The radio is already playing Christmas carols, and Ferguson is still smoldering. And the head shaking about what happened in Ferguson is continuing. It’s sad to watch businesses that have been part of a neighborhood for years be destroyed. And I won’t lie–I’ve become an old, comfortable suburbanite, so the thought of civil unrest of any kind mainly makes me nervous. Yet even inside my middle-class bubble of safety, a question lingers…

If the protests had been completely peaceful, would anyone have cared? If not a single fire had been set, would anyone have noticed?

The news media pretty much gives us the answer. The peaceful protesters in Ferguson–and there was a large group of them–were mostly ignored by the cameras. The rioters and looters got all the attention. And the TV channels were waiting with their tongues out, panting for something “bad” to happen. That’s why it’s so galling now to see the CNN experts taking on a “tsk tsk tsk” finger wagging role. This is exactly what they wanted! Peaceful protest doesn’t make for very entertaining television.

We did have some protesters here in town who got media coverage, but only because they blocked the roads, resulting in furious rush hour drivers. And what if they had stayed out of the traffic? We have the answer to that question too. The night of the grand jury announcement itself, a group of activists gathered in front of the Justice Center downtown, chanting and singing songs. The local news anchor gave them about ten seconds of his attention before moving on to Timmy the tap dancing cat or whatever other human interest story he had lined up.

We like to tout the philosophy of non-violence, the example of leaders like Gandhi or Martin Luther King Jr–who’s being quoted a lot these days–but how much respect do those who follow the non-violent way actually get? And does peaceful protest even work? I’ve been involved in a couple protest marches myself (I think you’re required to do that before you can get official Portland resident status). I was at one of the Bring Back Our Girls rallies, and couldn’t help thinking that being there was, more than anything, about making ourselves feel better. If the Boko Haram kidnappers could have seen us reading our poems about justice and sending our positive vibes out into the universe, they probably would have laughed their asses off. And, judging from at least one Youtube video, they did.

And this plays out on an even grander global scale. Vladimir Putin has been spending his free time making threatening military gestures. President Obama tried–at least at first–to establish a foreign policy of diplomacy and negotiation rather than war. Obama was dismissed as weak, whereas Putin was praised for being a super macho male, and the conservatives of the world are all but doodling little hearts on the snapshots of his bare-chested horse rides.

So is peace the way of the losers? This is an appropriate issue for me to ponder, especially as I get closer to celebrating the symbolic birth of my symbolic spiritual teacher, who preached about turning the other cheek and then got killed off by the powers that be. As a child of hippies, I would like to continue to believe in non-violence. But it’s very obvious to me which path the world I live in values more.

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My body often reminds me that I am a weak specimen.  If we still lived in a purely Darwinist world, not protected by the buffer of civilization, I would be long gone by now.  I am a creature of comfortable physical habit.  And anytime I diverge from the routine, I get a migraine.

I get a migraine when it’s too cold.  I also get a migraine when it’s too hot.  Or too wet or too dry.  I can understand the hangover headaches I get from too much alcohol–I feel like I’ve earned those–but I also get headaches when I’ve had too much caffeine or not enough caffeine.  Headaches from waking up too early or staying up too late, too much work and too much stress.  The only way for me not to get a migraine would be just to stay in bed all day.  But even then, I might fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon, which always gives me a migraine.

Sometimes I think I should lead a more adventurous life.  But then I picture myself crawling across the ice in Alaska or hanging from a camel in the Sahara, clutching my head and throwing up.  Vomiting in an exotic locale is still vomiting, and there wouldn’t be a convenient toilet nearby.

At times I think my body is fighting me.  It is as if it knows that I’ve always lived inside my head, and have only a tenuous connection to the physical form I reside in.  My body can tell I feel uncomfortable in it, and it punishes me for that discomfort.  And I definitely deserve the punishment.