"Now both sides claim killing in god's name
but god is nowhere to be found conveniently"
[Pearl Jam, "Marker in the Sand"]

There's an old episode of West Wing that brilliantly illustrates the concept of "measured response". Initially, the new President Bartlett's response is much akin to what mine might be, the reaction I imagine most might like to have when faced with that kind of power and responsibility: to avenge the death of your loved ones, countrymen, whatever, by responding with such fervor and fury and to decimate your opponent, and leave no room for doubt about the merits of even considering such an affront again. Many philosphies, religions, military and political practices, have advocated such response over the ages. It's easy to want. But the problems, it seems, with such an over-the-top "that'll show 'em!" mentality are many. In simplest terms, the cure could become worse than the disease. All too often, things merit a closer look than is immediately obvious.

When I was young, there were certain kids in the neighbourhood who would come round myself and my friends and call us names, trying to get us to chase them. At the time I could not for the life of me understand why they would want this, though years later and with some experience working with youth it would become clear: they craved attention, in any form, even a negative one. But at the time, I could never understand what would motivate these other kids to come taunt us, with no clear plan or objective in mind. There was no ambush waiting at the end. There was no overwhelming force. There was no hope of progress or gain. There was only name-calling for the sake of it, and the hope of an adversary for no real purpose other than to be adversarial, because some relationship was better than none. We did our best to do what everyone would surely advise: we ignored them. Sticks and stones and all that.

But eventually, it would come to sticks and stones, quite literally. And at the point when one of these little "dirtbags", as we called them, came around throwing rocks at us, the inevitable chase ensued. Often, our opponents were faster than us, and they knew the neighbourhood as well as we did, so they could be quite evasive. But incensed, we'd pursue, in the hopes of that one day when we'd catch one and - hopefully - give him a beating he'd not soon forget, and put an end once and for all to the rock-throwing.

That day came, and it didn't come at all. Eventually, I learned to run faster than the "dirtbags", and I needed only hold one of the scrawny little buggers long enough for my slower friends to arrive so the beating could commence. We never did any serious damage, mind you. It was mostly a bit of pushing and shoving, with the occassional bit of choking and punching, but nothing worse than a black eye or a fat lip. I say that to give a bit of perspective, but I have no illusion about it: we responded to violence with more violence, and our response, while "measured" (in our minds), exceeded what had been dealt us.

But neither the name-calling nor the rocks ever stopped.

Sometimes things would let up long enough for the latest "dirtbag" to heal his wounds, at best, but their return was inevitable, and sometimes they seemed to return with even more fervor, eager to make up for lost time, or to exact revenge for their latest loss.

My gut reaction to the crisis in the Middle East is to think "I hope Israel bombs the Hezbollah into non-existence" and "don't let up until they surrender the captured soldier". I realize I'm supposed to have sympathy for the innocent Palestinians being bombed, but I can't help but think "we're all victims of our own governments, no matter where we're born". I understand that it's not even so simple as to say "they brought it on themselves", because the reality is that they represent a radical minority and are even funded and equipped by outside forces. It's hard for me to imagine the "dirtbags" of our neighbourhood being handed rocks and money by other kids on the next block and then given words of encouragement, but perhaps if we picture the KKK funded by an Aryan movement in Europe car-bombing a few places in China and causing the fleets and fighterplanes to start heading this way...

I wish I could say thinking back on the old neighbourhood taught me some valuable lesson about the nature of good and evil, of violence and peace, but to be honest, it didn't. Violence should never be the first answer, but sometimes it's the only answer, and sometimes that's not much of an answer at all. The name-calling and rock-throwing only stopped because a decade later we all grew up.

After a few thousand years, how much longer do these people need?