War: What Is It Good For?

An American living in Paris, I find myself closer than I’d like to be.

I have no business writing about war. It pains me to read the news, consume the horrific images. But I am, thankfully, a stranger to the horror.

I’ve never lived through a war. I’m from a country where the last one was fought in 1860 — long before airplanes, nuclear bombs, or me.

I don’t have a head for war. I tune into social trends and the dynamics between people. Don’t ask me about the economy or current events or to hold forth on bitcoin.

I’m not proud of this; it’s just who I am.

During the Gulf War, I once joked to a friend that maybe I’d go to Iraq to cover it (or was it Iran?).

“Please,” she said. “You probably wouldn’t notice the bombs. You’d come back with stories about the soldiers’ relationships.”

Plus, I’m a wuss. Once, drunk and in my 30s, I peed on a lawn in Palm Beach (again, not proud), but I would never chose bushes over an indoor toilet. I don’t have what it takes to report from war zones, as my daughter’s good friend Becky once did.

And lest you think that’s because I’m “old” now, think again. I am soft, always have been. I’d rather not suffer.

Blame in on my being an American; I’m spoiled. Putin knows this, according to this intriguing piece by Umair Haque — a well-informed journalist who can write intelligently about war.

Closer than I’ve ever been to war.

And yet here I am, writing a short piece inspired by the war in Ukraine. But only because it’s so close.

In my own Magoo-ish manner, I had no idea how close until I ask a fellow dog owner, “Should we be worried? How close is it?”

I figured she’d know. She’s one of those elegant, well-educated ex-pats who has lived all over the world, knows several languages, and speaks English with a slight British accent.

“Around 2000 kilometers,” she says.

I check later; I have to convert metric numbers. Turns out, the distance from Paris to Kyiv is 2024 kilometers — 1258 miles — roughly the distance from New York to Miami.

Too close. Maybe I should pay attention?

Others weigh in.

Next, I pay a visit to my physical therapist, a wonderful and competent young woman who is originally from Guadeloupe. She mentions casually while kneading the knots out of my neck, “I have a feeling Putin will invade France.”

Really?

And then on March 4, I receive an email from a friend in the states, asking what “your newscasters in Paris are saying about the Ukraine invasion…”

I fill her in, adding that “my French friend, Françoise, who informs me about all things political here, says that the good part is that it has united Europe.”

In her next email, my friend asks:

Do you have an exit plan if things heat up in France?

We don’t. My partner, an Ambassador to France (not from the U. S.) says we don’t need one now.

“It doesn’t make sense to get caught up in the hysteria,” she reassures.

Françoise agrees: “No one knows. We just have to wait and see…”

Now playing in my brain…

I haven’t thought about Edwin’s Starr’s 1969 song, War for decades. Now the refrain — war, what’s it good for? — keeps playing in my brain.

Annoyed by this “earworm” — officially known as stuck-song syndrome — I find the above video and look up the lyrics.

Starr had Vietnam in mind. But isn’t this the message statesmen and diplomats are still trying to convey?

Say it again, y’all

War, huh, good God

What is it good for

Absolutely nothing

Listen to me

Ohhh, war, I despise

Because it means destruction

Of innocent lives

War means tears

To thousands of mothers eyes

When their sons go to fight

And lose their lives

I hope Putin sees it that way.

As I said, I have no business writing about war.

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