We're Gonna Be Like Three Little Fonzies

Pacifism, I think, is largely misunderstood as passivism, phonetically if not experientially. It's not that those of us who are not just averse to altercation and violence but actively seek to either avoid or defuse it are willing to stand by and see violence done (clearly some part of the approach has failed by that point, if it's something you're involved with at all), with all intervention off the table. It's more that we recognize that the human aptitude for physical assault (of any manner) is so present at any time, the most--the most--a person can do is maintain a level of vigilance against it so as not to contribute to its eruption, as it is always threatening and threatening and threatening. It's usually too late if you get to the actual threats.

I think the confusion comes from the fact that most pacifists find their way to it by first dabbling in some good old fashioned cowardice. I try to avoid negative self-talk, but when you're committed to non-violence and agnosticism, well, the evidence really starts to pile up. At a certain point, "well, I don't really want to fight about it" has become a lifestyle. The one major upside to that sort of a disposition is it makes you exceptionally resilient against the creeping encroachment of conspiracy theories. It's not the content that freaks me out, it's the dead-eyed certainty. If you can apply it to Jesus, how long a trip is it to lizard-people and adrenochrome anyway? I'd be lying if I said I lived my life without some amount of envy for that level of credulity and the surety it brings, but I can't say it seems to bring those people much peace. Paradoxically, there don't seem to be a twitchier group of weirdos than those who are walking around with a head locked and loaded with absolute absolutes. The trick is to not be in the way when one of them goes off.

The path of most pacifists isn't aversion as much as it is about de-escalation. If you're trying to stay out of a situation, you have to be able to see it coming, which is fucking exhausting, let me tell you. It's like the way Siri has to be listening to every single thing you say in order to know when you say "Hey, Siri..." A ton of processing power goes into that kind of vigilant hyper-passivity. I don't pretend my proclivity is always the best approach or in any way an inherent or obvious moral or social good. I mean, I got through a 12 years of marriage without much in the way of a fight, but still managed to find myself divorced anyway. To be fair to myself, it was probably the adultery (not by me) that was the major issue in the end, but maybe an airing of grievances at volume might have lessened the likelihood at some point? Who can say? Not the marriage counselor we saw that one time, her at least I can rule out.

The worst place for the conflict-allergic is a group of people. Particularly one pressing in around you from all sides. And further, if they are in an altered headspace due to some type of imbibing, lessening everyone's judgment and inhibitions against things like balling up a fist and smashing a stranger's face in. I'm not saying this is what happened last Thursday at the Belly/Breeders show at the Wiltern in LA. But I will say an argument over a vape pen between the person I was there with and some drunk millennials behind us flashed into a moment of decision--lasting all of maybe two-thirds of a full second--where I had to consider tackling or throwing haymakers at an unknown number of strangers should things suddenly spiral from shouty/shove-y to something a lot more punishable by law in most states.

Escalating. Increasing in volume. Not involving me in any way directly. It's at the points of real passivity that the namby-pamby pacifists like myself feel the most exposed, where all you can do is watch people who are decidedly not you form a widening gyre of catastrophe around them through a series of obvious mistakes that can only exist by stakes-raising mutual consent to be dopes. I hate it.

In the end, one person got a cloud of strawberry-flavored cannabinoid vape blown in their face and another got an arm grabbed. Neither of them were me. Then my guest and I were escorted to a different part of the standing-room show, out of general audience and down to the pit area to separate us from the other party, so... a win? I don't know, it was hard to tell. I was vibrating so hard for about 20 minutes I could barely take in the show. In the end, I was mostly, assuredly in love with Kelley Deal, who I now stood about 10 feet away from, and her weird, atmospheric guitar playing as the band worked their way through Last Splash in order. That's how it should have gone from the beginning, we just had to take a detail into a flash-aggro nightmare to get there.

Out there participating in an activity involving whole entire brains that are not mine and over whom I have zero meaningful influence in an environment where, despite the illusion of participation, things could go immediately and irretrievably out of control to the detriment of all involved. This is the same reason I don't ride horses.