What do you do?“, he asked me.
I really had no idea what to say. By now, I was caught up in who he was, and who he represented, and what his life philosophy had to be, given he was apparently a disciple of Gandhi.
“What would he say?” I asked myself, hoping to give him an answer he himself would have given.
He knew I couldn’t figure out what to say, and he had me.
After an appropriate silence he gave his answer: “you must kill the invader if you can, because if you do not, he will do infinitely more damage.”
On one level his comment made sense.
On another, it still troubled me greatly.
But it seems to apply to the issue of the death of Osama bin Laden, though the long term implications of bin Laden, and war generally, is many degrees more serious, and no one knows for sure the future.
I’m troubled that people cheer on the news that somebody was killed.
On the other hand….

#360 – Dick Bernard: Returning to the Eighth Grade

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April 15 we were invited to an event at Friendly Hills Middle School in Mendota Heights MN. “Telling the Story of WWII and the Holocaust” was the event: “An Interdisciplinary Project between Language Arts & Social Studies” involving eighth graders in five classes at the school, each of whom had worked on a particular project for the preceding three weeks, culminating in their own museum display.
It was a fascinating program: great learning and great public relations. I congratulate the students, teachers and school.
I remembered back to the 1960s when I taught 8th graders for nine years. Yes, the ‘genus and species’ remains the same: kids are kids. I remembered further back, to 1953-54, when I was in eighth grade. The same….
We went from display to display. They were as one would expect, many very nicely done. In 1953-54 and my last year of teaching, 1971-72, they would have been assembled in roughly the same way: paper glued on pieces of recycled cardboard, etc. But such a gathering would be very unusual.
The difference, and it is a huge one, is technology and accessibility to research data. In 1953-54 we perhaps had one old encyclopedia on which to rely, and no copy machines, or newspapers to clip from. No television and (to my recollection) no movies. Such projects would be very difficult and thus very unusual. Only in recent years would you see, as we saw on Friday, kids with laptops and movies pulled off of the internet. Pretty incredible.
We didn’t have time to visit every display. There were a great number of displays and a great number of visiting family members. At each one I visited, I asked the student what was the most interesting thing that he or she had learned. Every one of them was able to answer the question confidently.
World War II was a long time ago. One student said her great-grandfather was in the War. Even though that made sense to me, it still took me aback. My oldest Uncle in the war – my Dad’s brother Frank – died at age 26 on the USS Arizona at Pearl Harbor. I was 5 years old when the war ended in Europe in 1945; and when I was in eighth grade in 1953-54, my uncle Art, the youngest family member to join the military in June, 1945, was only 26, and not yet married. Time flies.
At Friendly Hills, students picked from a potpourri of potential topics. The brochure said:
“We have discussed
Why do people look for strong leaders when times get tough?
How can “good”people get caught up in “bad” things like the Nazi movement?
How are the ideas of community, identity, discipline, and power connected?
How can the ideas above also lead to conflict among people and nations?
What is our responsibility when we see things happen that are against our values?
How can each of us take ACTION to stand up for the things we believe in?”
These are all good questions for all of us.
A number of students did their research on the dropping of the Atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August, 1945.
One of them was taking a poll, where respondents could pick one of three choices:
“1. Yes, I think it was a good decision[to drop the bombs], and it helped end WWII.
2. I don’t really like what we did, but I don’t have a better solution for it.
3. I think it was a terrible idea to kill so many people to destroy two major cities.”
I picked #3, and joined three others in so voting. #1 had 5 votes, and #2 had 20. Our 29 hach marks added to the conversation.
I felt and feel that killing someone else is never a solution…it only creates a new problem. But that’s not a very popular concept.
War, then and now has its moral dilemmas. The morning after the display the paper had a front page article about the Libyan leaders disgraceful use of cluster bombs against its own citizens. Nestled in the same article was reference to our own countries recent use of cluster bombs in places like Afghanistan. There was nothing about who developed and later perfected and profited from the cluster bomb concept.
Late today came a photo montage of the reality of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Let us never forget.

#349 – Dick Bernard: The Third War in 20 Years? Is it time for the Anti-War Movement to Change Tactics and Strategies?

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As I write, in the background is Wolf Blitzer and Company at CNN already endlessly analyzing the actions in Libya today. A retired General is talking. Of course, everyone is a war expert. War is always interesting, and a launching platform for all points of view.
Peace is boring, or so it seems. How do you report on cooperation when conflict is more exciting? This is how our society seems to assess one versus the other.
Or is Peace really boring to the vast majority of us? Is it, rather, that War is interesting to the visible minority who control the air waves? Hmmmm.
The first time I ever heard Wolf Blitzer was during Desert Storm which began in late January, 1991 with the invasion of Iraq.
I remember vividly where I was when I heard that the U.S. had invaded Iraq – I was driving on Co Rd 42 in Burnsville MN.
Back home that evening, I heard Wolf Blitzer, announcing on CNN from perhaps Saudi Arabia. While he was already a veteran reporter, this was perhaps his first highly visible assignment, talking under Palm trees in his Middle East location. Desert Storm made Wolf Blitzer and CNN into household names. They made a lot of money covering War.
But I was not opposed to the first Gulf War – it seemed necessary at the time – and indeed I got into non-ideological correspondence as pen pal with a young GI in Saudi Arabia. Not long ago I reconnected with the man, and sent him a half dozen letters he had written to me from the front. I thought we’d get together, but haven’t done so as yet.

Envelope for GI letter from Iraq mid-March, 1991


The 1991 War was rapidly over, at least the newsworthy part. The anti-war movement had scarcely time to get organized.
March 19, 2003, 8 years ago today, the bombs began to drop again on Iraq.
This time I wasn’t on the sidelines. The bombing of Afghanistan in October, 2001, had got me into the fray and I participated in lots of demonstrations over the years. I could see no good coming of what I felt was simply U.S. actions to avenge 9-11 by demolishing a poor country. I wrote a newspaper column, published April, 2002, which didn’t even mention the word “Iraq”: 2002001.
Of course, all that ended up mattering to the then-administration was Iraq. We essentially destroyed Iraq, based on a false argument; and we’re still in Afghanistan.
But the action which began today in Libya finds me somewhat conflicted. At the outset, I’m feeling a bit like I did back in 1991. There are major distinctions between the others and this, at least so I feel.
Perhaps I should have joined the annual march remembering the anniversary of the bombing of Iraq today, but I didn’t (I actually drove by the site where the march was to begin but decided to come home rather than park and join the small gathering). My heart wasn’t sufficiently in it. I suppose this makes me a sellout. Really, all it means is that I have an opinion.
I just turned off Blitzer and went back to college basketball, and I will despise every retired General who is hired to analyze the tactics and strategy in Libya in the coming days.
I am every bit as opposed to war as ever, but I think the time is long past for alternative actions: to be for things rather than against.
People I know will disagree vigorously with this. To not be against war is considered to be for war.
So be it.
Three websites dedicated to Peace:
The U.S. Peace Memorial Foundation. I am active in this initiative and a Founding Member. I encourage your support in this long term venture.
A Million Copies. This is a personal website specifically dedicated to two elders who have long years dedicated to world peace and understanding, Lynn Elling and Dr. Joseph Schwartzberg. At this site are links to several other initiatives towards a peaceful world.
World Citizen. This organization, of which I’m vice-president, works to bring peace education into classrooms and is beginning an on-line presence. It is also co-sponsor of the annual Nobel Peace Prize Festival at Augsburg College in Minneapolis (link to Festival information is at this site).
At least take a look.

#347 – Annelee Woodstrom: A Woman's Perspective on the Ravages of War and the Elusiveness of Peace.

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Note from Dick Bernard: This Essay seems particularly appropriate to present at the anniversary of the bombing of Iraq March 19, 2003, and our seeming continued reverence for War as a solution for human problems.

Our wonderful friend, Annelee Woodstrom, grew up in Nazi Germany. She was 7 when Hitler came to power in 1933, and in 1947, after WWII, she came to the United States to marry the “Gentleman Soldier” from Crookston MN who she had met when the Army liberated her town of Mitterteich, which was and is near the Czech border, and later was just inside what became West Germany after the War. Since her marriage in 1947, she has lived in northwest Minnesota, most of that time in the community of Ada MN. She is a retired teacher.
The following essay is one which she presented recently to a woman’s group in her town. This is designed to go with a power-point presentation which I cannot present here, of course. It is her script for the presentation, thus the capitalized letters for emphasis. This essay is passed along with her permission.
Uncle Pepp was a prominent small businessman in the town – a baker. There were two Jewish families in the town. To my knowledge, both left and both survived the war.
Annelee has written two very well received books: War Child: Growing up in Adolf Hitler’s Germany; and Empty Chairs, about her life in the U.S. Her website is here.
Annelee Woodstrom:
During March 1945 I had been ill. In this excerpt from my book WAR CHILD you will meet my Uncle Pepp. He isn’t easy to forget!!
I knocked softly. Uncle Pepp opened the door and motioned to the big chair. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. — I came to say good-bye.”
“So good-bye it is,” Uncle Pepp mumbled. His voice and his demeanor startled me.
“If you are busy, I’ll leave.”
“No, you just sit there, and I’ll tell you when you can leave.”
RESTING HIS CHIN in his hands, he looked at me, pondering. “Everybody comes and tells me, ‘I’m leaving.’ Are you leaving today? You should be home with your mother, but you are out there, getting bombed and shot at just like the men.” His gaze went past me. “The men went and fought, but most of them didn’t come HOME.
The ones who DID are crippled for life in one way or another. Tell me, for what?” He nodded. “Oh, yes, for the THOUSAND Year Reich. What a Reich it is!!! It started with Adolf Hitler and a few crazy men — who hollered and screamed as they led us and lied — until everyone followed blindly into THE abysmal destruction of humanity. Now,— we drown in our own blood. How they have changed us.”
“Uncle . . .”
He didn’t hear me, and I didn’t dare to move as he went on.
“They didn’t change us, we did that ourselves. Now, the whole world will hold us accountable.”
He shook his head. “All my life I tried to do right. Then, in one minute, I ruined it all. Just because Cousin Karl joined the Nazi party and didn’t tell me, I pushed him into this damn war. Now he is in France, doing God knows what? Killing, fighting, or RUNNING to save himself. He shouldn’t have joined the Nazi party without telling me . . . SO I REFUSED TO sign that I needed him in the bakery TO SECURE FOOD FOR THE TOWN. Now, nothing is the SAME . — He and I have changed.”
I had never seen Uncle Pepp like this. I got up and GINGERLY
put my hand on his shoulder AND TRIED TO CONSOLE HIM. “It wasn’t your fault! It’s the war! The Government would have taken Karl anyway. Everybody has to go to war. AFTERnTHIS WAR ENDS, there won’t be any more wars, because there isn’t anyone left to fight.”
Uncle Pepp laughed bitterly. “You would think so. We learn a lot in a lifetime, but no one in THIS world learns about keeping peace. Every time there is a war, they say it is for some cause, and then it will bring peace FOR EVER !!! The human race is the dumbest species there is. For thousands of years legions of people have fought and maimed each other for one cause or another. They TOOK LAND FROM THEIR so-called enemy. When you look around, you see that years later they gave it back. Never mind the corpses UNDERNEATH THE LAND the young were told to conquer.”
Uncle Pepp’s eyes bored into mine. “You think this war is the
last war? Anneliese, don’t mind MY LAUGHING. Some day YOU MAY HAVE A SON who will get his draft notice to fight in another WAR . . . AND AGAIN they’ll promise you, ‘THIS IS THE LAST WAR OF ALL WARS.’ On the other side there will be a mother who will have to send her son for the same reason — TO STOP WAR! What we have NOT YET learned is the simple truth: Wars lay the seeds and breed another more horrible war than the ones before.”
Uncle Pepp came close to me. “I always told your papa you should
have been his first born son, but I’m glad you’re not. Maybe you will
make it through this war. You will, if you’re lucky and have a say
about it.” He kissed me on THE CHEEK,— “Now go, and do come back, you hear me!”
IT WAS March 1947 I WAS LEAVING GERMANY TO COME TO AMERICA AND MARRY KENNEY. MY COUSIN Erna boarded the train with me.
The wheels of the train grated over the worn-out tracks and sparks spewed as we reached Nuremberg. The train stopped near MOUNTAINOUS DEBRIS THAT FOUR YEARS AGO had been the railroad station.
Instantly, we were engulfed by moving masses and WE PUSHED AND SHOVED until we found an empty platform space. Dreading the layover, we PUT our luggage behind our backs, huddled to keep warm and watched. Children, women and men, stood SPRINT READY as they LOOKED and pointed down the trodden path where an American PATROL CAR turned the corner.
At will, the soldiers flipped cigarettes and cigarette butts IIN THE watchers’ direction. The Americans talked, laughed and shook their heads at the spectacle they had created. The watchers sprinted forward until they spied a cigarette landing near them. Within a flash, they threw themselves on the ground, pushing, and fighting until SOMEONE ROSE, arms raised, jumping joyfully and clutching their treasure while their friends cheered.
Erna and I knew that cigarettes were sometimes better than money. With a good barterer, enough cigarettes could sustain the hungry or sick. We watched silently as men traded seven cigarettes for a pound of flour. Another group traded for water, and while the hunger-driven sat and salivated, their chosen leader mixed the flour with water until he held a lumpy dough. Eager hands pulled the dough into sheets that hardened none too soon for the lucky owners. No one took chances WITH THEFT; they devoured the finished product and the hunger pains were stilled for now.
Near us crude scaffolds covered with scribbled messages and weather-beaten pictures of soldiers, children, and families were the meeting places for refugees and all the other survivors of the war. These messages and pictures were the lost and found network of Germany’s twentieth century’s mayhem and madness.
We were overwhelmed by the constant motion that surrounded us. Dressed in tattered clothes, which were probably all they owned, bedraggled hollow-eyed homeless walked by looking for a space where they could perhaps stay for a few hours, or maybe a night. Others searched for a familiar face, or someone who might know the whereabouts of missing family members, friends, or acquaintances.
Groups of people groped through the rubble for anything that could keep them warm.
The most pitiful sight was the refugees. They had lost their homes which had been built by their ancestors centuries ago. Torn apart for the past four years by the ravages of war, families still huddled on their wagons or on the ground. Their nomadic life had taken its toll, and there was no end to the misery that surrounded us.
Disbelieving, WE STARED at bands of German soldiers who had withstood years of fighting on all fronts and were now clad in ill-
fitting shirts, pants, and jackets. Some had lost their limbs, their
hearing, or their sight. The more fortunate ones still had shoes, others had rags tied around their feet. Most soldiers had discarded their Army uniforms, while others wore them ONLY in the darkness OF NIGHT to keep warm. The daily struggle for survival, the unsuccessful searches for their loved ones, and the constant reminders of a lost war had robbed them of their once proud stance.
Children who had been taken from air-raided cities and relocated in designated safety zones WERE NOW ORPHANS — they survived because they had joined street gangs.
Tired and discouraged, we boarded the Wurzburg-bound train.
We stood by the window and viewed in silence what once had been THE BEAUTIFUL CITY OF NUREMBERG. We had heard that unrelenting bombing raids had obliterated the city, but we had never seen such total chaos before.
For miles, — as far as the eye could see, burned-out shells of homes
stood only because the mountains of rubble did not permit them to fall and come to rest. Uninhabitable buildings stood with gaping holes in their sides exposing denuded rooms, and the JAGGED remnants of walls thrust their ragged edges toward the heavens, lamenting their fate. Streets were now winding footpaths through piles of debris.
Throughout the remainder of our trip, through Wurzburg and onto our final destination, Frankfurt/Main, ERNA AND I realized that our Fuehrer had gotten his wish. In 1944, as the Allies encircled the
borders of Germany, shortly before his self-inflicted death Adolf
Hitler had shifted responsibility and blame for Germany’s military collapse onto his people. At meetings, he raved at his district leaders and generals that his people had betrayed him. They were cowards, and they deserved DEFEAT, HUMILIATION and even DEATH at the hands of GERMANY’S enemies. Now, his wish was reality. Germany lay in ruins, its people were destitute, and the once-feared Army had been annihilated. Germany’s regions were divided, and its borders were guarded by four allied nations.
Frankfurt, in twilight, was an image of grotesqueness and it embodied the savagery of war. The stately, CENTURIES OLD stone and brick houses lay reduced to rubble that flowed like lava out into the streets. Weather-beaten cardboard signs with crude, black letters pointed the way to avenues and streets. As the train stopped, we noted that the customary friendliness toward strangers we had taken for granted before the war, was no longer with us.
After my heart-breaking good-by with Erna, I landed in New York , met Kenny , and we took the train to Washington DC
TO MEET WITH [then-Minnesota] Congressman Hagen.
As we left the UNION STATION, Kenny hailed a taxi. The driver joined the evening traffic. The darkness of the night did not penetrate the streets of Washington, D.C. Lights glared everywhere, YET, the traffic flowed smoothly and steadily. I found no chaos here, nor morbid darkness. Everything was so unlike the Germany I had known these past eight years.
I continued deep in thought while Kenny and the driver talked. Suddenly, Kenny put his hands over my eyes and made sure
I could not peek out.
The taxi stopped. KENNY REMOVED HIS HANDS, — Lights engulfed everything around us, and the brightness made me blink rapidly.
Abruptly, I sucked in my breath and shivered as goose bumps crawled through my skin. Wonderstruck, I sat SILENTLY. The beauty and the massiveness of the [U.S.] Capitol Building was beyond anything I could have imagined.
It seemed the past and the future HAD merged RIGHT HERE, and penetrated into the very interior of our car. Thoughts and feelings bombarded and captivated my whole being. I felt so SMALL and insignificant, YET so special at the same time. I hugged my own body and sat still until Kenny spoke to the driver. He started the car and we were silent while he drove past the White House, the house where President Harry Truman lived.
Slowly, I understood I WAS TRULY in another world. How beautiful it was! How stately! How serene!
Realization crept into my mind and took hold. “So that is the way PEOPLE LIVE — where there is peace!” I said softly. TEARS welled up IN MY EYES until the lights were a blur. I THOUGHT OF MY LOVED ONES IN GERMANY AND WISHED, “If only Mama and everyone, everyone in the world could live where there is peace!”
I suddenly felt drained and sad. I had not known peace and serenity since I was in SEVENTH GRADE waiting to celebrate my thirteenth birthday.

Uncomfortable Essays

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The document which makes up the title of this post is 48 pages and was written by Dick Bernard between September, 2008, and July, 2012. It speaks for itself, including, especially, the word “Uncomfortable”.
Uncomfortable Essays 2008-2012
It consists of 17 Essays on assorted topics which could generically be considered thoughts on more effective organizing for the peace and justice community.
An earlier 4-page document, initially written in the Fall of 2002, generally articulated the same ideas to the same general audience. It can be read here: MAPM organizing Dick B Recs Jan 2003
The organization to which the thoughts are addressed is the Minnesota Alliance of Peacemakers (MAP), founded in September, 1995, and still in existence. You can see more about MAP here.
The author of the Essays has been active in MAP since 2002, and was President of the Alliance for three years 2005 through 2007.

#328 – Dick Bernard: Part 4. A Message to the Proles*

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Shortly after the Super Bowl, even with the events continuing in Egypt, the nightly news paid a lot of attention to the rollout of Donald Rumsfeld’s new book, “Known and Unknown“.
There is no need to waste words or even internet links about Donald Rumsfeld – anything one wants to know, positive or negative, about the man, can be easily found…except his own personal secrets.
Personally, I believe that his career – most of his work life – as a “public servant” exemplified manipulation by use and misuse of all of the means of Power** at his disposal, as that word is defined by people who are Powerful. This includes the right to do wrong and never, never, ever admit that you make mistakes, and blame someone else for whatever mistakes were made.
I didn’t see all of the interviews, but the ones I saw were of the Rumsfeld of old: completely on message, not about to be tricked into going off script even the tiniest amount. No accountability.
Examples of shady kinds of behaviors by powerful people are endless. Rumsfeld is way up near the top of the list of those who feel righteous in what they were trying to do, including supposedly to bring, euphemistically, “democracy and freedom” to places far away, all for the greater honor and glory of themselves.
I am particularly interested in the title of Rumsfeld’s book: “Known and Unknown“. I’ve been intrigued by that phraseology since I first heard him use it in the early days of Iraq War.
It brought me back to a lesson learned in one outstanding program of an international company called Landmark Education in the summer of 1998.
In the programs of Landmark, we learned many obvious things that most of us never really connect with.
One of the lessons that stuck was this (paraphrased): “There are things that we know that we know. There are things we know we don’t know. Finally, there are things that we don’t know that we don’t know.”
I could have sworn, from his use of this phrase, that at some point in his development Rumsfeld had taken the same Landmark program that I did. He simply parroted these words, much to the delight of the media, since they were so quotable.
In my assessment, he had the vocabulary down, but he misused the entire concept in denying any culpability for catastrophic calculations made by himself and others at the highest levels in the U.S. Government during the entire post 9-11 time of Iraq.
Not part of that Landmark Lesson was a fourth phrase that I’ll coin that perhaps should well be paid attention to: “There are things that we don’t know because we don’t want to know them.” Think a gangster leader who sends word, “take care of that problem”, and somebody downline ends up dead….
You can never tell what to believe from an executive with Rumsfeld’s experience. Rumsfeld will likely die not revealing any unspoken truth. No apologies at least to his earthly counterparts.
Perhaps the best strategy for us is to believe nothing on first hearing or reading. To be endlessly skeptical. But to retain hope that you can impact on the system.
That’s my message to the Proles (of which I am one).

* – In George Orwell’s book, 1984, the masses were called the Proles. “Prole” was probably a shortened version of the word “proletariat” and 1984 was apparently modeled on then-Soviet Union. Orwell’s book was published in 1949.
In Orwell’s book, the Proles were caricatured through images like the meek housewife, happily singing a tune while hanging out her wash on a clothesline; and the boys hanging out at a pub, getting drunk on cheap gin. In Orwell’s world, Big Brother and his minions were in control in a gigantic pyramidal headquarters in London, and Newspeak (i.e. “war is peace”, etc.) was the alternate official language of power. Telescreens and the Two Minute Hate against a distant enemy kept the rabble afraid and compliant.
The Proles vastly outnumbered the power, but (it seems) never got organized.
The first decade of the 21st century we’ve been living in “1984”, in my opinion.
** – Power defined. I once heard an excellent talk about some of the many kinds of “Power” in plays in all of our lives. As I remember them: there is the power that comes with authority (“I can fire you”, or variations usually involving money); there is the power that comes with the capability of defining the rules of society (“I can make laws”). Power comes with family connections – a family marries into a family with power. The list goes on.
But there was one power I paid most attention to, and the speaker called it “referent power” or “the likeability factor”. For people immersed in the other kinds of power, this is the scary one: this is the problem of relationships, and builds outside, and independent of, the others.
Related Posts: Feb. 6, Feb. 7, and Feb. 8