As Christmas approaches I have fond memories of my Aunt Min taking me throughout Chicago to see many musical recitals and performances. For some reason, they tended to feature the harp a lot. While I prefer a wailing guitar, through these often holiday excursions I learned I also enjoy cello and flute. To travel on rumbling, rattling trains was exhilarating. To hear charming harmony and rousing rhythm touches me today in an almost indescribable way. The seeds were planted. Music is like that. Once, many decades ago I started taking music lessons in elementary school. During the Viet Nam War era I was being taught by a jovial teacher named Mr. Jahnke. Unfortunately his instruction tended to fall on (tone) deaf ears. While I thrive on music, and play a variety of instruments, that’s all it is – play. It’s good for my soul, but I know very little about what I’m actually doing. Mr. Jahnke could play. And sing. And he knew what he was doing. At least enough to impress my young ears. Unfortunately, very little of how he was doing it was able to be absorbed by me. One incident however has left an indelible mark on my awareness.
Mr. Jahnke’s fingers were flying frenziedly over the keyboard of a tan upright piano. Playing a more than enthusiastic, almost an aggressive version of “Row Your Boat” or some other basic but unremembered tune. Whatever it was, it was being played in a Boogie-Woogie Ragtime manner in a rather loud volume. When all of a sudden it stopped. His arms dropped, and he sat facing the piano for a moment. Shortly he turned on his bench towards our elementary class.
“They say war is hell.” he said “It’s not hell. It’s worse than hell. Because if you’re in hell, you did something to deserve it. War ravages and destroys the lives of innocent people. Who did nothing…” his voice trailed off, and as he turned back to face the piano I noticed his eyes had grown misty. He started playing again, but now, in a slower, solemn and more somber style.
Another hell, a different war. December 1914. Five months into what was to be known as the War To End All Wars. Well, at least they were optimistic. Seems some lone nut shot an archduke, or something, in Europe and everybody freaked out. Something like that. Really, the only way they could figure to deal with it was just to start a huge planet-wide barroom brawl with everybody else as the enemy, regardless of what side you where on. Two important factions where the British and the Germans. In order to make it easier for everyone involved, and to save on travel expenses, they decided to meet in France where they then proceeded to blow everything the fuck up.
Bombs and bullets. Bones and blood. Piss and pain. Chaos and cold. Mud and misery. Living in a puddle, and your life’s ambition is hoping to move to a deeper hole further up the hill.
One of the reasons you want to move is because your neighbors are too close. They’re too loud and they stay up all night long, with no concern that you need to get up early in the morning and go to work. Yet again you’ll be fatigued, your boss will frown, and you’ll have a hard time meeting you quota of killing and maiming. On top of that, they eat weird food and the smell of it is ruining the atmosphere of your trench.
The problem is they also have their eye on the higher hill hole. In a diabolical version of “keeping up with the Jones’s” they are also quite envious of your home sweet trench. They can only imagine, if you were gone, how nice it would be to live there, so they could take use of, and enjoy your front pallet. Sure it’s all “the grass is greener”, but the passive-aggressive attitude and micro-aggressions are bothersome. Not only that, they leave their bodies all over the yard.
Christmas eve. All is calm. All is bright. Well, maybe not all. But at least a small flickering flame of a candle, dancing on a makeshift mantlepiece in a Teutonic trench. Illuminated is a tiny twig that would make Charlie Brown’s tree look like a sequoia. Later, the muffled ethereal strains of Mr. Jahnke’s rich, deep baritone singing “O Tannebaum” can be heard wafting faintly from the German trenches. Instead of being annoyed as usual, something else happens. Something magical. The power of music transcends the fear and anguish. The English, instead of telling their neighbors to pipe down, join in. A heartfelt and soulful rendition of “Silent Night” rises to the heavens. Glorious. The Christmas spirit descends into hell.
A lone German soldier slowly abandons his trench with obviously empty arms upraised. “Don’t shoot.” He cries in broken English. “You don’t shoot. We don’t shoot” This soldier of circumstance slowly walks towards his possible death. “Don’t shoot” he pleads. While the befuddled British take stock of the situation, another handful of humanity arises from the German side and enter No-Man’s Land. That’s when all heaven broke loose.
Trepidatiously, the British also arise and with hands outstretched. They greet their noisy neighbors in No-Man’s Land and realize their faith and/of humanity is common ground. They shake hands (coincidently, a gesture originating from people proving they are unarmed and therefore not a threat. Coincidentlier, as I write this, I just recalled that I also first heard that factoid from Mr. Jahnke.), and self-introductions are made, so that the killing of strangers is no longer possible. Caroling and carousing commence.
Photographs of the loved ones back home are shared, as if to justify why we’re shedding these foreigners’ blood. Funny, the sepia images of the sweeter sex; the mothers, wives and girlfriends taken in warmer and happier times, are indistinguishable from those of the evil enemy that we travelled all the way to France to kill. Sometimes, just meeting someone, and having a sincere conversation with them can change the world. Decency need not be deficient even when all around is chaos and conflict.
Over hundreds of miles of the frontline, tens of thousands of lost and misdirected souls realized that what we share is so vastly larger than our perceived differences. Nobody really knew or cared about the slain archduke anyways. In the midst of murderously manipulated mayhem the brotherhood of man stood tall. No-Man’s Land became everyman’s land. All that could be shared, was. Cigarettes. Coffee. Tears. Laughs. Stories. Hugs. Even the weird food. It still smelled awful, but it sure tasted good. Especially now, refreshing and replenishing. Eaten in peace. Small trinkets and tokens were exchanged in what I imagine to be some of the most meaningful Christmas presents ever given and received. Communally, they cleaned the yard, and then assisted in burying each other’s dead. Once the that was done, and space was cleared of fallen friends, games of football were organized. Just as joyous and exuberant as any ever played. For a few fleeting days the violence ceased and friendship flourished. The presence of Christmas was shared by all.
John Lennon once sang “War Is Over (If You Want It). I don’t know if not enough people want it, can’t be bothered, or just feel small and helpless. I never understood the lemming-like rush towards death and destruction just because somebody waived a brightly colored cloth. I never understood the appeal of the Three Stooges either, for that matter. Both rely heavily on indiscriminate violence and lack any real significant plot. Regardless, history has proven Lennon generally incorrect.
Supporting John’s assertion though, for a short while, during the Christmas Truce of 1914, peace reigned for about a week. Some ceased fire for a few days, some for a few weeks. In several cases, whole platoons were replaced, as ominous orders from distant demonic officers were ignored, and both sides laid down their arms permanently. Some of these conscientious objectors where then removed, court martialed, and then summarily shot by their own governments for fraternizing with the enemy.
Sadly, as letters of soldiers there tell, for those who stayed, when the fighting resumed, it was far more ferocious and fierce than ever. All hell broke loose and no quarter was given. Complete commitment to total destruction, in a vain attempt to blot the example that love is much more potent and enduring than hate. I believe it is.
World War 1 lasted for three more grueling years. Before it’s finish many millions died. The largest number of war casualties ever. The wantonly wasted humanity and possible potential left to rot in mud and muck. The fact that they needed to start numbering the wars isn’t very encouraging either. But you know what? Love still triumphs in the end. Kindness, decency and hope prevail. Let’s try to remember that this holiday season. Admittedly, whatever your faith and belief system, this time of year is the harvest of stressful situations. Having to deal with Democrats and Trump supporters. Atheists and Jews. Pagans and panhandlers. Immigrant influx and downtrodden drunk destitutes. All of this covered in a cynical coat of crass commercialism. Nobody remembers the reasons for the wars, inspite of all their horrible grandeur. But a few timid words of trust and acceptance can change the world for generations. The actions based on these words are eternal. Our trinkets and tokens need not be tangible either, it’s the sharing that matters. Music makes a difference too. I know, because Mr. Jahnke told me so, and the waiting, watching eyes of past generations compel me to believe.
It’s up to you. Merry Christmas.
i seem to be a verb 