Wednesday, 11 September 2013

Killerplanes, and the People Who Build Them

Some people build killerplanes.  What does it matter where these people live.  They may live in America or Russia, China, France or the UK.  People build planes that kill, and they probably do it with a similar set of motivations.  Some like the work.  They are trained in manufacturing and killerplane building pays well.  Others see it as a way to help their country, to protect their children.  Perhaps they are deeply motivated by love.  Perhaps some are motivated by hate.  A desire to eliminate the enemy, or more nobly, to bring peace to the world.

I suppose it depends on ones view of international conflicts if killerplane builders are our friends or our enemies.  Does it depend on where they live?  Who they sell their planes to? Or if there is any chance that the planes will be used against us?  When I think about WWII, an image that comes to mind is targeted bombing of factories building weapons.  I think about the neighbourhoods destroyed.  I can't help but wonder what would happen if there was an international conflict.  Would "our" killerplanes feel justified in attacking "their" killerplane factories?  While to many, this suggestion may seem reasonable, even justified, I don't like it.  Next to killerplane factories, the killerplane builders live.  I want to tell you about the killerplane builders.

Killerplane builders are both men and women.  They have both children and parents.  Killerplane builders laugh and joke with each other.  They hike together in the mountains.  They share meals together.  They fill up my cup and we toast.  We share meals together.  Killerplane builders have daughters who will grab on to my leg when we are white water rafting and they are afraid.  Their kids, like your kids, are the joy of their life.  Killerplane builders are playful.  They splash me with river water, and I splash them right back.  Killerplane builders are helpful.  When I don't know what I should be doing, they guide me.  I trust the killerplane builders.  I leave them alone with my stuff, I sleep in their houses.  When I close my eyes, I know they will do me no harm.  They have invited me in.  Their generosity overflows.  Killerplane builders are probably the most generous people I have met.  Never did I go hungry, never did they let me buy.  Killerplane builders gave me their best.  They offered all they had, and we played together, and they admired pictures of my family and of my country.  Killerplane builders are my friends, my unrelated kin. 

Whether they live near or far doesn't matter to me.  The colour of their skin doesn't make a difference.  They are no different.  They are people, they are friends and family.  Killerplane builders are not enemies.  No matter whose planes they are building, no matter what those planes are used for.  Killerplane builders are people, people I know, people I care about.

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