The crimes that men commit to preserve their manhood

I woke up this morning in a state of fear. I’d just heard the news.

I began thinking about Benjamin Netanyahu.

Trying to imagine what it feels like to be him.

Trying to imagine what it feels like going home at the end of a long day murdering Palestinian children.

Does his wife, Sara, give him a kiss and ask him how his day’s been?

Do they eat supper together?

And then what do they do? Do they watch TV?

I imagine he watches comedy shows. Perhaps they help him relax.

Do they touch each other?

And how does she feel?

Does she regret deciding to repair their marriage after he confessed an affair with an aide on live television?

Is it a good life, looking after such a man?

He must be away a lot. Last night, for instance. Did he come home at all?

He’d spent the day supervising the final preparations to attack Iran with missiles.

He’d decided to risk engulfing his own country in a war that could destroy it.

What does he take to make him sleep at night?

He must take something…

And then to wake up this morning to another day of it, another day of killing thousands and thousands of his fellow humans.

“Tehran will burn” his spokesmen say on the TV news while the Iranian Supreme leader says Israel will be reduced to ashes.

Meantime there’s Mr. Trump, watching his birthday parade as I write these words.

Does it make him feel happy to see tanks and missiles rolling past him?

Does it make him feel safe?

When he sees the crowds that have been paid to be present at the parade, does he imagine they really love him?

I know these man are human, just like you and I are human. They must feel frightened. They must need approval. They must need love.

We know that Elon Musk finds it so unbearably painful to be in this world that he takes massive doses of tranquilliser.

And that when he’s not sedated with ketamine he takes hallucinogens to enable him to feel that he’s somewhere else.

These men. Do they want to die?

Or are they so afraid of dying they will kill and kill and kill to avoid it?

And we, living in their shadow of their rage and their terror and their despair, must somehow find it in ourselves to resist.

The strength and the courage to affirm life and love and to resist.

The story says that the devil took Jesus up to a high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and said to him all these can be yours if you worship me and follow my ways.

And right now our world is full of men who have been tempted in exactly the same way and have said:

Yes. Yes, I want that.

And we see the evil these men do everywhere.

The evil they do everywhere as an expression of their manhood.

“They’ll lie to you” says my Ines de Castro,

“They'll lie to you. They’ll say I had to die. That love is not enough. That we should not allow ourselves to dream.

They're wrong. They're very wrong. They'll tell you that they have to kill. That they cannot avoid committing crimes. Don't believe them. Don't believe them for a moment.

Remember there's another way.”

And the king who has ordered her murder and like Netanyahu and Putin and the rest of them committed countless crimes to keep himself in power lies dying.

As they will.

He says:

“KING

I keep having dreams. People keep knocking on the door. & I have to open it. I say, it isn't right, I'm the king. I shouldn't have to do this. I'm the king! But they take no notice. They just keep filing in. Hundreds of them. Hundreds. People with their wounds. All festering. Horrible. Horrible. It was a fair fight, I tell them. Entirely fair. Nothing personal. Just go away. Go away! But there's more of them. More. & more. & more

She never comes. Not Ines. Never. She knows better. It had to happen. I've no regrets. None. None at all.

I'm walking down a passage. It's very long. There are so many doors. I'm trying to open them but I've thrown away the keys. I'm naked & afraid. There's a man further up coming after me. I'm looking for some armour. I try all the doors. But I can't get in. I can't get in. I'm naked. Then I look down. My armour has become my skin.

I'm in a dried up river bed. My feet raise clouds of dust. A voice says "Cross" & I start to try. But I don't know the way. I don't know which is forward, which is back. I try to move but my legs don't work. I try to move but I'm getting buried. I'm getting buried in the sand

& then I'm by a canyon, standing by this great enormous hole. It's very deep, & black. Quite black. I know it has no end.

And all the river's pouring into it. & I think "So that's where all the water goes". & the voice says "Now walk. Go across". & then my feet start moving. & then I know. Then I know I've died.”