Against my better judgement I happened to laze out the other day in front of the HBO premier of the terrible remake of "War of the Worlds". And despite its miserable plot and worse acting, it struck a strange chord of remembrance within me of a trilogy of books I read as a little boy written by John Christopher. Some of you might know these books - they depict a human world thrust back into a peasant society by an alien race that controls them through metallic-mesh caps on their heads and the violent police action of the Tripods who are deemed gods by the mind-controlled, conquered humans.
More on the flip.
By some compulsion of my nature, I reread the trilogy in the last 24 hours. These were influential books on me as a 9 year old. They tell the story of human subjection and human liberation, but they tell it from a perspective that I voiced in my diary of last week about being a human being. It is a very interesting mix of identity politics and universalism. It is a very interesting mix of democracy and authoritarianism. It is a very interesting mix of the ideal of human life as simple and blissful and the ideal of human life as heroic. It is also a profound dialogue on maturity and adolescence.
As a mature reader, there are many problems with these books. There is moral sanctimony, of sorts; there are clear lectures on the way of things by the 'aged'; there is a 'fabled' attempt to sculpt young minds. But the ultimate undercurrent of the trilogy, the fundamental question [like the purpose of all Pink Floyd albums] is: How does humanity govern itself when finally free of the enslavements we now suffer? Can we as humanity, be humane?
Even in the face of great evil, in the face of an imperialism that is non-human, can we act as human beings? Can we govern a world humanely in its aftermath? The aftermath of a world united? We seem to have trouble doing that even in relative times of peace amongst ourselves.
The Trilogy ends with the death of a diplomat, not of your ordinary variety, but one who fears, before the defeat of the aliens, that the warring of humanity will take over again with the extermination of the predators.
And with the ascendency of humanity again, things fall apart. The Trilogy ends with the following exchange:
Fritz said, "I think I shall give up my farming. There are things more important."
Beanpole said, "I'm with you."
Fritz shook his head. "It is different for you. Your work is important, mine not."
"Not as important as this," Beanpole said.
"What about you Will? Are you ready for a new fight - a longer, less exciting one, with no great triumphs in the end? Will you leave your seas and islands, and help us try to get men to live together, in peace as well as liberty? An Englishman, a German, and a Frenchman: it would be a good start."
The air was cold but exhilarating. A gust of wind scattered powdery snow from the ace of the Jungfrau.
"Yes," I said, "I'll leave my seas and islands."
No work is more important than peace. No endeavor is higher than bringing peace. No adventure is greater than peace.
I write these things as my brother has informed me that several colleagues were on board the ambulance bombed yesterday in Lebanon. They were killed. They worked for an NGO whose mission was peace, above all else. They worked for an NGO whose job it was to alleviate poverty, hunger, strife. They worked for peace. They're dead now.
I think it's about god damned time that we give up our prejudice born of nationality, religion, race, ethnicity... and actually commemorate those workers for peace by doing the same ourselves.