The mothers of intervention
In the coming weeks I plan to write at least one column on our provincial media and how it functions. But first I think it is important to discuss a significant problem that is infecting our discussions of politics in general: dehumanization. To be Liberal or Conservative these days seems, to the opposite camp, to automatically (and unquestionably) be seen as an ally of pure evil: nothing more than cogs in the great ideological machine trying to destroy humanity. The antidote? We must know our fellow humans and see the truth of their lives, as I myself did one fateful day in the Middle East when confronted with the possibility of violent conflict.
While I was working at a university in Jerusalem a friend kindly offered to show me around the city by car; twisting through the city and around the Mount of Olives. But before we concluded our trip she casually announced that we would be attending a protest! As she was Palestinian, I assumed that “protest” was a euphemism for screaming protesters throwing rocks through teargas-laden air; a code word for violence and death. “How could she do this to me?” I thought. Protesting in Israel had always been presented to me on TV as loudness, tears and coffins, what was I supposed to do? I am not afraid to fight or run in the appropriate circumstances. But my training is in martial arts, not riot avoidance. Like myself she too was a known pacifist. What cause was so significant that she was ready to risk her life on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, and drag me into the whole mess without prior consent?
Continuing on through the cobbled streets we eventually arrived. It was fight or flight time, and I steeled myself for action. Turning the corner, my fear melted away in a flush of surprise and embarrassment. I was extremely relieved and more than a little embarrassed. The “protest” was a children’s pizza party held in the entrance to an elementary school parking lot! The principal had decided to charge a toll when the parents came to pick up the children. So a group of mothers responded to this ridiculous move by blocking the entrance with tables full of pizza, pop and balloons until he relented. No screaming or violence, just a gaggle of happy kids gleefully eating and playing. These mothers — every variant of religion, ethnicity, economic class and such — had banded together to send a clear message to the school: we won’t put up with this nonsense, and we are not going to teach our kids to hate in the process.
This was a day of power and positivity. The principal changed his mind, the mothers had justice, no one was hurt, kids had fun, and I discovered that I sorely needed a lesson in rectitude. And all it took was some pizza. If they can share such a moment of humanity in the middle of seemingly unending political misery in Israel, we can certainly make the same choice in our beloved Canada.