Violence at Home and Abroad

If I were ever shot in the arm, I might scream from the pain—hopefully in a pitch deeper than the voice of a kindergartner on helium. I would probably cry, despite myself. Maybe Stephan Jones, 27, cried while surviving a gunshot wound to the arm. I state this with respect to him. Gunshot wounds hurt.

In any case, if he did not scream over his own injuries, he screamed over his dead brother. This past December, in front of the restaurant Radio Perfecto, Jones and his little brother, Delquan Kearns, 23, argued with some men over a stolen drink. One of the men pulled out a gun, fired, and the bullet tore through Jones’ arm to meet Kearns’ head.

I am a repressed hothead, and I probably would have ended up in a fight if someone stole my drink. Usually, however, I attempt to look away from affronts against myself until aggravated enough. In my senior year of high school, a young man succeeded in aggravating me, and I gave him a black eye. Therefore, I cannot speak ill of Kearns or his brother for getting angry over someone else stealing their drink. I would get angry, too.

In Iraq, many civilians and insurgents agree with me, if only through action. Facing mortar attacks down the street and suicide bombings at the local mosque have pushed many to attack American soldiers and fellow Iraqis. To date, hundreds of thousands have perished. In such a situation, turning the other cheek when no one else does can result in two bruised cheeks. It is hard to be a pacifist because diplomacy can keep us safe, but violence always satisfies.

Indeed, the general consensus for invading Iraq and Afghanistan was the idea of self-defense, and revenge for the Sept. 11 attacks. Though more and more Americans seem to be against the war, there are still many who believe we should still fight for self-defense, and many soldiers who have yet to go AWOL. Revenge, together with greed, writes the history of war. Reasons for revenge can span from hurt honor to lost money.
Those men at Radio Perfecto killed over alcohol. Those in Iraq, both Iraqi and American, are fighting over lost countrymen, family, and friends. They also fight for money and status. I do not know their reasons in full, really. I attempt not to speculate, but revenge will be the stickiest obstacle the Iraqi and American governments will confront in the next weeks and years.
The American army can leave, but the violence in Iraq will continue. Sunni will fight Shi’a, Sunni will fight Sunni, and Shi’a will fight Shi’a. Though many define this war using generalizations and definitions of groups of people, this war, as all wars do, exists outside of a few mere definitions. Many people give acts of violence a meaning that fits inside of their notions of the world. They focus on economics, race, and education—they believe abstract ideas are the core of violence in the world.
Their comments are sweeping and often oversimplify our dirty little reality. Perhaps they want to clear their consciences of atrocities they had a direct or indirect part in.

Forget the broad, vague, and over simplistic explanations that might be correct in some cases, and wrong in most others. These kinds of conflicts, even when “solved,” lead into new problems. There are too many people involved, with too many motives to count.

A war, when over, and a murder, when forgotten, are replaced in the public consciousness by new atrocities. I am tempted to give a short-list of conflicts that led into other conflicts—for example, how WWI led into WWII. The number of dead are too many to count.

Violence is too big for an article to handle. Most commentary, including mine, is futile because reality exists as it is. Oftentimes, however, that is all we can do for others and ourselves. So, I ask you to contemplate the pain of a gunshot wound, and to measure the worth of a life against the worth of your pride. Besides, pride is the most powerful motivator toward murder. I write this article because in front of Radio Perfecto, someone, prideful, murdered Delquan Kearns.

The author is a Columbia College sophomore.