“Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”
(Bible, Matthew 5:44)
Hm? May be, those guns are shooting with hugs and kisses instead of bullets?
“Leaders who do not act dialogically, but insist on imposing their decisions, do not organize the people – they manipulate them. They do not liberate, nor are they liberated: they oppress.”
* * *
From the Brooklyn Rail
“Later that week this lieutenant showed up and ordered us to put up concertina wire everywhere. He discussed the possibility of booby traps and the need for all of us to dig in. Adopt fighting positions.
It made no sense at all unless the goal was to lose the hearts and minds of the people. To make them stop thinking of us as liberators and start thinking of us as occupiers….
The fortification of our site encouraged us to hole up, and it encouraged the locals to minimize their contact with us. We moved dutifully to establish fighting positions that would block potential fire coming at us and keep the enemy from seeing us clearly.
However, we didn’t have a lot of materials to make our fighting positions. We had rocks. Lots and lots of rocks. That was it. So out fighting positions involved piling rocks into a kind of enclosure where we might comfortably take cover.
The locals, who build their homes and their walls and everything else by stacking rocks on top of one another, saw us in our little rock-piling project.
They watched us, intrigued.
“No, no. Please. Let us help you.”
“This is a military precaution,” we explained. “To protect us. From attack.”
“Yes. Yes. But please. Let us assist. We know how to do this better.”
So we agreed. What else were we going to do? And so the locals built our fighting positions for us. To help us protect ourselves. From them.”
(From “Love my rifle more than you:
Young and Female in the U.S. Army”
by Kayla Williams)
“Compassion, even towards one’s enemies, is a sign of nobleness and spiritual perfection.”
Ostad Elahi (1895-1974)
* * *
“The ship I had been loaded onto had been the Sebastiano Venier, also known as the Jason… On 9 December 1941, the Sebastiano Venier was hit by a torpedo fired from one of our subs, HMS Porpoise, commanded by Lieutenant Commander Pizey. Hundreds of allied soldiers, many of them New Zealanders, were killed. Nowadays they’d probably call it friendly fire, and it would rank amongst the worst examples in history, but back then the calculation had been much simpler: wars weren’t won by captives and enemy shipping was helping resupply Rommel. No matter how many prisoners died the ships had to be sunk to save the lives of those still fighting. The greater good depended on it whatever the cost. The price was paid by men like us…
The carnage on board, especially in the hold where the torpedo had struck, had been appalling but…not all the prisoners on the ship had perished, and in fact most had survived the attack…
I had made it up on deck soon after the torpedo struck and went straight over the side without a thought, kicking as hard as I could to get away from the stricken ship. I had seen the ship receding slowly into the distance and tilting ever deeper towards the bow as it went and then I lost sight of it. I was convinced that boat had gone down with all those poor lads trapped inside it…
The Sebastiano Venier did not go down, in fact it became famous for staying afloat…
The Sebastiano Venier’s outward voyage, taking supplies to Benghazi, had been a terrible passage for the crew and theirs was he only ship of five to get through… The experience had shredded the crew’s nerves. The Italian captain in particular had been nervous and jittery as they put to sea again… They made it as far as the southern coast of Greece, when, according to the surviving accounts, the captain spotted the periscope of an allied sub poking through the waves. He panicked and concluded rashly that the game was up. He feared that the moment a torpedo struck, the 2,000 or so allied prisoners would fight their way on deck and overwhelm the few lifeboats on board. He ordered the crew to abandon ship before the first torpedo struck in order to save his own skin…
The man who saved this ship and the remaining prisoners was a mysterious German who had never been identified to this day. He appeared like the strangest sort of guardian angel, brandishing a Luger pistol and a heavy spanner. He restored the order and got the few Italian engineers who had been left behind by their superiors to fall in line and then, working through an allied NCO, he convinced the prisoners to calm down and stay on board He told them they might be able to save the ship if they worked together and that the sea was now their greatest enemy. He ordered the men to the rear of the vessel, telling them that their weight would help relieve the strain – however fractionally – on the forward bulkhead; he said their lives depended upon it. He gave instructions for first-aid posts to be set up to treat the injured and got the engines going again but very slowly…
With the waterlogged bow of the ship acting as a drag the mystery German got the boat going astern and very slowly he edged it the remaining miles towards the shore. Several hours later, he beached it on the rocks to the grinding sound of steel. There were hearty Allied cheers for the German sailor who had put enmity aside to get as many men as possible to safety…
The German, who vanished as quickly as he appeared,… was probably a marine engineer but his consideration for the wounded prisoners was never forgotten and those who encountered him spoke of a man of great courage and humanity who, enemy or not, had saved hundreds of allied lives…”
(From “The man who broke into Auschwitz”
by Denis Avey with Rob Broomby)
Ship Sebastiano Venier aground at Point Methoni, Greece, photographed December 1941 by an unknown photographer.
From Alexander Turnbull Library