Much to the dismay of my militantly pacifist friends [MPF's], I really understand John McCain. He's a lot like me, and I grew up surrounded by people a lot like him, all of them warriors. A friend who did time as an officer of the Marine Corps Force Recon in Viet Nam says that McCain doesn't care whether he's hopelessly out-of-step with the American political zeitgeist, he just wants to win a war before he dies. It's his legacy, and it's his turn; he badly needs to come back from the shame of buckling under torture in the hands of the NVA (as if anybody blames him, and nobody blames him as much as he blames himself). His grandaddy won a war, and died days after coming home from it; his daddy won a war, or at least didn't lose one -- it was taken away from him by the politicians, in the eyes of the warrior. And here's John, hung out to dry with this hopeless mess in the Middle East. It's not a good war, but it's the only one he's got. He's such a core-value warrior that he despises Rumsfelt and the shambles he made of this country's military. The point is, of course, McCain feels that the military is everything that's right about this country -- honorable, unassailable, the line in the sand, the guys on the wall keeping us safe at night. And he's their last champion.
That kind of talk just infuriates my MPF's; they are of the firm conviction that soldiers and sailors and Marines are nothing more than criminals, at best superfluous to the successful progress of our society, at worst its greatest hindrance -- macho, arrogant, blood-thirsty, fascist, etc etc etc. MPF's get pretty exercised about it: in a recent conversation with one about WWII (in which both our fathers fought and suffered mightily, miraculously emerging alive and at least physically whole), I said I thought the world would be a wretched place had they not participated. MPF said angrily, "But they're not HEROES, for God's sake!" I was stunned, and uncharacteristically unable to reply -- so, a month later, I finally do so. See, I think they were all heroes, and not a single one of them thought of him/herself as a hero; each has said they were just doing their job, and it was a lousy job first, last and always, but it needed doing and they were at hand. That is exactly how I would define a hero, and the hero class includes most mothers, all middle-school teachers, a lot of plumbers and the Dalai Lama.
We can't really deny or dismiss the warrior -- it's an archetype of the human race, just as integral to the psychological structure of the species as are the scholars, servants, priests, sages, artists and the kings we all serve. Not all warriors are war-mongers, it's just a sub-class that expands when we need them, like the remarkable collection of men and women, sages and kings AND warriors, that showed up in late 18th century America: perfect timing and placement, don't you think? There are warriors who do indeed sacrifice themselves for the survival of the tribe; there are those who really do patrol the wall of our territory so we can sleep safely inside the perimeter. Those are the ones whose ranks surrounded me as I grew up, who made it possible for a female child -- the daughter of the regiment -- to grow up relatively fearless: nothing would hurt me, not on their watch.
There are the warriors who will follow the power-grabs of their monarch, no matter what; there are those whose lives are given over to their heart-connections; others use their quick wits and fearlessness in the cause of justice; and then there are the Explorers. (That's me, and that's a whole 'nother blog.)
At the same time, warriors usually make lousy presidents: they're not really very good at seeking or achieving consensus; they're not very good people-persons, beyond their extraordinary talent for story-telling and their remarkable personal charm; their tendency toward the honorable course cripples their politics -- they just can't lie easily, and no politician can survive that genetic flaw. John McCain isn't good president material, certainly not now. He's Miniver Cheevy as a retired four-star general, limping along in a war-ravaged body, grimly trying to keep ahead of the regiment: he was born too late, and it's only getting later. He's a certified American tragedy; I'm relieved that he probably won't be the next president, but I love him and I grieve for his sorrows.
