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How an Encounter with a Drunk Neo-Nazi Made Me Rethink My Pacifism

If I won't fight a goose-stepping Nazi, have I broken some kind of societal code?

Throw that swastika in the garbage. Photo via Flickr user Denis Bocquet

I'm a pacifist. I've come to believe that the means of war, no matter how just the reasoning behind it or how noble the goals for intervention might be, are just too awful to justify any end. The evil of war, the violence it unleashes, and what that violence does to both its victims and its perpetrators is so monstrous that all people and leaders should oppose it, full-stop. There is no just war.

But there is a doubt that undermines my belief: I have never been in a real fight. The closest I came was, at 19, getting in a drunken argument with a friend that culminated in us engaging in a backyard boxing match where I learned that, no matter what is covering the fists, getting punched in the head six times really, really hurts. Other than that and witnessing a couple of particularly brutal bar fights in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, violence has been something that I've strenuously avoided. As strongly as I believe in pacifism, I can't help but wonder if it's just a reflection of me being a tiny little coward man who doesn't know how to fight. Is my pacifism just covering up that I'm a huge wuss?

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A little while ago I was walking down a side street after last call in the west end of Toronto with a Jewish friend. We were heading from one recently gentrified part of town to another, down a peaceful road littered with election signs for one or the other of Canada's progressive parties. Suddenly the calm was shattered by an honest to goodness skinhead who was literally goose-stepping up the road. He had all your skinhead characteristics: shaved head, cargo shorts, and sieg-heiling while he yelled racist shit like, "No Jews," "Get out of this country," and "Vote Harper." (You know, classic racist stuff.) Apparently subtlety is not in a drunk neo-Nazi's wheelhouse.

I was furious. Fuck this guy, this is not what this city is about, I thought. I was particularly outraged for my friend, thinking, She doesn't deserve to feel this kind of danger, not here and not in 2015. Then, showing absolutely no concern for said friend's safety, I yelled at him from across the street. I wish it had been something clever or intelligent, like, "Hey Nazi. Kristall-not this time," but instead all that emerged was a stumbling, "Hey… man, stop it. Come on now man, not cool, not cool this Nazi stuff."

That was enough. In my own drunken outrage I had forgotten that Nazis are creatures of violence who have always loved nothing more than curb-stomping the head of some uppity socialist. He crossed the street and immediately began challenging me to a fight—and not politely. This was a big, scary man. He looked like if Kevin James starred in The Believer. I was not about to fight this beast. (Though admittedly my reaction would have probably been the same even if he was one of those elusive skinny hipster book-nerd neo-Nazis.) I fearfully backtracked, "Hey man, I don't actually want to fight. No trouble please."

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And then the Nazi said, "You're just a little bitch" before goose-stepping off into the night.

Just a little bitch.

Admittedly, no one would advise that you should put too much stock in the opinion of a skinhead, but his statement couldn't help but echo in my head. In the immediate aftermath, I felt like I had failed some sort of societal test. I should've fought him, damnit. I mean isn't that who you're supposed to fight, a Nazi? Didn't we learn that in school? I'm sure a history teacher told me, "If you see a Nazi you should fight 'em because you never know when it's going to be that one Nazi who makes everything all crazy."

Visions of what I could've done kept playing before my eyes. I could have gotten in his face and then delivered a surprise headbutt as one of my sketchy uncles advised me one time. Or a kick in the balls—no amount of hate can protect somebody from a good nut shot. Or better yet, I should've just taken the beating. A beating received for standing up for tolerance? Once I got out of the hospital I probably would've felt great. Getting beaten up in the name of justice by a skinhead must feel like voting a million times.

The next day, I had stopped wishing for a sweet justice beatdown but was still plagued by the encounter. What could I have done to affect this man's mind, how could I have challenged his hate? I had only slightly dipped my toe into the dark, swirling, bottomless ocean that is man's capacity for violence and hate and even that made me feel out of my depth. My value of peace now seemed naive, born out of privilege and safety. The men who commit to violence, to The Act of Killing; they aren't interested in working out a problem. This encounter left me feeling like Tommy Lee Jones at the end of No Country for Old Men.

I realize now, though, that I was making the same mistake of many as advocates for just war. Warmongers often claim that they are only being realistic, that peace is a great idea and all but that's just not how the world works. This claim of realism is often just a narrowing of events and an ignoring of the context of the situation. It's not being realistic, but simplistic. They claim to be offering sober judgement but often this involves not addressing the larger historical reasons behind a crisis and the policy alternatives that were not attempted. Furthermore, as every incursion into the Middle East has shown us, these "realists" have no fucking idea what comes after the violence. Their realism is as idealistic as pacifism; we've just been told one idea is for serious adults while the other is a neat idea for songs by hippies.

In my head, I had turned my encounter with fat Ed Norton into a battle between good and evil, one that I lost. Who was even writing those thoughts, David Frum? The context of the scenario was that, of course I shouldn't have fought this guy. He was just a drunk fool making a tremendous ass of himself at three in the morning. It's not like an awkward brawl would suddenly turn this guy into Chris Hedges. Plus, I can only hope the drunk shame you feel the morning after you goose-step in public is searing.

The West has been in permanent war for nearly 15 years now with no end in sight. The nature of this war is changing as well, becoming more reliant on drone strikes and special forces, making it harder and harder to notice and resist. This convenient warfare has become orthodoxy for even the furthest on the left all the while giving no proof that we get anything from it other than dead innocent children, more people who hate us, and more self-perpetuating war. It's time to change this. The left should advocate for total peace and foreign policies based on diplomacy, empathy, and sanctuary. If this makes me a little bitch, well I guess I'm a bitch.

Follow Jordan Foisy on Twitter.