Tag: violence

Civil Disobedience

January 16th, 2026

Have you ever been to a protest demonstration? Have you ever been arrested at a demonstration? Did you ever go to jail for civil disobedience?

Some of you reading this article can answer yes to all of those questions. Well, so can I. However, I cannot say that I was ever teargassed or knocked to the ground by a law enforcement officer. I am sure that some folks reading my words have been exposed to that kind of violence at demonstrations. My experience with civil disobedience is limited to one specific event. In the scheme of things, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it changed my life.

I participated in a week-long protest at Creech AFB in Nevada in the spring of 2017. Our group of protesters were demonstrating against drone warfare, and Creech AFB personnel were involved in that type of operation. One morning, a smaller subset of our team decided to engage in civil disobedience. All of us planned to block the entrance of the Air Force base during the change of shifts. Most of us were going to vacate the road after five minutes (the police made it clear that anybody still impeding traffic after that time would be arrested). A few of the protesters intended to remain the street and get busted. I had no desire to be part of that select population.

As it turned, I became part of that small group of malcontents. I stayed with them in the road and was arrested along with the other six people. Did I allow myself to be incarcerated because of a deep commitment to our cause? Hmmm, no, not really. I had been standing next to an older veteran, Ray, and he had put his hand on my shoulder and told me how glad he was that I was standing with him. The stone-cold truth is that I remained with him out of friendship and solidarity. As somebody told me later, I made a “game time decision”. My choice to get arrested was not terribly rational, however it was right. I have no regrets. Oddly enough, of the seven people arrested, five of us were vets. That probably doesn’t really matter, but I found it interesting.

The Clark County cops held us for about fourteen hours and then released us. That was the first time in my life that I had ever been arrested, and it made an impression. The police were professional about the intake process. It was a relatively painless experience, but it was still scary, at least it was for me. I learned a lot rather quickly. It reminded me a lot of my basic training in the Army. The one rule was “shut up and do as you’re told”. I have experience with that sort of thing, so it wasn’t too hard for me to adapt to the jail environment.

The reason that I am writing about a this is because of the current violence and chaos in Minnesota. My experience is vastly different to what is happening there, but I still have some thoughts.

When I got busted, both the protesters and the law enforcement officials made efforts to maintain a nonviolent interaction. The police made it crystal clear to us what they wanted us to do and what the consequences would be if we chose not to follow their instructions. For our part, we did not verbally abuse or harass the cops. This sort of protest had occurred at Creech AFB repeatedly in the past, so almost everyone knew the rules of the game. That was a very good thing. It is unwise to surprise a guy carrying a loaded Glock. When people get scared, they do stupid things.

I believe that a person in the United States has the right (or perhaps an obligation) to break a law that goes against their conscience. I also believe that when a person does disobey that law, they should be ready to accept the consequences of their actions. Nothing is for free. Valor has a price tag. A person should stand up for what is right, but they have to understand the potential costs involved with their decisions.

The goal is not to be a martyr. History is full of the names of people who died for their beliefs: Oscar Romero, Martin Luther King, Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Now there is Renee Good.

How do we work for justice without getting people killed?

Carrie

October 19th, 2025

Carrie Zettel is dead.

On October 12th, Carrie was killed by her daughter. The young woman bludgeoned her mother to death with a rock in the backyard of their home. The killing was all over the news, probably because of its particularly gruesome nature. My wife, Karin, and I didn’t know about Carrie’s murder until a couple days later. The funeral was yesterday, Saturday the 18th. Karin attended the service. She went there because, years ago, we knew that family quite well.

Two of our children attended Tamarack Waldorf School with Carrie’s two kids. She had a son and a daughter. Her son was in a class with our youngest boy. Both of our families lived in the southern part of Milwaukee County, which is far away from the Waldorf school, so we carpooled to school nearly every day. We did that until our son and her son graduated from Tamarack in 2008. After that, our paths diverged, and we lost contact with each other.

Every death is a tragedy, but some deaths defy understanding. Apparently, Carrie’s daughter has a long history of mental illness, so perhaps the killing was not completely unexpected. But still, how does a person wrap their head around this kind of violence? How does Carrie’s son deal with this? Is it even possible to come to terms with trauma like this?

I don’t know. I have never dealt with a death of this sort. The closest I’ve come is when our oldest son went to war in Iraq. He killed people there, and I have had difficulty accepting that reality. However, my experience is like nothing compared to what Carrie’s son has to process.

My wife told me that the funeral service was well done. The son gave an eloquent eulogy about Carrie. Another person mentioned to me that the son “stood tall and spoke well of the new commandment” (“Love one another” from John 13:34). I thought that maybe I should’ve gone there with Karin.

I had another place to be when the funeral was in progress. My friend from the synagogue, Ken, had invited me a couple days before the funeral to come to his home for kiddush, seeing as it was Shabbat, and his wife was out of town. I had already told Ken that I would come to share the meal he had prepared for us before I knew anything about the time and date of the funeral. It was impossible for me to tell Ken that I had a funeral to attend. Since he is an observant Jew, he does not communicate electronically at all on the sabbath: no phone calls, no texts, no emails, nothing. I couldn’t just not show up. So, I went to Ken’s home and kept him company for two hours. I needed to do that. We ate, we talked and enjoyed each other’s company. Shabbat is a gift from God, a day for rest, prayer, and friendship. Nobody should be alone on Shabbat.

I told Ken about Carrie, and we talked about her at length. I am sure that Ken prayed for her. Even if I wasn’t at the funeral, I remembered her.

She was good woman. I grieve for her. I grieve for her children.

A Hero of War

August 3rd, 2025

He said “Son, have you seen the world?
Well, what would you say if I said that you could?
“Just carry this gun, you’ll even get paid”
I said “That sounds pretty good”

Black leather boots
Spit-shined so bright
They cut off my hair but it looked alright
We marched and we sang
We all became friends
As we learned how to fight

A hero of war
Yeah, that’s what I’ll be
And when I come home
They’ll be damn proud of me
I’ll carry this flag
To the grave if I must
‘Cause it’s a flag that I love
And a flag that I trust

I kicked in the door
I yelled my commands
The children, they cried
But I got my man
We took him away
A bag over his face
From his family and his friends

They took off his clothes
They pissed in his hands
I told them to stop
But then I joined in
We beat him with guns
And batons not just once
But again and again

A hero of war
Yeah that’s what I’ll be
And when I come home
They’ll be damn proud of me
I’ll carry this flag
To the grave if I must
‘Cause it’s a flag that I love
And a flag that I trust

She walked through bullets and haze
I asked her to stop
I begged her to stay
But she pressed on
So I lifted my gun
And I fired away

And the shells jumped through the smoke
And into the sand
That the blood now had soaked
She collapsed with a flag in her hand
A flag white as snow

A hero of war
Is that what they see
Just medals and scars
So damn proud of me
And I brought home that flag
Now it gathers dust
But it’s a flag that I love
It’s the only flag I trust

He said, “Son, have you seen the world?
Well what would you say, if I said that you could?”

Lyrics to Hero of War from the band, “Rise Against”. Released in 2008.

I just played that track again on the stereo after not listening to it for a long time. I don’t particularly like the song, even though it is well done. I guess it’s because it’s just too accurate and it cuts too close to the bone. Hearing it makes my heart hurt. It really does.

I can’t listen to the lyrics without thinking about my oldest son, Hans. Hans enlisted in the Army in 2009. He knew when he enlisted that he was going to be deployed either to Iraq or Afghanistan. That was guaranteed. My wife and I did not want him to go to war, even though I am a veteran myself, or especially because I am a veteran. He joined anyway. Hans went to Iraq in 2011.

Hans did lots of things in Iraq. He went on patrols. He cleared buildings. He kicked in doors. He got wounded. He killed people. He came back different.

Hans texted a few weeks ago about his war. He said, “I’m actually grateful for my army experience.” He told me that it made him grow up in a hurry and it taught him what was important in life. I’m sure that’s true, but at what cost?

I’ve written numerous essays on this blog about Hans and things that happened to him in the Army. A few of his stories are funny, but most of them are not. The accounts of his experiences in Iraq are harrowing, at least they are to me. There are things that a father probably does not need to hear, although I am grateful that Hans trusted me enough to tell me.

If you’re curious, you can look up my essays about his war. It’s all here in the blog.

Hans was a hero of war, whatever that means.