Imagine you are standing outside your house, and it’s on fire.
There are some firefighters across the street shooting (mostly innocent) people in a field. There are people dying left and right. When you ask the firefighters why they are killing people, they tell you that they are doing it for you, to protect your house from being set on fire.
You scream: “But I don’t want you to do that! I don’t want that!”
They look back and say, “Nobody wants this. We don’t want this either. But it has to happen, to protect your house.”
You look at your house. The fire is spreading.
You find out the mayor was the one who set your house on fire. The firefighters work for the mayor. It’s not their fault. The mayor told them to do it. So you decide to take it up with the mayor. When you object to your house being set on fire, the mayor says that in a time of crisis such as the one we’re in, with people being killed left and right in that field over there, the government gets special permission to do things that they wouldn’t normally be able to do, like set people’s houses on fire, in order to protect people’s houses from being set on fire.
I look at the house. It is now engulfed in flames. All of my neighbors’ houses are burning too.
That’s how I feel when I am told that the military is there to defend, preserve and protect my freedoms.
Firefighters (in theory used only to defend something) = military
Mayor = federal government
House = Bill of Rights
It’s patently absurd.
I scream into the night, “How can my house be protected and preserved while being on fire?”
The mayor says, “Well, see those people across the street, the ones that look different from you, the ones that are being killed left and right in that field over there? They would have set fire to your house if we’d given them the chance. Trust us. Aren’t you happy they didn’t set fire to your house?”
I say, “But my house is on fire!”
He says, “Who would you rather have set fire to your house, us or them?”
So I say to the firefighters: “Well, if my house is going to burn down either way, would you at least stop killing people in that field? Can we at least stop that?”
Then all hell breaks loose. My neighbors become apoplectic at the mere suggestion. They surround me, a pack of wild dogs wearing yellow ribbons. I am reminded by my neighbors (whose houses are also on fire), that killing and violence is a part of life, and that it is necessary to prevent my house from being set on fire, and that I should be thankful for the firefighters who are willing to do “the dirty work” because without them, I wouldn’t even have a house in the first place. Then they appeal to my compassion, telling me how the firefighters are putting their lives on the line for my house, and they remind me how hard it is on the firefighters, and what a rough go of it they’ve had, and how they need my support. Meanwhile, screams of terror.
But if the firefighters hadn’t agreed to start killing people in that field on command, then the mayor would have never had license to set fire to my house. I care about the people in the field and I also care about my house.
So I go back to the firefighters and say: “Please, just stop doing what you’re doing! Can’t you see what’s happening?” And I feel like they stop for just a second, and look at me with sadness in their eyes, and say, “We would love nothing more, but the mayor told us that we have to do this or these people would set fire to your house.” I point to the charred rubble that was my house. They shrug and go back to doing what they’re doing.
Happy Veterans Day.