Of course, this was a very odd thing to say, but the interviewer came to agree with him. I think they both missed the point. This woman freely and calmly admitted what she had tried to do and said she couldn’t wait to get out and get the explosive vest waiting for her. She said it was in revenge for a military raid (including Americans) killing her father and four brothers, all of whom she was helping make IEDs (bombs). She was making the bombs in revenge for seeing the Americans shoot a neighbor. She felt these IEDs were all being used against the military, and when the interviewer told her the vast majority killed ordinary Iraqis, she would only say that was forbidden.
This woman may have been honest with the police, and she may have been honest with the interviewer, but she was not honest with herself, and I did not like her. I feel compassion, yes, for her being immersed in a patriarchal and religious extremist culture of violence, where revenge seems like a reasonable use of one’s life.
But what I found most interesting was a fascinating part of the NY Times article where Baida begs the interviewer to come visit her in prison. The journalist is warned that Baida, who has a cell phone, may be setting her up for a kidnapping by relatives. The interviewer is careful and does not tell when she’s coming and does not stay long. She asks Baida if she wants to kill her, and the woman says, “Frankly, yes. Not specifically you, because I know you.” The interviewer pressed her, would she betray her to her family? “I won’t sacrifice my friendship. But if they insisted, yes, I would, yes. As a foreigner it is halal (good) to kill you. If they kill Americans, they will do a big huge banquet for dinner.” And she smiled. She went on to tell how her relatives had called to get information about the journalist, and promised to help Baida escape if she gave it to them. She seemed excited. “They do not want to kill you, but to torture you and make lunch of your flesh. I could not do anything to help you.” She described seeing an American tortured, his eyes gouged out, and added “God keep you safe.” She smiled again and continued pleasantly, “If I had not seen you before and talked to you, I would kill you with my own hands. Do not be deceived by my peaceful face. I have a heart of stone.” The journalist left hurriedly, knowing Baida had called her cousins when she arrived, and they were on their way for her.
Think Baida is unusually deluded? As a vegan, I see this dance all the time right here in America. I used to do it myself. On one side of the wall is loving animals, wishing them to be happy and free of suffering. On the other side is eating them. Those two things are incompatible. For a long time, I did something like what Baida was doing in the prison. I gave animals a hug, and then I sat down to eat them. Oh, little piggy, you’re so cute and so yummy. Ugh.
So if we recognize that this wall is keeping two incompatible beliefs in our mind, and we set out to be more consistent, what shall we do? First we knock down the wall, and confront the painful contradiction that we love animals but we eat them. It hurts too much to see this clearly, and something must change. Some people knock the rubble down on the compassionate side, burying it, hardening their hearts, at least to food animals. They are the ones who call pigs lazy and dirty and turkeys stupid. They mock animal-supporters as sentimental “Bambi lovers.” They may even work with animals, but they are blinded by the stereotype. Or they feel they have no choice; there’s a part in Gail Eisnitz’ Slaughterhouse where she quotes a slaughterhouse worker. I couldn’t find the text just now, but I think his job was to deal with the pigs who fall off the killing line, alive. He went down into the pit they fall into, and one of the pigs nuzzled his leg and looked up at him. He said he looked down and thought something like, “This was probably a really nice animal, but in another 30 seconds it would be my job to bash its head in with a pipe. So I did it.” Do you suppose that job takes a toll on a person?
The stories trump the obvious truth. People somehow convince themselves that cows are for eating but cats are not. People may even tell themselves that we need meat, even though they know lots of people are healthy without it. People picture animals having a good life on Old McDonald’s Farm, even though they suspect that their meat comes from factory farms. There is a fine line between ignorance and indifference, and sometimes we nail that line down so it doesn’t get away from us. We don’t want to know. The truth isn’t the only victim of this choice. When we bury our compassion or shackle it to certain species, a heavy price is paid – a part of us, I would say the best part, is dead.
There’s a third choice. When we confront this inconsistency – love animals or eat them, one or the other, can’t do both – and decide to love them, we can open our eyes to the truth. I think you will find that vegans and vegetarians can more easily discuss animal body parts and watch difficult movies about animal suffering. Everyone knows, deep in their hearts, that the “food” on the table is a bowl of arms and the animals in the videos are suffering, but the vegetarians have already faced this truth. We don’t have the pain of dissonance, of inconsistency, of complicity. For us it is just raw compassion, mixed with an affirmation of our decision.
Two years ago I knocked down the last of this particular wall, and I embraced love and compassion instead of cheese. As the Buddha suggested, I find that this truth does good to one and all. I will live it, and believe.
Delusion
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/16/magazine/16suicide-t.html
I was reading a chilling article in the NY Times Magazine recently,
“How Baida Wanted to Die.” It was a series of interviews with
Baida, a foiled Iraqi female suicide bomber. The Iraqi woman was in
prison, and the American woman interviewer was told by a police
director that she would like the Iraqi, “She’s honest.”
Of course, this was a very odd thing to say, but the interviewer
came to agree with him. I think they both missed the point. This
woman freely admitted what she had tried to do and said she couldn’t
wait to get out and get the explosive vest waiting for her. She
said it was in revenge for a military raid (including Americans)
killing her brothers and her husband, all of whom she was helping
make IEDs (bombs). She was making the bombs in revenge for seeing
the Americans shoot a neighbor. She felt these IEDs were all being
used against the military, and when the interviewer told her the
vast majority killed ordinary Iraqis, she would only say that was
forbidden.
This woman may have been honest with the police, and she may have
been honest with the interviewer, but she was not honest with
herself, and I did not like her. I feel compassion, yes, for her
being immersed in a patriarchal and religious extermist culture of
violence, where revenge seems like a reasonable use of one’s life.
It may have been this article or another where the author was
matter-of-factly listing off some recent bombings and casualties,
and I had to stop and take a deep breath. It was all so insane. As
Doctor Phil, would say, “How’s that working for you?” Who is helped
by killing and revenge? The dark mind finds brief satisfaction in
the suffering of one’s enemy, but is it joy? Is it happiness? It
is tinged with hate and anger – it cannot be good.
There was a fascinating part of the article where the Iraqi begs the
interviewer to come visit her in prison. The journalist is warned
that the prisoner, who has a cell phone, may be settin her up for a
kidnapping by relatives. The interviewer is careful and does not
tell when she’s coming and does not stay long. She asks the Iraqi
if she wants to kill her, and the woman says “Frankly, yes. Not
specifically you, because I know you.” The interviewer pressed her,
would she betray her to her family? “I won’t sacrifice my
friendship. But if they insisted, yes, I would, yes. As a
foreigner it is halal (good) to kill you. If they kill Americans,
they will do a big huge banquet for dinner.” And she smiled. She
went on to tell how her relatives had called to get information
about the journalist, and promised to help Baida escape if she gave
it to them. She seemed excited. “They do not want to kill you, but
to torture you and make lunch of your flesh. I could not do
anything to help you.” She described seeing an American tortured,
and added “God keep you safe.” She smiled again and continued
pleasantly, “If I had not seen you before and talked to you, I would
kill you with my own hands. Do not be deceived by my peaceful face.
I have a heart of stone.” The journalist left hurriedly, knowing
Baida had called her cousins when she arrived, and they were on
their way for her.
Baida’s speech sounds psychotic, but it’s just torn. She has a wall
up in her mind between two things that she believes: “Americans are
bad and I want them to die.” “Americans are friendly and helpful
and I don’t want them to die.” This wall is crucial to her daily
functioning because obviously these two things are mutually
exclusive. In this fascinating speech, you can see her dancing back
and forth from sentence to sentence, peeking first on one side and
then the other side of this wall. Baida has three choices. Her
first choice is to continue to wobble back and forth in this
dissonant way, believing two incompatible things. The alternative
is to knock down the wall. It will be painful to knock it down and
see both sides at once, because she will see that her model doesn’t
work, that she must give up one of these ideas. So her second
choice is to believe all Americans are evil and must die; she will
then have to convince herself that each American that she meets is
evil, from the soldiers handing out candy bars, to the aid workers,
and even friendly interviewers. She will have to mock anyone who
supports a more compassionate path. Her third choice is to knock
the wall the other way and turn to peace.
Think Baida is unusually deluded? As a vegan, I recognize this
dance all the time right here in America. I used to do it myself.
On one side of the wall is loving animals, wishing them to be happy
and free of suffering. On the other side is eating them. Think
about it. Those two things are incompatible. For a long time, I
did exactly what Baida was doing. I gave animals a hug, and then I
sat down to eat them. Dick King-Smith is a chldren’s author (think
“Babe” who is a master at expressing people’s discomfort with this
dissonance, often showing the switch within two sentences. In this
excerpt, from Ace, the Very Important Pig, Farmer Tubbs is delighted
his piglet is communicating with him, and remembers he’s the
grandson of Babe: “‘So you never know, young Ace – you might be an
extraordinary pig when you’m full grown.’ Except you never will be
full grown, thought the farmer. I shall sell you…when you’m eight
weeks old, and a few months after that you’ll…be pork. He was
careful…not to say this out loud… The piglet might understand
what he was saying.”
So if we recognize that this wall is keeping two incompatible
beliefs in our mind, and we set out to be more consistent, what
shall we do? First we knock down the wall, and confront the painful
contradiction that we love animals but we eat them. It hurts too
much to see this clearly, and we must change. Some people knock the
rubble down on the compassionate side, burying it. They are the
ones who call pigs lazy and dirty and turkeys stupid. They mock
animal-supporters as sentimental “Bambi’lovers.” They may even work
with animals, but they only see the stereotype, not the honest
animal. They have to willfully enforce their delusions.
There is another children’s story that I recently read to my
daughter that I found illuminating in its simplicity. “The Three
Erics” is in the wacky book Wayside School, by Louis Sachar. There
are three boys named Eric in the class. Wikipedia puts it well:
“Each one is given an inapproriate, stereotyped, and just plain
wrong nickname.” Two of them are fat, and everyone thinks that all
three Erics are fat, so they call the skinny one Fatso. The kids in
the class make judgements about the Erics based on some of them,
instead of directly seeing and understanding. They see two mean
Erics so they tell themselves a story that Erics are mean, and when
they come to nickname the third Eric, instead of seeing how nice he
is, they are blinded by their story, and they call him Crabapple.
Similarly, two of the Erics are bad at sports, so the one who is
good at sports is nicknamed Butterfingers. At first listen, this
just seems silly, but it isn’t hard to think of real-life
situations. You’re walking down a dark street in a bad part of town
and a group of African Americans is approaching you. All the
stereotypes pop into your head and you become afraid, but these guys
may turn out to be a pastor and his boys choir leaving evening
services. Remember the police who killed an innocent immigrant in
his doorway? (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amadou_Diallo) The
police just saw the whole scene differently, and missed all the cues
that this wasn’t a thug.
So when someone says “Pigs are stupid,” they aren’t basing this on
any direct experience. Pigs are actually probably smarter than
dogs. Turkeys can be very affectionate. At least the Erics’
classmates based their stereotypes on direct experiences with some
Erics – what experience do we have with turkeys? All these kinds of
statements are an attempt to keep the wall pushed over that way.
Because it if falls on the other side, we have to change, not only
our minds, but our behavior.
Two years ago I knocked down the last of that particular wall, but I
embraced love and compassion instead of cheese.