The Bee & the Ant

I stood outside Starbucks and took in the day. The sun washes a pristine glow of calm on everything like a tsunami of light. As I breathe it in, a bee starts maneuvering around me. I pull away from it several times, fearing its stinger. It stays in hot pursuit and almost lands on my skin several times until it finally touches down on my white tee. I assume it was attracted to the color. With a twinge of anxiety, I shake the cloth in order to persuade the bee to find another landing spot. If flicks off and lands on the ground. I take a few steps back in order to avoid agitating it. A part of me thinks about stepping on it in order to alleviate my anxiety about the possibility of any future eminent threat.

It got me thinking… If it were an ant, I would not have maneuvered. I would have flicked it off, not caring about whether it survived. I may have killed it by smacking it right away. If the ant was in my home, I may have grabbed a spray and slaughtered its entire family and army with the press of a plastic trigger. If it were a bee hive, however, there would be more strategy involved. I may have called in a specialist to have the hive removed professionally.

Then it dawned on me: That’s why they want nukes. Not the bees and the ants. The proverbial Them. Them with the brown skins. Them with the foreign religions. Them with the dictators or strongmen or scary forms of government. Them who supposedly hate us. Us the proud and the patriotic.

I’m not normally one to kill things so quickly and easily anyway. Going back further, however, I’ve been conditioned to treat the bee with respect because I’ve been stung before. In order to avoid being stung, I’ve learned to think twice about touching it. The ant can’t do shit to me, so it gets no respect.

We don’t screw with companies who have powerful lawyers. Big trucks have paths cleared for them on the highway because they can cause more damage whereas motorcyclists are often bullied by even Honda Civic drivers. The big guy at the nightclub may be immediately forgiven if he accidentally bumps into someone whereas the smaller guy might get checked back or, at the very least, be given a threatening look.

Speak softly and carry a big stick.

They want nukes not because they plan to use them. They just want not to be squished or stepped on. From what I understand, bees die once they use their stingers. The nuke is like the bee’s stinger; it’s the last resort. If they’re ever forced to push the button, it will be the end of them anyway. We have 1000 stingers to their one or two. During their interview, Fidel Castro admitted to Oliver Stone that attacking the United States would be suicide. All They really want is simply not to be bullied.

All of that said… I still don’t want them to have nukes.

Understanding your threat is not the same as appeasing it. To make strong policy, we learn how our opponent thinks not in order to be sympathetic and forgiving, but in order to formulate stronger, smarter countermeasures. A battle is like Checkers. War… Any war… Is Chess.

The bee flies away, possibly to accost another guy wearing a white shirt. I watch my feet as I walk into Starbucks, wondering how often I accidentally step on ants as I walk in an average day.