In 1984, a group of Libyan expats gathered outside the Libyan Embassy in London to dispute the growing dictatorship of Muammar Gaddafi. As the rally unfolded, a window opened in the embassy and Libyan personnel began shooting into the crowd, wounding 11 protesters and killing a British policewoman.
I would not have known about the Libyan Embassy shooting if I were not reading My Friends by Hisham Matar. The events of that day now live vividly in my mind as Matar’s book considers the lifelong ramifications for three fictional Libyans present at the attack. The book is a profound reminder of the legacy of violence that simmers in the lives of those who suffered. For the characters in the novel, their lives were frozen on that day, and the lives that unfurled did so in the shadow of the shooting.
Too many of us are intimately familiar with the consequences of violence. When I was a child, I used to go with my grandmother to visit her friends Annis and Dallas. As a young boy, I assumed they were married, both looking the same age to my young eyes. They were not. Annis was Dallas’ mother. Dallas was a veteran of World War II. He came back from the war a young man with white hair, unable to live independently. Violence.
It is fairly easy to condemn violent acts, whether they are perpetuated in cold blood or on a battlefield. Most of us, I suspect, oppose violence. But there is far more to violence than the act itself. Early in life, most of us are told, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Then we spend subsequent years learning that this is not, in fact, true.
In any consideration of violence, we must also consider the words lying underneath.
Words can be as violent, painful and devastating as any stick or stone, especially words that emanate from an enraged heart. In any consideration of violence, we must also consider the words lying underneath. When we do this, we ought to immediately recognize our own culpability in conjuring violence in this world. The violent acts that disturb so many of us are rooted in vast systems, constructed first by language, of which we all participate one way or another.
As a follower of Jesus, my ethics are rooted in the Sermon on the Mount, and it is to these fundamental teachings that I now want to turn our conversation. In Matthew 5:21-22, Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder,’ and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment, and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council, and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire.” Beyond condemning the act of murder, Jesus attacks the language that underlies the violence in this world.
Murder and violence do not fall from the clear blue sky, but instead they are built on a For example, in the Gaddafi regime, dissidents were called “stray dogs.” People who dared question the regime were cast as dogs who had left the pack and thus lived in the world unprotected. Stray dogs are much easier to shoot than people.
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says that not murdering someone is not enough to say we are practicing non-violence.
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says that not murdering someone is not enough to say we are practicing non-violence. We also learn, by the way, that loving our neighbors is not enough. Loving our enemies and praying for those who persecute us is our calling; a teaching which carries a clear connection to non-violence. Unless we acknowledge that the roots of violence begin in the human heart, all human hearts, it is difficult for us to do anything other than practice hypocrisy.
What words do you use to describe your enemies? What emotions do those words conjure? How do you talk about people who see the world differently than you, or who you view as practitioners of wickedness? In what ways does the language you use dehumanize, demean and lay the foundation for violence? It is often easy to identify the words others use that conjure violence, but far more difficult to do so for ourselves. We can condemn acts and behaviors. We can speak prophetically about the powers and principalities of this world. But we must exercise caution and forbearance in this work. We know, as Jesus surely did, that sticks and stones can break bones, but words are fraught with peril. Non-violence begins in our hearts.
