People are always asking me where I really want peace to be. Don’t I want it in my heart? they ask, so gentle and sincere. Isn’t that where it has to start? What could be more clear?
But I sadly have to disagree. My heart wants nothing to do with peace. And peace wants nothing to do with me. I want a heart of fire and revulsion, disgust and rage. A heart of peace, I think, might suit some other age.
The places where I want peace lie outside myself, and outside everything I see. I want peace where the missiles strike, where the drones buzz, where the doors smash open at night and the children scream in fright.
I want peace where there is war. No less. No more.
When the killing done with my dollars and in my name has ended, the question of my own thumping heart won’t look the same. When there is peace in Afghanistan, Somalia, Yemen, and Iran, when there is peace in Iraq and Libya and Pakistan, I won’t have to work at my own peaceful state.
When war is gone from the earth, gone too will be my hate.