Michael may have been an archangel and the one whose sword put an immediate end to the Great Angel War that was sparked when one of the angels noticed that I had flown the coop before the great revealing of the Big Guy’s greatest show on the Great Story Machine known as Earth, at least to the waking world. My replacement was not as daring as I was, and I left Eden because when I saw Adam, his arrogant ways made me sick to my stomach. He was selfish, self-entitled, and always preening, and I was too free-spirited to put up with his antics.
So, I left paradise and eventually became a war detective, with my good friend Mick joining the fun, and when he wasn’t busy answering prayers, he took the form of a black man in the waking world, teaching underprivileged youth the art of fencing.
He was always so adorable that way.
That, and how he gets all silly and excited whenever I tell him a story.
It was one of those days when he came to visit me after his usual fencing lessons when he looked at my bookcase and marvelled at how many war manuals were written over the ages – and that I had every single original print of them all.
“It is the most extensive collection of war manuals ever gathered, but that is hardly me bragging, peaches. It is downright depressing.”
“You have texts written on stone tablets, clay, papyrus…”
“I read a silly article where a writer was complaining that psychology studies have studied only fifteen percent of the planet. I’ve studied the entire planet of every culture since the beginning of time, and not one of them got through with writing war manuals.”
“It is depressing, though most of them aren’t very well known. Do you have any other sorts of books?”
“I do have one from a female psychologist who wrote an anti-war manual in the 1940s after she and her true love escaped Europe during the Second World War. When all those war manuals get to me, I pick up her book and see there is hope for the human race yet.”
Mick picked up another book, “Her book isn’t well known, but this one is one of the best known. Clausewitz on War.”
“But unlike her book that is all right, his book is all wrong.”
“We’ve tested a few of his ideas, and every one proved to be silly.”
“There weren’t the only silly ones in there.”
“His most famous observation was that war is the continuation of politics by other means.”
“He had it backward, peaches. Politics is the continuation of war by other means.”
“That is an interesting counterargument, but how do we prove it?”
“There is always an election somewhere.”
“The United States is having one.”
“Let’s make some trouble, peaches, and when we prove Clausewitz wrong, I’ll tell you a story all about it.”
Mick clapped his hands happily, “You know no angel ever can resist your stories. What are we waiting for?”
We left my office and headed to Washington, DC, a place that loved its wars, both the literal, and the figurative ones of elections. There was crime and homelessness on the street that always made Mick sad and willing to give generously to the dispossessed as he also stopped no less than five muggings with his sword and fencing skills, while I was busy looking around for clues.
And that’s when we ran into a friendly goddess doing the same.
“Tommie!” I shouted as I ran over to give Her a hug, “What brings my favourite goddess here?”
“George and I are here to stop that ridiculous religion that proclaims to worship Me and My ways, but then does everything I would never do under any circumstances.”
Mick nodded thoughtfully, “Murphy says the same thing. It frustrates many gods.”
“Well, I am gathering information to know what I will need to do bring some sensibility to these impossible people. So, what are you two troublemakers up to here?”
“We are testing a theory,” I said, “About the correlation between politics and war.”
“Yes, Washington, DC, loves it wars in the battlefields where other people’s children are sacrificed, or on the campaign trial where people vote for their next set of exploiters. Good luck with your latest war mystery. I am off to find George before he gets himself into any more trouble.”
“Where is George, by the way?”
Tommie rolled Her eyes. “He was invited to the White House.”
Mick and I gasped in unison. “Was he invited?”
“Yes, by his number one fan. Can you believe it? I will be lucky if he doesn’t spark a new religion just as I dismantle the first one he inadvertently started when he mourned My premature passing.”
“Good luck with that,” said a sympathetic Mick, “Once new religions start, they are very hard to control.”
“As if I hadn’t had enough on my plate as it is. Good luck you, two, and if you are ever in Grimsby, Ontario, come on over.”
“I thought you were in Paris, Ontario,” I asked.
“Oh, I was, but then George caused something of a riot there, and now we are in Grimsby. I was hoping to travel somewhere out of Canada, but he has been causing Me no end of grief. First, in Selkirk, then in Paris, but I am keeping My fingers crossed that he doesn’t make trouble in Grimsby. I will see you both later.”
Tommie smiled as She waved goodbye as Mick whistled. “There is a new wrinkle. George the Edenite Sentry is friends with the president of the United States. It complicates our test.”
“Actually, as he is preoccupying the president, we can focus on a more ignored race, and then test our theory about war and politics.”
“Sounds like a very good plane. Let’s see where we can set up our laboratory to test our ideas about the lunacy of war.”
Mick sat down across from me at a diner in the heart of the Beltway as he drank his milkshake and then ate his apple pie. “So, Evie, which campaign do we start with?”
“It doesn’t matter. They are all the same.”
“Isn’t there any particular candidate you had in mind?”
“They are all the same, peaches. We pick any one, and show how they using the election to wage war on the people and lord over them.”
“Well, then that’s easy: the first candidate we see, we can follow that person and the rival, but how do we test whether that war is the continuation of politics by other means or is that politics is the continuation of war?”
“But proving that politics the war against the people.”
“That’s right. Politicians always wage war against the people they want to rule. If they cannot subjugate them with bombs or guns, then they will try to do it with politics.”
“Now I see what you mean. Dictators rule with over violence, but today’s leaders do it by manipulating people into thinking they want to be ruled with psychological violence.”
“No wonder you are a war detective. You see through it all.”
“Yes, and it is time to begin to show the electorate just how their leaders are waging war on them these days.”
“By getting a couple of signs and marching in the streets. What we will write will get us instant attention, peaches.”
As good as my word, we got our placards and began marching in the streets of Washington, DC as we sang protest songs of politicians oppressing the people by always waging war on them, and terrifying them from seeing how abusive they were with their psychological savagery.
It did not take long for people to snap pictures of us with their smartphones and post our antics on social media, and soon after, a television journalist came to cover our protest.
Mick and I waved at the cameras as we held up our placards: Mick’s sign read, “Ballots are bullets!”, while mine declared, “And this election is a bomb!”
A television reporter ran toward us with a camera crew as she looked at us with a smirk. “What are you two protesting?”
“We want the politicians to stop waging psychological war on their citizens with their elections,” I said passionately as Mick nodded.
“But we live in a democracy…”
Mick shook a finger as he looked stern, “If by democracy, you mean terrorizing people with threats if they do not elect the candidate, then perhaps it is time for a new definition of democracy.”
“They are both war-mongers of the worst sort,” I added.
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“Both candidates are having affairs with their interns, both have been taking money from wealthy tycoons to rig the laws in their favour, both uses dirty tricks, sexually harass their workers, and neither has ever done a thing for anyone but themselves; so why are all these people fighting each other over the likes of those two buffoons?” asked Mick.
“We are protesting everyone, from the politicians to the voters,” I said to the stunned reporter, “We want a real democratic process where we find the most qualified, dedicated, and kind-hearted person and ask them to run very nicely. There is no need for war, and there is every need for peace. Anyone who wants to run for office is obviously not qualified.”
“But are you suggesting a monarchy or dictatorship…?”
“That’s hardly democratic, peaches,” I replied, “A true democracy gives real choice; not having to decide between two egotistical buffoons…”
Just then, both candidates marched toward us. “We’ll sue you for maligning our good names!” shouted the candidate on the right, “How dare you say that we are anti-democratic and against free speech?”
“But you are threatening my free speech and economic freedom if you sue.”
“It’s all lies!” shouted the candidate on the left, “I am highly offended by your accusations. I will mobilize my followers on social media to put you both in your place! You two are devils!”
“Devils?” said an outraged Mick, “You are threatening a psychological stoning of people who are expressing their right to free speech?”
“Well, you started it!”
“We’ll destroy you treasonous, Russian-backed agents!”
“I thought you two were mortal enemies,” I said, “So why are you two getting together to make the same threats with the same logic as you make the same unfounded and false accusations?”
“That’s right,” said Mick, “Why are you declaring war on peaceful protestors? If you two were different, you wouldn’t be uniting and behaving and thinking identically.”
“Now there is something for voters to ponder,” I said as I smiled and waved to camera before looking at the reporter, “Now, why don’t you be a good journalist and ask them how they are different from each other?”
All three blanched before they all ran away in unison.
“See? I told you they are all alike, even the reporter. All three are war-mongers trying to make war and division instead of peace and unity.”
Mick laughed, “You were right as usual, Evie: politicians are forever declaring war on the people they want to conquer.”
“One day, the people will see that, and make their own paths. Let’s get back to my office so I can tell you a story.”
Mick put his placard in the trash before lifting me up to give me a big angel hug as he cheered.
Politics is the continuation of war!
The war strategists who always tell you that war is the continuation of politics by other means, but it is always war to politicians who use politics to create a siege of panic in the populace.
It is politics that keeps the flames of war alive as people quiver as they vote for one side thinking the war will finally end, and one day, the politicians will not raid and pillage their wallets and freedoms, but they always pillage more of both as they proclaim they are waging war in the name of peace.
There once were two political rivals who always promised the people that they were as different as night and day, meaning they had the entire earthly rotation covered.
They both made threats, told lies, and lived their double lives as they vied for the same office playing the same games, and using the same stratagems of war.
Buy with all war-mongers, what the detest the most are words of peace, and words of truth that comes from love and bravery.
And when they saw the signs that threatened their war-mongering, they banded together to try to annihilate a different way to see the spinning world – without their meddling.
But when they were revealed as war-mongers to that spinning world, they ran away like cowards, as all warlords do, and if people could remember to always speak the truth with kindness and bravery, those wars would cease, and peaceful ways of guiding the world could finally begin!