"I Believe in a Culture of Peace" by Susan Gelber Cannon
This is the first guest posting at this site. It's the transcript of a profoundly moving talk, "I Believe in a Culture of Peace," given this morning by my dear friend Susan Gelber Cannon at Episcopal Academy where she teaches 6th grade English and History. Susan, who is known to me as Amira, spent last year on a sabbatical in Japan, China, Denmark and Canada as an emissary of American education. She is a peace pedagogue with wit as dry as the Arizona desert and wisdom as practical as a Wendell Berry farmer's. Like me, she frets about Iraq and Palestine and attends Washington peace rallies. Her husband Kadir is a very gifted artist whose paintings hang in my living room and with whom I share conspiracy theories like they were fine after-dinner Cuban cigars. We both think Hugo Chavez came to the UN principally to promote Noam Chomsky and hope he will plug Howard Zinn at his next appearance there.
I Believe in a Culture of Peace
I believe in the culture of peace. I believe in daily peacemaking on a personal, institutional, national, and international basis. I believe in regular, not random, acts of kindness. I believe in the power of teachers and students to be peacemakers.
Last year about this time, I was preparing to travel halfway around the world to share my ideas on peacemaking with teachers and students in Japan and China, Canada and Denmark. I was convinced that we everyday people are the key to creating a culture of peace in the world. I still am. But in many ways, this journey of thousands of miles started at home with my father, Fred.
~~~
From my earliest memories, I can see images of my father in uniform. There were the tiny photographs (fading even in my childhood) that he shot in Italy in World War II. There he was holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, or posing with a buddy in a foxhole. There was my father washing his face in his helmet, or riding in a jeep, or standing on a dock with his heavy pack on his back.
In my memory, I can hear the stories, often funny, of how he and a buddy jumped waist deep into a pigpen under orders to take cover, of getting stranded up a telephone pole when he was stringing wire, as his jeep buddies sped away under German fire. My father told these stories over and over again, and they always ended with his loud belly laughs, as if he were trying to persuade us that the war had been fun.
But, I also hear the screaming. My father screamed in his sleep often, sometimes nightly, especially after watching a war movie. "Don't let him watch it," my mother would plead. "He'll fight the war all night if he does." But my dad always wanted to watch; it was if he had to. He paid for each viewing with refreshed images for his nightmares. He would awaken my mom as he kicked and twitched, flailed and yelled, working the covers off his bruised and purple legs, battle scarred and discolored from freezing in the Italian Alps in the winter of 1944.
My father had written my mother every day during the war, and we have over 1000 letters he sent her, full of love, loneliness, and longing, but missing any mention of war's horrors. He never talked seriously about the war, until he was in his eighties. My son Lateef was doing his 6 th grade Multimedia Project on the Italian Campaign of World War II.
He did a video interview of my father, and again my dad told the funny stories. But suddenly, after 2 hours, my dad got real. He called for his tiny Army-issue bible, a battered leather-covered copy that he had kept in his pocket every day of the war. He read the 23rd psalm aloud. You know, "The Lord is my Shepherd… I shall not want…." "I read that verse every day in battle," my father confided, and then he went on, telling us the truth even though he knew we could not fully understand it: "War is hell. That first battle was my baptism by fire. I was one of the walking wounded… Those times weren't a vacation and it wasn't a game. There were thousands of dead people laying around—not just one—but thousands… There were dead soldiers everywhere… War is hell. I don't wish it on my best friends or my worst enemy. May my children, and my grandchildren, and my great-grandchildren be spared from it, forever. Amen."
"Okay," my father concluded. "Now you can shut off the camera." Unfortunately, we couldn't shut off the war in his mind.
~~~
The Secret World of War
The combat veteran lives in a world apart. The civilian-co-worker, friend, wife, husband, child, parent—knows nothing about this world. Aware of our ignorance, countless poets and writers have tried to translate the soldier's and veteran's inner life to the rest of us.
As I went searching for peacemakers during my sabbatical year, I met two of them early in the process. Contemporary war correspondent Chris Hedges writes compellingly about war in two books, "War is a Force that Gives us Meaning," and "What Every Person Should Know About War ." His work does much to help ordinary citizens like me understand the realities—not the myth—of war. Here is an excerpt from a newspaper commentary, The Myth and Reality of War:
"War, it must be recognized, even for those who support the conflict…, distorts and damages those sent to fight it. No one walks away from prolonged exposure to such violence unscathed, although not all come back disturbed. Our leaders mask the reality of war with abstract words of honor, duty, glory and the ultimate sacrifice. These words, obscene and empty in the midst of combat, hide the fact that war is venal, brutal, disgusting…"
John Crawford, an Iraq War veteran, was a senior in college when his Army Reserves unit was sent to Iraq. An accidental soldier, he published his war writing in his book, "The Last True Story I'll Ever Tell ." Reading his book and talking with John, I understood more clearly the transformation from student to soldier he had undergone. "They wanted me to act like a man, but I was feeling like a little boy," he said. "I never wanted to hate anyone; it just sort of happens that way in a war."
After my father's death, I asked my 90-year-old mother, "How did Dad go through all he did and still carry on a normal life?" She looked at me as if I was out of my mind. "He fought the war every night," she replied, and turned away. He wasn't alone. Millions of veterans of combat, soldier and civilian alike, are still living with the demons of war both in their daily lives and in their nightmares. And everyday, in numerous countries around the world, more men, women, and children are becoming living and dead casualties of war, military and civilian alike.
As a daughter, as a wife, as a mother, and as a teacher, I want to know why we are allowing this as a global society? I have not raised my two sons to kill other mothers' sons. I am not teaching you so you can go out and kill the students of other teachers. In my classroom, I refuse to support the myth of war any more. I want to create a culture of peace.
~~~
A Peacemaking Sabbatical
A sabbatical is an opportunity for a teacher to do research in a field of interest, away from the demands of the classroom. For my sabbatical during the school year 2005-06, I researched, wrote, created websites, and taught and traveled overseas. My field of interest was and continues to be peace education.
Peace education aims to change an existing belief system—acceptance of war as a method of solving international problems—to a new paradigm—one in which human rights, social justice, sustainable development, and creative diplomacy are promoted as effective paths to national and international security. Peace education helps young people see themselves as integral parts of one human family and as capable actors for positive social change on a local and global stage. In short, peace education helps kids to think, care, and act.
I traveled all around the world to share and to discover. I went looking for peace and peacemakers. I'll tell you 25 things I learned:
1. I learned that the modern, built-up city of Hiroshima, Japan, with its parks, shops, and skyscrapers, still has the eerie feeling of the dead, those who were incinerated by the A Bomb. But life goes on. People work, shop, and picnic; children play and laugh.
2. I learned that hibakushas, A Bomb survivors, speak every day to groups of school children from Middle Schools all over Japan, about the perils of nuclear weapons and the horrors of war.
3. I learned from one hibakusha, Michiko Yamoake-san, that she would keep speaking to group after group of children, even though she was sick with radiation-induced thyroid cancer, because, "If I speak to 100 children, and I reach just one… that one might make a difference."
4. I learned that if I speak up also, and if even one student feels moved, that is a good thing.
5. I learned from college students in Kyoto that Japanese students feel pressured throughout their school careers, have to take exam after exam, and worry about getting into college, just like you.
6. And, I learned that once they get there, they feel worried about getting jobs and good houses, and have no time to worry about issues such as equality and peace.
7. From these students, and others in China, I learned that it is important to teach my students how to balance their lives, so they can think about important issues, while doing the things they need to do to succeed personally.
8. I learned in Toyohashi, Japan, that private school students in Sakaragoake Middle School could choose a global education track that would enable them to travel and learn about countries around the world for the next five years of their schooling. This was their school's answer to the horrors of Japanese military aggression during World War II.
9. I learned that Japan, once the home of innovative peace education, was now penalizing public school teachers who spoke about peace, going so far as to fire them or send them to far away schools, as Japan tries to remilitarize.
10. I determined that I would teach teachers in the United States, and other countries I visit, about ways to teach for peace during our daily lessons, even at the risk of losing popularity or job security.
11. I learned in Toyohashi, Japan, that artists and educators can work together on peace projects, even when they cannot understand each other's languages, to create beautiful works of art for peace.
12. I learned how inspiring the work of a small group can be to others. One Japanese artist wrote, "You taught us how to express our own opinion. You gave me energy. We have to start some action like you. The Peace Event was a great lesson for us."
13. I learned in Xinglong County China how comforting it feels to be treated to wonderful food and caring guidance in a new country, and that hospitality is a gracious talent at which my Chinese hosts were masters. I vowed to be a better host when people visit my home, my school, and my country.
14. I learned in Xinglong County, in Beijing, Shanghai, and countless cities in China, how curious many Chinese people are about Americans, and that they will open their homes and schools to meet Americans and make new friends.
15. I learned that Chinese Middle School students can be just as energetic, noisy, fun, smart, kind, and naughty as my American Middle School students, and I felt at home teaching them.
16. I learned how important it is for Americans to learn about Chinese culture, history, and development, and that the future of the world may well be found in the quality of the relationships among Americans and Chinese. I made a website to help Americans learn about life in China, and another one to help Chinese learn about life in the USA. Many of my students are pictured on the website, and teachers and students all over the world have enjoyed your writing and art work.
17. I learned in Japan and China, Denmark and Canada that many people think all Americans are greedy and selfish. "What is going on with your country?" was the most common question we were asked.
18. I learned from one Japanese woman that her post office was powered by solar panels on the roof. I learned from one Chinese friend that all the hot water for our hotel was heated in solar heaters on the roof. I learned from my Danish hosts about water-conserving toilets. "Why can't you Americans do things like this?" they asked. We can. Our new toilet works beautifully and saves water.
19. I learned that my Chinese friends who are teachers walk, ride bikes, or take long bus rides to get to their schools each day, and I have started to walk to school twice a week to emulate them and to conserve gasoline.
20. I learned in Canada, at an international conference of peace researchers, that all over the world, in any country you could name, people are working on projects big and small to promote peace.
21. I learned from Johan Galtung, Norwegian peace mediator, that many citizens of the world want Americans to walk humbly, to realize that we are a nation among nations, and that we need to cooperate with the world community.
22. I learned in Denmark that people can mistake irresponsible insults for free speech, and that even cartoons can hurt people's feelings and incite violence. I learned that ignorance of the culture of your neighbor can lead to war with your neighbor.
23. I learned in Norway, at the Nobel Institute, that everyone can be a peacemaker. I interviewed Anne Kjelling, chief librarian, and asked her what my students most needed to know. "Tell them anyone can be a Nobel Peace Prize winner. They are just ordinary people, educated and uneducated, doctors, lawyers, housewives, volunteers. The thing is, they have done something for the cause of peace. Everyone can, but no one does," She said. I vowed that I would tell my American students that. I just did.
24. I learned from Irwin Abrams, Nobel Peace Prize biographer, American historian and peace educator, that peace education leads to an "unseen harvest. There are consequences" of the peace work we do. Big and small efforts yield fruit, whether we are the ones to harvest it or not. He encouraged me to believe that my efforts as a teacher are meaningful and important, even in a culture of war.
25. Finally, I learned that in Danish, Swedish, and Norwegian Fred means Peace. I was visiting the Nobel Fredcenter , when I figured it out.
~~~
Active Peacemaking
My father's name was Fred. While he didn't have peace in his life, his name, his experiences, and his love for people propel me to work for Fred, for Paz, for Heiwa, for He Ping, for Salaam, for Shalom, for Shanti, for Peace.
I want to make you believe in the value of active peacemaking: the belief that socially just policies and structures are more lastingly effective methods of solving global problems than violence and war. Finally, I want you to know that such pacifism is not passive. It is active, hard work, and it is not for the faint of heart.
I ask that you be peacemakers: Use your critical judgment when you watch TV or read the news. Walk, take the bus, carpool. Buy less stuff. Be a good host. Do regular acts of kindness. Study about other cultures, religions, and countries. Make friends with people who are different from you. Care about your families and classmates, and also care about the billions of people who are your global neighbors. Learn how to select a cause worthy of your energy and work for it. Make time for peacemaking. Think. Care. Act. Everyone can, but no one does. Be the one who does.
--Susan Gelber Cannon
I Believe in a Culture of Peace
I believe in the culture of peace. I believe in daily peacemaking on a personal, institutional, national, and international basis. I believe in regular, not random, acts of kindness. I believe in the power of teachers and students to be peacemakers.
Last year about this time, I was preparing to travel halfway around the world to share my ideas on peacemaking with teachers and students in Japan and China, Canada and Denmark. I was convinced that we everyday people are the key to creating a culture of peace in the world. I still am. But in many ways, this journey of thousands of miles started at home with my father, Fred.
~~~
From my earliest memories, I can see images of my father in uniform. There were the tiny photographs (fading even in my childhood) that he shot in Italy in World War II. There he was holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, or posing with a buddy in a foxhole. There was my father washing his face in his helmet, or riding in a jeep, or standing on a dock with his heavy pack on his back.
In my memory, I can hear the stories, often funny, of how he and a buddy jumped waist deep into a pigpen under orders to take cover, of getting stranded up a telephone pole when he was stringing wire, as his jeep buddies sped away under German fire. My father told these stories over and over again, and they always ended with his loud belly laughs, as if he were trying to persuade us that the war had been fun.
But, I also hear the screaming. My father screamed in his sleep often, sometimes nightly, especially after watching a war movie. "Don't let him watch it," my mother would plead. "He'll fight the war all night if he does." But my dad always wanted to watch; it was if he had to. He paid for each viewing with refreshed images for his nightmares. He would awaken my mom as he kicked and twitched, flailed and yelled, working the covers off his bruised and purple legs, battle scarred and discolored from freezing in the Italian Alps in the winter of 1944.
My father had written my mother every day during the war, and we have over 1000 letters he sent her, full of love, loneliness, and longing, but missing any mention of war's horrors. He never talked seriously about the war, until he was in his eighties. My son Lateef was doing his 6 th grade Multimedia Project on the Italian Campaign of World War II.
He did a video interview of my father, and again my dad told the funny stories. But suddenly, after 2 hours, my dad got real. He called for his tiny Army-issue bible, a battered leather-covered copy that he had kept in his pocket every day of the war. He read the 23rd psalm aloud. You know, "The Lord is my Shepherd… I shall not want…." "I read that verse every day in battle," my father confided, and then he went on, telling us the truth even though he knew we could not fully understand it: "War is hell. That first battle was my baptism by fire. I was one of the walking wounded… Those times weren't a vacation and it wasn't a game. There were thousands of dead people laying around—not just one—but thousands… There were dead soldiers everywhere… War is hell. I don't wish it on my best friends or my worst enemy. May my children, and my grandchildren, and my great-grandchildren be spared from it, forever. Amen."
"Okay," my father concluded. "Now you can shut off the camera." Unfortunately, we couldn't shut off the war in his mind.
~~~
The Secret World of War
The combat veteran lives in a world apart. The civilian-co-worker, friend, wife, husband, child, parent—knows nothing about this world. Aware of our ignorance, countless poets and writers have tried to translate the soldier's and veteran's inner life to the rest of us.
As I went searching for peacemakers during my sabbatical year, I met two of them early in the process. Contemporary war correspondent Chris Hedges writes compellingly about war in two books, "War is a Force that Gives us Meaning," and "What Every Person Should Know About War ." His work does much to help ordinary citizens like me understand the realities—not the myth—of war. Here is an excerpt from a newspaper commentary, The Myth and Reality of War:
"War, it must be recognized, even for those who support the conflict…, distorts and damages those sent to fight it. No one walks away from prolonged exposure to such violence unscathed, although not all come back disturbed. Our leaders mask the reality of war with abstract words of honor, duty, glory and the ultimate sacrifice. These words, obscene and empty in the midst of combat, hide the fact that war is venal, brutal, disgusting…"
John Crawford, an Iraq War veteran, was a senior in college when his Army Reserves unit was sent to Iraq. An accidental soldier, he published his war writing in his book, "The Last True Story I'll Ever Tell ." Reading his book and talking with John, I understood more clearly the transformation from student to soldier he had undergone. "They wanted me to act like a man, but I was feeling like a little boy," he said. "I never wanted to hate anyone; it just sort of happens that way in a war."
After my father's death, I asked my 90-year-old mother, "How did Dad go through all he did and still carry on a normal life?" She looked at me as if I was out of my mind. "He fought the war every night," she replied, and turned away. He wasn't alone. Millions of veterans of combat, soldier and civilian alike, are still living with the demons of war both in their daily lives and in their nightmares. And everyday, in numerous countries around the world, more men, women, and children are becoming living and dead casualties of war, military and civilian alike.
As a daughter, as a wife, as a mother, and as a teacher, I want to know why we are allowing this as a global society? I have not raised my two sons to kill other mothers' sons. I am not teaching you so you can go out and kill the students of other teachers. In my classroom, I refuse to support the myth of war any more. I want to create a culture of peace.
~~~
A Peacemaking Sabbatical
A sabbatical is an opportunity for a teacher to do research in a field of interest, away from the demands of the classroom. For my sabbatical during the school year 2005-06, I researched, wrote, created websites, and taught and traveled overseas. My field of interest was and continues to be peace education.
Peace education aims to change an existing belief system—acceptance of war as a method of solving international problems—to a new paradigm—one in which human rights, social justice, sustainable development, and creative diplomacy are promoted as effective paths to national and international security. Peace education helps young people see themselves as integral parts of one human family and as capable actors for positive social change on a local and global stage. In short, peace education helps kids to think, care, and act.
I traveled all around the world to share and to discover. I went looking for peace and peacemakers. I'll tell you 25 things I learned:
1. I learned that the modern, built-up city of Hiroshima, Japan, with its parks, shops, and skyscrapers, still has the eerie feeling of the dead, those who were incinerated by the A Bomb. But life goes on. People work, shop, and picnic; children play and laugh.
2. I learned that hibakushas, A Bomb survivors, speak every day to groups of school children from Middle Schools all over Japan, about the perils of nuclear weapons and the horrors of war.
3. I learned from one hibakusha, Michiko Yamoake-san, that she would keep speaking to group after group of children, even though she was sick with radiation-induced thyroid cancer, because, "If I speak to 100 children, and I reach just one… that one might make a difference."
4. I learned that if I speak up also, and if even one student feels moved, that is a good thing.
5. I learned from college students in Kyoto that Japanese students feel pressured throughout their school careers, have to take exam after exam, and worry about getting into college, just like you.
6. And, I learned that once they get there, they feel worried about getting jobs and good houses, and have no time to worry about issues such as equality and peace.
7. From these students, and others in China, I learned that it is important to teach my students how to balance their lives, so they can think about important issues, while doing the things they need to do to succeed personally.
8. I learned in Toyohashi, Japan, that private school students in Sakaragoake Middle School could choose a global education track that would enable them to travel and learn about countries around the world for the next five years of their schooling. This was their school's answer to the horrors of Japanese military aggression during World War II.
9. I learned that Japan, once the home of innovative peace education, was now penalizing public school teachers who spoke about peace, going so far as to fire them or send them to far away schools, as Japan tries to remilitarize.
10. I determined that I would teach teachers in the United States, and other countries I visit, about ways to teach for peace during our daily lessons, even at the risk of losing popularity or job security.
11. I learned in Toyohashi, Japan, that artists and educators can work together on peace projects, even when they cannot understand each other's languages, to create beautiful works of art for peace.
12. I learned how inspiring the work of a small group can be to others. One Japanese artist wrote, "You taught us how to express our own opinion. You gave me energy. We have to start some action like you. The Peace Event was a great lesson for us."
13. I learned in Xinglong County China how comforting it feels to be treated to wonderful food and caring guidance in a new country, and that hospitality is a gracious talent at which my Chinese hosts were masters. I vowed to be a better host when people visit my home, my school, and my country.
14. I learned in Xinglong County, in Beijing, Shanghai, and countless cities in China, how curious many Chinese people are about Americans, and that they will open their homes and schools to meet Americans and make new friends.
15. I learned that Chinese Middle School students can be just as energetic, noisy, fun, smart, kind, and naughty as my American Middle School students, and I felt at home teaching them.
16. I learned how important it is for Americans to learn about Chinese culture, history, and development, and that the future of the world may well be found in the quality of the relationships among Americans and Chinese. I made a website to help Americans learn about life in China, and another one to help Chinese learn about life in the USA. Many of my students are pictured on the website, and teachers and students all over the world have enjoyed your writing and art work.
17. I learned in Japan and China, Denmark and Canada that many people think all Americans are greedy and selfish. "What is going on with your country?" was the most common question we were asked.
18. I learned from one Japanese woman that her post office was powered by solar panels on the roof. I learned from one Chinese friend that all the hot water for our hotel was heated in solar heaters on the roof. I learned from my Danish hosts about water-conserving toilets. "Why can't you Americans do things like this?" they asked. We can. Our new toilet works beautifully and saves water.
19. I learned that my Chinese friends who are teachers walk, ride bikes, or take long bus rides to get to their schools each day, and I have started to walk to school twice a week to emulate them and to conserve gasoline.
20. I learned in Canada, at an international conference of peace researchers, that all over the world, in any country you could name, people are working on projects big and small to promote peace.
21. I learned from Johan Galtung, Norwegian peace mediator, that many citizens of the world want Americans to walk humbly, to realize that we are a nation among nations, and that we need to cooperate with the world community.
22. I learned in Denmark that people can mistake irresponsible insults for free speech, and that even cartoons can hurt people's feelings and incite violence. I learned that ignorance of the culture of your neighbor can lead to war with your neighbor.
23. I learned in Norway, at the Nobel Institute, that everyone can be a peacemaker. I interviewed Anne Kjelling, chief librarian, and asked her what my students most needed to know. "Tell them anyone can be a Nobel Peace Prize winner. They are just ordinary people, educated and uneducated, doctors, lawyers, housewives, volunteers. The thing is, they have done something for the cause of peace. Everyone can, but no one does," She said. I vowed that I would tell my American students that. I just did.
24. I learned from Irwin Abrams, Nobel Peace Prize biographer, American historian and peace educator, that peace education leads to an "unseen harvest. There are consequences" of the peace work we do. Big and small efforts yield fruit, whether we are the ones to harvest it or not. He encouraged me to believe that my efforts as a teacher are meaningful and important, even in a culture of war.
25. Finally, I learned that in Danish, Swedish, and Norwegian Fred means Peace. I was visiting the Nobel Fredcenter , when I figured it out.
~~~
Active Peacemaking
My father's name was Fred. While he didn't have peace in his life, his name, his experiences, and his love for people propel me to work for Fred, for Paz, for Heiwa, for He Ping, for Salaam, for Shalom, for Shanti, for Peace.
I want to make you believe in the value of active peacemaking: the belief that socially just policies and structures are more lastingly effective methods of solving global problems than violence and war. Finally, I want you to know that such pacifism is not passive. It is active, hard work, and it is not for the faint of heart.
I ask that you be peacemakers: Use your critical judgment when you watch TV or read the news. Walk, take the bus, carpool. Buy less stuff. Be a good host. Do regular acts of kindness. Study about other cultures, religions, and countries. Make friends with people who are different from you. Care about your families and classmates, and also care about the billions of people who are your global neighbors. Learn how to select a cause worthy of your energy and work for it. Make time for peacemaking. Think. Care. Act. Everyone can, but no one does. Be the one who does.
--Susan Gelber Cannon
posted by David Federman @ 4:10 PM
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