Solidarity

You are a farmer. You live in a hot, arid place, so you grow a crop suited to your environment: a tree crop, probably olives, or possibly citrus like lemons or blood oranges, or perhaps something else like maybe figs or almonds. Like all farmers you feel a connection to the particular plot of soil from which you wring a living, but because you farm a tree crop this feeling is enhanced: you, literally, attend to and profit from the plants your grandfather or great-grandfather or an even more distant ancestor planted.

You own your land; you have the deed and your claim is recognized as legal and binding throughout the world; moreover, you can prove just title to your land without consulting a religious book. Your country was invaded in your grandfather’s day. Many of your kind were killed or kicked out of the country, but you remained; you are by legal definition considered a citizen of your country. And yet, your religion is different from the new majority’s who consider you a second-class citizen even though they promised the world they wouldn’t. This new majority is made of people who have been bullied and abused; they claim your land in the name of a deed their God allegedly signed over to them 3,000 years ago. Like many people who’ve been bullied, they have a huge chip on their shoulder: an abused child suddenly with all the power it ever wanted, looking for a smaller kid to kick around and vent frustration upon. You may or may not be personally very religious yourself but the degree of your belief is irrelevant; that you’re not of the same religious and ethnic background as the majority, is what matters.

Because of this very basic fact of difference, at any given moment the government of your country can and eventually will send a bulldozer, purchased with money donated by the United States taxpayer, to your farm. The bastard who drives it and his armed escort may or may not give you a warning before he levels your farm, your house, your patrimony, all that you own, because of the majority’s desire for lebensraum. Your consent or lack thereof is irrelevant; you are not paid for your loss nor will you be. You simply are a native who owns something the new majority desires, like an American Indian in the 1800s, or a Pole or Jew (irony of ironies) in 1939, except this might be 1985 or 1995 or 2015 and all years between and your country claims to be a representative democracy that respects the rule of law.

The majority has a world class army with the best equipment the world’s only superpower can donate; you, if you’re lucky, have an AK-47 and the ability to MacGyver bigger things. What do you do? Do you fight dirty, as the American Indians did? Probably so. And if you do, in my opinion you’re no more of a terrorist than Geronimo or Crazy Horse, and sadly just as doomed.