Recently Craig Richards led a Joanna Macy-inspired exercise for the Boston area Buddhist Peace Fellowship in which we considered our feelings about events since Sept. 11. Anger, fear, bitterness, hatred, self-righteousness, despair were among the feelings I identified right away--feelings directed not just toward al Qaeda and the Taliban, but toward my own government as well. In fact my anti-US government feelings were in some ways the strongest.

I struggle with these feelings, believing that they are not appropriate bases for action. Craig guided us to help each other look at what lies behind such feelings and recognize that the negative feelings may arise from concern for ourselves and for others. What might be behind my fear, anger, even hatred? Many things, of course, among them love and compassion for my family, for myself-and for all the people and places and institutions I don't want to see destroyed. If we didn't love our family or our nation, how much would we fear for their future? How deeply angry would we be at people we see as threatening them? Becoming more mindful that the well from which my anger and hatred spring contained love of family and friends in New York City and love of the civil liberties our nation has enjoyed helped me criticize myself less for my "bad" feelings. It also, of course, let me feel more compassion toward the targets of my anger, hatred, and fear. I could better understand that behind their acts of destruction lie many impulses, including impulses of compassion, a desire to survive, love of their culture, their country.

At the same time, I can recognize how counterproductive their acts of revenge are, how such acts on both sides lead to greater destruction of the things they love. The world is complicated, after all, and all our deeds have unintended consequences. To me history shows that acts taken out of anger, fear, or hate are likelier to work against us than are acts taken out of love or compassion.

Years ago, I had an experience that brought that home to me. During the Vietnam War, I lived in New York, London, and Santa Cruz; in all three cities I was active in the antiwar movement. In all three, the movement tended to be uncompromisingly confrontive, fueled by anger and hatred toward our government. Marchers shouted, "One side's right, the other side's wrong, victory to the Viet Cong." I shared the anger and hatred-my sister's fiancee and a high school friend were among the people I knew who'd been killed in that staggeringly stupid war. At the same time I often felt uncomfortable with the rhetoric of hate that some protestors used.

We moved to rural western Massachusetts in 1972. Antiwar activity there was different from what we'd been used to-gentler, somehow, though just as committed. The tone was set in large part by the Traprock Peace Center, a Quaker center in Deerfield. Our local peace group focussed on vigils, educational events, letters and opeds, conversation, and lobbying. The major lobbying target was Silvio Conte, our Republican congressman. We bird-dogged him persistently, but politely, even affectionately. He sometimes got annoyed with us, and we with him, but the tone of our relationship was respectful.

Eventually, Conte changed his mind about the war and coauthored legislation to stop funding it. Because he was the ranking minority member of the House Appropriations Committee, his action had a powerful effect. The legislation passed, a vote of no confidence that the President could not ignore, and the war was doomed.

About a year later I ran into Conte at a restaurant in North Adams. He waved me over. "I hope you realize," he said, "that it was you people-you peace people-who convinced me that the war was wrong." He went on to speak of the integrity of the protestors and the respect we'd shown him. We had kept the dialog open, enabling him to consider our views and reexamine his own more easily than he might have if we'd behaved differently.

Conte's change of heart was lasting. In 1991 he was one of just three Republicans to vote against giving President Bush the power to go to war with Iraq, expressing dismay, as he did so, that the President had not pursued diplomatic measures instead.

From Conte I learned that acting from respect and compassion can pay off. My lesson from the exercise at the Buddhist Peace Fellowship was that instead of engaging in futile efforts to erase my feelings of anger or hate I can recognize that they spring from caring, and tapping into that caring can help me act with more compassion.

This article was originally published in the November 2002 issue of the Interhelp networking newsletter. More information about Interhelp is available from Michael Rice, risprin@attglobal.net.

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