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  • Writer's pictureChristopher McHale


I’m anti-war. There never is a point beyond violence. There never is a justification. There never is a resolution.

My whole life bears witness to an endless roll out of pointless war. It’s never black and white. It’s never a required defense. It’s never an offensive necessity.

Peace is never the goal. There’s no bright future ahead. It’s death. Destruction. Rape. Pillage. It’s national flags on rubble. National pride covered in blood. National anthems causing our hearts to race as we cock the trigger.

It’s old dying leaders sending the young to sacrifice.

More than anything wars reveal the truth of our humanity. We love violence. We love bombs. We love hurting each other. We spend huge amounts of our treasure to build marauding armies armed with weapons perfected to kill as many of us as possible in the shortest amount of time and with the greatest spectacle.

We glory in it.

We write myths about it.

We build statues and sing songs and recite poems of sorrow that stir our blood.

We love war.

Read our stories. Watch our movies. Play our video games. Killing is entertaining. It’s diverting. It’s seductive. War is as much an expression of our humanity as art. War is its own horrid beauty.

If we could admit the truth, if we could just once see how violent of a species we are, maybe then we’d have a chance. Maybe then we could put down the guns and turn from the leaders with blood in their eyes.

But today that hope is fading. We seem committed to guns and bombs and the violence we unleash on each other.

We lace up our boots and press down on the neck of the Other. We oppress. And enslave. And twist the truth so that every cracked bone snaps with righteousness.

Glory to our god. Tribal triumph. We win.

War is who we are as a species.

Prove me wrong.



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