Dan Rodricks: Spring arrives, reminding us why we live, why we hate war | COMMENTARY
Dan Rodricks, Baltimore Sun
Fri, March 18, 2022, 9:20 AM
Spring arrives with war in Ukraine, and I’ve hardly been able to think of anything besides the horror unfolding before us: An army of Russians ordered to bomb apartment buildings and hospitals, Ukrainians gunned down while waiting to buy bread. The Russians have killed children. God almighty — is there a God almighty? — how do people born with brains, hearts, hands and souls manage to inflict such cruelty on others?
What century is this? We’ve had thousands of years to learn peace and “study war no more.” When do we arrive at the end of the long history of human evil?
I cannot turn away from Ukraine. I could go to Netflix for a “Seinfeld” marathon and watch that “show about nothing” for four hours.
But I’m watching Ukraine. Though by now immune to shock, I find it shocking — killing and destruction on an old-world scale, coming to us within minutes on cable and social media, a blitzkrieg in a wired world, multiple Guernicas in high def.
And the Russian leader, Vladimir Putin, pale and blank-faced, sitting alone at that long table in a white Kremlin room, locked in the last century. Why all the fuss about President Biden calling him a war criminal? He is that, and worse.
Polls suggest that most of my fellow Americans feel the same shock, anger and frustration at this moment in history. We stand with Ukraine.
But, while I find myself amazed that men in suits can still be so violent, I remind myself that we are surrounded by violence. We are suffering through an epoch of violence in the United States, and here in Baltimore it’s been around us for years, homicides made possible by an endless supply of guns.
We have grown accustomed to it by now. We all carry the knowledge of human cruelty with us, and it’s quietly traumatizing. You might not be acutely aware of it, or work hard at avoiding thoughts of it, but violence, however distant — down the street, miles away or across an ocean — wears on the mind and body like a six-month winter without sunlight.
And now this war on Ukraine.
I see men and women, seated across from Wolf Blitzer and other cable hosts, commenting on the war. They speak confidently in terms of military strategy and geopolitics; they try to explain Putin, try to predict his endgame in Ukraine. I couldn’t do it. I would make a lousy analyst of war. To be sure, we need analysts, we need think-tankers. But I just see horror and despair — innocent people killed, wounded, left homeless. Everyone talking on TV about Ukraine should be weeping. Why are they not weeping?
I want to believe spring makes a difference. Its arrival should soften the conditions of those who would inflict pain and death on others. In reality, in old wars, spring was when the killing started again after the relative peace of winter. So here we are, with Putin’s spring offensive, and women with children crying as they board trains for Poland.
Imagine killing others while the daffodils are smiling at you? I came across some the other day along a road in Baltimore and immediately felt guilty for having a single negative or self-indulgent thought. That’s not something Putin would understand. Not a stop-and-smell-the-daffodils guy. He’s a hardened criminal with many accomplices, trying to destroy an emerging democracy led by a heroic president.
At this point, I ask forgiveness for these meandering and despairing thoughts. And yet, as an American watching from a distance, I have to believe I am not alone.
I have to believe that others are also lost in trying to understand Russia’s breathtaking cruelty.
And I have to believe that others are adrift in the wishful right now. Against the present realities, we want a spring of dreams — a quiet world with people taking long walks with their dogs or spouses through the streets of Kyiv on a Sunday afternoon, classical music drifting from open windows of the Peabody Institute in Baltimore, people peaceably playing chess in Sokolniki Park in Moscow.
If I don’t express this, I’ll regret it.
I want a spring of simple peace everywhere, all around the world. Farmers, artists, designers, printers, pastors, rabbis, photographers, doctors, nurses, teachers, carpenters, masons and minstrels left alone to do their work. Left to plant, grow, create, treat and heal, build and sing. Living without fear, heads held high, content with the world or working to make it better.
Why can’t every man, woman and child on the planet agree with that? There are only 7.9 billion of us.
I know: It’s impossible and probably forever thus. There are too many differences, too many men seeking absolute power, too much greed, too many missiles.
I do not know the cure for humanity’s greatest ailment — the hate and violence and cruelty.
But I still believe in spring, the annual emergence of new life — foals on a horse farm, blossoms in fruit trees, the aroma of fresh air, land tilled for planting, a warming sun, shad running from the ocean to the rivers, children at play in new grass. The poets say spring brings promise and hope and love, and they’re right about that. Spring comes along to remind us why we live, why we hate war.