Today it seems that everybody is a warrior. At least on the left. Hate President Trump, you're a warrior. Support using other people's money to fight climate, you're a warrior. Agree that upper middle class white women, blacks, Muslims and others who are not white men have been oppressed by white men since the dawn of time, and white men have to pay for it? You're a warrior.
Cover your face and join gangs of others to surround and beat women and men who do not agree with Hillary Clinton? You're a warrior. March through the streets yelling and waving a sign that says that western civilization is the worst while being protected by white men in blue uniforms, you're a warrior.
None of these activities are particularly dangerous. No risk of life and limb. No real sacrifice. Envy, rage and rancor, rather than fear, courage and heroism define them. When did being a warrior become so safe?
I wondered about this as I sat at a celebration of life listening to people eulogize a cousin. He was a man like any other, virtuous in some ways, not so much in others. He cooked food at potlucks, served on committees, and got paid to do good deeds. But he also criticized volunteers, spied on people, spread gossip and had faults, as do we all. It's not that he was a bad man: all in all, he was a fairly decent fellow. But he always stood with the majority, never stood alone, never risked censure and never put his life on the line. Yet they called him a warrior.
When did being a warrior become so safe?
