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Take honour from me and my life is done

It’s humbling to finally understand the importance of something I was taught from childhood; embarrassing, though, to have someone remind me of it when I should have known better. But I suppose that’s what a long life is for: a chance to change the epitaph before its carved; a chance to make amends.

Still, it’s not like I didn’t know -more like I didn’t practice what I knew. Habit is a shell, I think: a protection against what may never attack, a defence against what we may not enjoy, a reason to persist no matter the changing conditions. It is an excuse…

Like the clothes we wear for shelter against the world outside our skin, the shell that all of us seek to wear is self-respect. It is what allows us to see ourselves as worthy members of whatever group in which we find ourselves; it is what allows us to fit in, it is what allows us to be accepted in spite of our superficial differences.

Still, it is not so much a need to conform, as a duty to respect the right of others to hold differing opinions without coming to blows -without breaching their shells, without mocking them for not agreeing to change.

You might remember the demonstrations at various university campuses over the destruction meted out on Gaza in what seemed like a retributive war by Israel after the atrocities inflicted on them by Hamas on October 7/23. The anger was not confined to universities, of course, and even thoughtful, hopefully balanced, comments on the merits of one side or the other risked angry righteous ripostes in defence of whatever side had not been satisfactorily acknowledged.

It became difficult to express an opinion, no matter the attempt at equipoise. It was a topic best avoided with strangers, even when an opinion was solicited by the next table in the supposedly neutral territory of a coffee shop.

Two elderly men were sitting at a small table in the shadowed corner of Starbucks. It was the inconspicuous place I usually chose to observe the morning crowd of business people before they hit the office. Although it was generally a noisy room, from the darkness in the corner, I could often hear the occasional bit of news or even gossip if I really concentrated. I didn’t think of it as eavesdropping as much as taking the pulse of the body politic for the day. I was annoyed that my corner table had been taken, but there was another unoccupied table in the gloom beside them, so I claimed it.

The old men, unlike the rest of the crowd, seemed quite agitated however. One of them -the one in a baseball cap, seemed quite angry at something and kept flailing his arms and pointing at his companion.

“You can’t say it wasn’t justified, Harry. Come on, eh! If somebody attacked your family, would you just complain…?”

“I…” The man beside him, who looked considerable older than his baseball-capped companion, seemed lost for words, although I gather he’d been fairly adamant about something from the verbiage he was enduring.

Baseball cap turned his head toward me as soon as I sat down. “Can I ask you something?” he said, even as his friend grabbed his arm to dissuade him.

 I smiled, of course, and nodded; to tell the truth, I was honoured that someone would canvas my opinion.

“Should Israel have bombed Gaza?”

His friend shook his head slowly and cautioned me with his eyes.

I was immediately on my guard. “I don’t know enough about it, actually… What do you think?”

“I think they had every right to bomb them. An imperative to react harshly…”

I nodded, but impartially I hoped. “And what do you think?” I asked his friend. “You both seemed to be arguing.”

His friend smiled and introduced himself. “I’m sorry we seem so rude. I’m Harry,” he said, extending his hand. “And the angry man across the table is John…”

“I’m known as G,” I said extending my hand and waiting for John to acknowledge.

“I know what Harry thinks,” John said as he reluctantly shook my hand. “It’s your opinion I want.”

“You mean whether or not I agree with you…?”

He nodded and glanced at Harry.

“And would my answer settle the argument between you two?” I asked, a hint of doubt creeping into my voice.

Harry smiled and glanced at his friend. “Probably not, G. You’re pretty adamant about your views, aren’t you John?”

John shrugged and chanced a reluctant smile as well.

“Do you two agree on anything, about Gaza then, John? Anything at all?”

“We agree that Hamas shouldn’t have attacked Israel in the first place; that it was wrong -no, that it was an attack of terrorism…” Harry said, as John considered what they might actually agree on.

John sighed at that. “And neither of us think that the civilian population of Gaza should be terrorized and destroyed in retribution…”

I surveyed the faces of the two friends who’d obviously backed each other into corners from which it was difficult for either of them to retreat. “It seems to me that you’re both arguing about different aspects of the same problem. You both agree on the main points -and so do I: what did happen, and what is happening is somehow wrong. So why are you both arguing…?”

Harry smiled again -he seemed the more conciliatory of the two of them. “John mentioned the code of Hammurabi -you know, ‘an eye for an eye’. It took off from there…”

“But Hammurabi was a king of Babylon, wasn’t he?” I said, as if I actually knew that kind of thing. “I mean although some think he was mentioned in Genesis by another name, or something, he wasn’t Jewish… And he lived long, long before even Nebuchadnezzar.” I stopped talking at that point, having exhausted my meagre knowledge of Mesopotamian history.

“Well, as long as Harry concedes that Hamas is a terrorist organization, I’ll admit that maybe Israel was a little harsh on Gaza…”

I could see Harry’s eyes widen at that. “A little harsh…?!”

I took a deep breath as John stiffened again. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, come on! You both agreed to disagree. No need for adjectives, eh?”

They both chuckled and Harry winked at me. “Sometimes it helps for us elders to get another opinion… Can we buy you another coffee -yours must be cold by now.”

I glanced at the crumbs on John’s plate. “My coffee’s okay. I’d rather have a chocolate chunk cookie, if you’re buying…”

“Get me another one, too, Harry,” John said with a grin.

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s your turn, John…”

“Tell you what, folks. I’ll buy, or you’ll be at each other’s throats again.”

Diffusing arguments with strangers is a delicate balance, I think.

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