© Pierre Maré,
2004 - 2007
Offbeat 68
Once upon a time, when hair was worn short and stupidity was a virtue, the young men of my generation were taught that ‘bravery’ was a virtue. Boys were encouraged to display their masculinity and defend their racial pride and heritage, against whatever phantom threats their psyches could conjure up, with youthful punch-ups. A walk to the store or an evening in a nightclub invariably involved at least the threat of a bloody nose.
The veneer of civilization demanded that the kiddie brawls be frowned upon. However the stern words and very nominal punishments were always delivered with a slight grin and the tacit understanding that the censure was what was demanded, not necessarily what was right.
I was never particularly good at fighting: too big and too slow. Nor did I particularly enjoy it. As far as I am concerned, pain is never particularly welcome. It didn’t sit well with me on the rugby field and it was never one of my objectives for a Friday night in the pub. Unfortunately the fighting followed me: kids, high on their own testosterone, like a big, easy target to make them feel manly.
All this changed with four discoveries.
In the first place, there is invariably a weapon on hand in any situation, be it a beer mug, a chair, the lid of a trash can, a lit cigarette or some smaller guy that you can pick up and use as a club. The presence of weapons makes people think before they attack you.
Secondly, I realized I was large enough to pick someone up and toss them over a bar, a nearby fence or a car. Once I did this a couple of times, people tended to be respectful.
Thirdly, when this didn’t work, psychotic behaviour got people’s respect. The sight of a huge guy standing in the middle of your lit barbecue, laughing evilly at you, is enough to give anyone pause for thought. I suspect that people also did not particularly appreciate the flavouring that my burning rubber soles imparted to their meals.
The final realization was that I didn’t always have to respond. This realization was spurred on by an acquaintance who, when challenged to go outside and fight, said ‘yes’ but remained inside while his enemy for the evening stood outside waiting in vain for him to appear.
Stepping up the aggression up to levels way beyond the norm, and being disdainful of all but the most reckless situations, caused the fights to come to an end in a few short months. I became regarded as more fearless than most, and the bravery of my aggressors failed them. In the final analysis, my response to my own reticence in the face of a fight, or call it fear, caused fear on their part.
Bravery on the physical level is rarely intelligent, or a virtue, no matter how ‘manly’ the stopping power of a punch. All it says is that you are willing to risk a bruising. If you doubt this, would you be willing to take a cigarette and stub it out on your own arm?
Some people have florid motivational tracts, with kitsch covers featuring beaches and sunsets, to help them through life. I have adopted Sun Tzu’s ‘Art of War’. This wonderful little book states that the war should be won before the battle begins, and then gives a whole lot of useful homilies and hints on the topic. In this regard, bravery has to happen with the actions that you take to prevent the impending battle from becoming a reality.
Had I known this, I might have been brave and ignored the call and pleasures of the nightclub in which so many of the fights found me.
True bravery is actually rooted in a calculation of the odds, and a willingness to take the risks implicit in overcoming the obstacles that face you. It must be thought out, coldly calculated. By applying method amongst the madness, many of the obstacles can be overcome.
There are few things as pathetic as an individual measuring his worth by his ability, without thought, to inflict and receive pain. Perhaps, if people had the courage to think things through, the levels of violence inherent in any society would be far lower than they are now.
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