DAY 11, ENDING THE WAR AGAINST OURSELVES, book 4, building

ENDING THE WAR AGAINST OURSELVES. // It was Tuesday. Not that this mattered to the two hikers who left the hostel on Berneray at dawn, the seagulls calling, and hunting for fish in the sea. Yes, there is only one hostel on this small island which is part of the Outer Hebrides in Scotland, two old croft houses sitting close to the shore. In the fresh breeze, the two hikers were already wide awake and climbed up to a plateau, covered in lush green grass. ’Imagine,’ one of the friends said, ‘imagine you only knew the world in shades of grey. One day you find a pair of glasses and suddenly, you see all primary colours. Would you feel like you finally see what’s really there?’ ‘Possibly,’ the other returned. ‘Or would you realise that you saw more in shades of grey because you weren’t as distracted by all the noisy colours?’ ‘Possibly.’ ‘And how would you react to someone whose glasses show a hundred colours?’ ‘Only a hundred?’ ‘Exactly! And yet, every pair of glasses has something to offer.’ The listener chuckled. ‘Do you think, there could be glasses which show us which wars we wage against ourselves?’ The first speaker raised their eyebrows. ‘A mirror might be a wee bit more useful.’ The questioner smiled, a challenge in their eyes. ‘I wonder. A mirror might only show us the damage caused, but glasses could reveal who and what lured us into waging war against our bodies or against nature, nature which is so much more than the green grass or the sheep over there — which incidentally are part of the war we wage against ourselves—’ ‘—Sheep? How is that?’ ‘We need clean air to breathe—’ ‘—Breathe? Slow down, my friend. You’ve lost me.’ ‘By letting sheep deplete our landscapes, landscapes which could be rich in grasses, wildflowers, bushes, forests, wildlife, by letting sheep deplete our landscapes, we harm ourselves because without a multitude of thriving landscapes, we won’t have clean air to breathe nor food to eat or anywhere to go. Everything that is essential and dear to us is destroyed because we follow damaging ideas of how we should live and farm. It’s strange. We claim to be taking care of ourselves when we are, in fact, making everything worse for ourselves.’ ‘Hm. Glasses. Hm. You might be right. Maybe we need glasses and mirrors to see what we are doing to ourselves and who pushes us into those wars.’ ‘Oh, look over there!’ ‘YES! It’s the long beach, three miles long. We’ll climb down the rocks over there. We’ll come down at the very start of the beach.’ ‘It looks stunning!’ ‘Absolutely! The sand is almost white in this light.’ The friend let out a long sigh. ‘If I am at any war with myself, then I can use my mind to end this war. I can’t think of a better place to clear my mind for the task than this or any of the nearby islands. Thank you for dragging me out here.’ // Nearly two hours later, several well-known people received their invitations to the town project’s groundbreaking ceremony on April the first. Among the recipients were: the British prime minister, the Mayor of London and the mayors in the Jellybridge region. This news received some rebukes from the press, but that was nothing to the uproar, which erupted about an hour later, when Queen Lusana and Princess Felicitas accepted their invitations to the groundbreaking ceremony, and the Mayor of London and all mayors in the Jellybridge region announced their attendances, too. But despite the uproar, it seemed as if uncertainty was gaining momentum among journalists because: How many people can you call a traitor on a single day?‘The town project has a point,’ a reporter with an independent newspaper wrote. ‘It is time to END THE WAR AGAINST OURSELVES. Not putting our wellbeing and the restoration of our planet front and centre of all our considerations is nothing short of a full-frontal attack on ourselves. Tragically many of us seem unaware that we are at war with ourselves. Our narratives of competition, money hoarding and thumbing chests, and our justifications for depleting nature, all of this and more harms us, all of this goes against our best interests, all of this requires that we fight our most basic needs: air to breathe, food to eat, water to drink and such trifles like love, community, closeness, belonging, rest, reassurance, exchange, collaboration, connection with each other and with nature. The people who cry betrayal because our queen and several mayors have the courage to give their voice to a team who want to research what kind of systems, what kind of narratives, what kind of lives serve us, how we can find peace with ourselves, each other and nature — the people who cry betrayal because of something like that, they are at war with themselves. If they cared about themselves, they would care what this project might discover, and they would no longer act against their own interest.’ // Meanwhile, Tabansi, Mudiwa’s husband who was a writers at ripples news, spent the morning with other Hub users on the Hub’s Campaign Square to untangle what it is humans are at war against and why. After some hours, the contributors had compiled two compelling list. The first list was titled: NEVER ENOUGH. The question posed was: In which cases do we wage war against ourselves? The list: We wage wars against our bodies, minds, instincts, dreams, desires, talents, work, life and survival. ‘For such a short list, it really bites,’ one user commented. ‘Scary,’ another remarked. ‘Here’s a thought,’ Tabansi wrote. ‘We’ve used marketing to trick each other into loving and consuming nonsense, into fighting who we are and what we actually want. What if we used the same tricks to stop turning against ourselves, each other and nature?’ ‘Sounds ace!’ ‘But how?’ ‘Love the thought.’ ‘Don’t love marketing.’ ‘Good point.’ ‘Don’t like manipulation for good or bad.’ Tabansi nodded to himself and typed: ‘Is it manipulation if it’s done with a wink?’ ‘Open-eyed like?’ ‘Yes. Like: Listen up, we know this method works on our brains, how about we try to use it to tune ourselves differently, in a new direction, away from self-harm?’ ‘Might be worth a try.’ ‘Might be.’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Can we discuss the second list? It’s a bit longer.’ ‘Not less scary.’ ‘True.’ The second list was titled: SELF-INFLICTED DAMAGE. When a finalised version appeared on the screens, a user noted: ‘Maybe that’s why cancer is so symbolic: the body turns against itself. I’m tempted to say, the body only mirrors what we do to ourselves by comparing ourselves with others and making out that something about us needs to be fixed, instead of embracing ourselves and the journey ahead, a journey to expand and shape who we are — not as a fix, not to please anyone, not as adaptation to some sick system, but as part of who we are, as part of being alive.’ ‘Cancer, a mirror? That’s a thought.’ ‘But why do we harm ourselves?’ ‘That’s the question, friend. Why do we wage war against ourselves?’ The list with potential answers to this question read: We wage war because we don’t know better; because we lost the connections to our bodies, minds, souls, kin and nature; because we accept stressful lives instead of shaping enjoyable lives; because we have internalised and normalised harmful narratives; because day in day out, we are told that this is how life is; because we get our priorities wrong; because we are extremely good at explaining why something can’t be done and why every alternative will be terrible; because we often only repeat what we read instead of thinking for ourselves; because we haven’t found the courage to connect, treasure, be; because we built towns, cities and workspaces which alienate us from each other, from creative processes and from nature; because we built economic and political systems which pit us against each other and against ourselves, invite corruptions and power struggles, and create dependencies that fail us; because we are so busy with what is that we fail to explore what could be; because we haven’t built a world that’s fit for millions of worlds. ‘Imagine,’ one commentator wrote, ‘imagine millions of worlds where people found their pack, a pack where they are at peace with themselves and connected.’ ‘And then they go to war with the other packs?’ ‘Of course not! A pack is balanced, connected to each other and to their ecosystem. A pack like that understands that fighting only ever destroys. It will never put their own in danger.’ ‘Not even to defend themselves?’ ‘But that’s the beauty of it. If we, the people of this planet, end the wars we wage against ourselves, then we’re different people, no longer waring but curious, open, balanced in ourselves. Can you imagine curious people going to war?’ ‘And what for?’ ‘Exactly!’ // At the same time, groups of seven strangers had gathered at the beach in Brighton, next to the sea bridge. They were taking part in an experiment which asked them to convincingly explain to the strangers in their group why destroying the environment is the most devastating war a majority of humans wage against themselves — and to make the argument regardless of the speakers’ personal opinions. It was only after each of them had spoken that they could discuss each other’s points and/or argue counterpoints. The results were many and interesting, a reporter wrote. Some people were triggered by what someone in their group said and refused to speak when it was their turn. Other people shook their heads in disbelief while speaking. One of them saying to me afterwards: ‘I never gave a penny for all the lefties talk. But when I stood in one of their shoes, it suddenly hit me that they might have a point, even though I don’t like them. But do I have to saw off the branch I sit on only because I can’t stand those lefties? I don’t think so. I mean— bloody hell. I think I am thinking, and it’s not the worst thing to do.’ The experiment was repeated every hour, and some people kept participating. One of them told me: ‘It’s like, in every new group I see that bit more, my mind tries to be that more precise, and everyone in a group adds something to my thoughts.’ During the third round of experiments I walked from group to group, some thirty by that time, a number which kept growing way into the evening. It was fascinating to see all the different expressions on people’s faces. There were those who got angry, some who wept, others who made no friends with their arrogance, more who laughed, some who seemed relieved, others amused. ‘Oh, yes,’ a participant told me. ‘In our group we had it all: Shouting, weeping, laughing. It was such a rollercoaster. But I think none of us has ever seen this clearly that we humans are very stupid and super clever — at the same time. It’s like stupid and clever go hand in hand. Maybe that’s why we get so much wrong. But when you’re in an experiment like this, you realise that things happen in our minds. Just by bloody listening. Just by making an argument I hadn’t given a thought to before. And yes, we have a choice: we can allow others to manipulate our minds, or we can use our minds to think rationally. There is not a shred of rationality in destroying our planet, in continuing with an economic system that exhausts most of us, in going along with a political system that fails us every day. We have the minds to be rational. We can decide to end the war against ourselves. We can rethink our world. There is some who say that we’re all too entangled in the financial world. We’ll lose too much if we do that big rethink. But how is that possible? We are near rock bottom. A change is something new, sure. But from where we are, things can only get better if we rethink everything. Thorough like. No holding on to things. Real thinking. Getting our priorities right. And that’s what the town project does. They have their own bank. They have an economic system that’s independent of the markets. They don’t have the old power structures. They aren’t even about power or competition or any of those damn things that have made so many lives miserable. It’s not money we need. We have trillions of that. It’s new systems.’ It is noteworthy that the campaign teams are always generous and provide meals at all their events, for free or for a donation. Today, it’s particularly remarkable that all their food stalls have additional information about which foods are nurturing for the body and which regional and seasonal ingredients the cooks used to cook in tune with what nature has to offer here in England. While eating a delicious lentil soup, I listened to someone who experienced a two-personality situation where one personality was still sceptical about everything green, and the other was sort of waking up, shaking itself and looking around, a little bewildered and disorientated, but nonetheless in possession of a new and odd certainty: ‘I am at war. Bloody hell! I am at war! And I didn’t know it! I am at war with myself, and I drag others down the abyss, too, because I just do what everyone else does, and worse I just don’t do what everyone else doesn’t do! We are at war with ourselves! I have to find that other event. Do you know where they do that making peace event?’ I did know, and later we walked there together. Not long before I left, one participant said to me: ‘By defending fossil fuels, government failures, speculations, AI, factory farming, eating traditions, deforestation, consumerism and the like, we act against our own interests. We need a planet that works and systems that serve us in order to have the lives we are capable of. Our planet is amazing, complex, everything is connected, biodiversity is needed for balance, and we are disrupting and destroying all of this thanks to the systems we invented and still hold on to. We need to understand that every act which harms our ecosystem, is an act against ourselves. It doesn’t have to be that way. We can end this war — and every other war.’ // Meanwhile in Exeter, a group of fourteen students discussed the NEVER ENOUGH list. ‘This is weird,’ one student remarked. ‘I must have been at war with my body for most of my life. But I never saw it like that. Feeling bad about my body tricks me into waging war on it.’ The student shook their head and another student nodded. ‘I never thought of binge watching trash and days of endless gaming as ways of shutting down my mind. But what is shutting down other than a crippling war?’ The first speaker nodded. ‘It’s bizarre. Why are we doing this?’ Some students nodded, and one of them said: ‘But can we really look into the mirror, strip ourselves of all expectations and see who we are?’ ‘Not just see,’ another student chipped in, ‘but getting to know who we are when we no longer cater to existing ideas, ideals, trends, traditions, constructs, narratives, when we no longer fight ourselves but nurture and grow who we are.’ ‘Hm,’ another student uttered. ‘But does that who we are even exist? I mean, don’t we become who we are through the interactions with others?’ ‘That’s a good point,’ one of the students returned. ‘But I don’t think it holds. If copies of the same ideas interact, then nothing happens, except some confirmation that we are basically the same. But if we listen to our bodies, and nurture what we have, if we listen to our minds and use them to explore ideas, then we become something unique.’ The earlier speaker nodded. ‘And when we are ourselves and interact, we each bring unique characteristics into the encounter, and there is a chance that something interesting will happen through our interactions.’ Some students chuckled, and one of them said: ‘Maybe the result will be some kind of human lichen.’ Several of the students laughed, and one said: ‘I wonder, do we really wage war against our dreams, instincts, desires?’ ‘I think we do when we accept the world as it is.’ ‘Wow! That’s a big jump from single person to the whole world.’ ‘But it’s not. The world as it is demands of us to be obliging, hoarding, obeying idiots in order to be acceptable. In our world there is no room for my dreams or desires. And most of the systems of this world go against my instincts. Plus I doubt any employer will be interested in all my talents. Instead they will expect me to burn out myself for an economic system that fails us every day. And yes, by accepting this reality, we wage a war against ourselves because the frustration of our societies and the destruction of the environment harms us. And it does so every day, with every polluted breath we take, with every bit of poisoned food we eat, with every sip of contaminated water we drink. This is war. Accepting our world as it is means we are deliberately at war with ourselves.’ One of the students shook their head. ‘Talk, talk, talk. The moment someone offers you a high salary, you’ll all be singing the songs your employers want to hear.’ ‘And thus we keep the circus alive,’ one student conceded, several others shook their heads, and one of them said: ‘This is really stupid. We keep a sick system alive because we don’t use our imagination, our talents, our time and availability to create a system that doesn’t make us sick.’ ‘That’s what people have been doing for generations: adapt to get a job and keep a sickening system alive.’ ‘There’s got to be a way out. We are clever.’ ‘And we’re a lot of people. There could be a way out if all of us do that rethink the town project bangs on about.’ ‘But will we have the balls and teeth to do it?’ ‘I don’t know. But what do we have to lose? The way the world turns right now has no place for us. If anyone thinks it does, they’re kidding themselves. So we might as well create a different world and see whether we can’t find a future there.’ ‘A revolution?’ One of the students smiled archly. ‘Not necessarily. Every human wants recognition, no matter who they are. If you no longer get recognised for bullshit, exploitation, waring, whoring, and hoarding riches, but instead for participating in the debates to reshape every sick system humans invented, and for restoring the planet, then we are in a different story — without a revolution. What are the oligarchs and autocrats going to do if no one gives a damn about them or their products any more?’ ‘What if we throw the best party in town, and they aren’t invited.’ ‘You read my mind.’ // Around the same time in London, two friends walked towards the Tate Gallery. ‘Does the air smell better?’ a friend asked another as they walked towards the Tate Gallery.’ The friend laughed. ‘I’ve been wondering that myself. Maybe it’s because of all the plants from yesterday’s Spring Special.’ ‘Do you really think a few plants can make all the difference?’ The friend nodded earnestly. ‘Yes. But we’ll need a lot more plants to end the war against ourselves.’ ‘Oh, you got the campaigns’ bug,’ the friend teased. ‘Not really. I’m just— All these years I was frustrated, and half of the time I didn’t know why. But now, I’m so frustrated that I have hope.’ The friend laughed. ‘And that makes sense how?’ ‘To have my nose opened to what cleaner air can smell like, to have my eyes opened to what a flowering city can look like, to have my mind opened to the possibility that there is a war, in me, in us, to be aware of all that frustrates me so much that I’m beginning to sense defiance rising — because I think the project might be right: We can end all wars, starting with the one we wage against ourselves. And that gives me a kind of hope, I’ve never known before.’ The other friend nudged the speaker. ‘I like your thinking. Is that why you brought me here?’ ‘Not quite. I didn’t want to go to this alone. I wanted a friend by my side when we enter this event.’ ‘Now you scare me a bit.’ ‘We’ll be okay. See over there. It’s one of those tent installations, the campaigns have used before, where you can explore a specific question in each tent. But you decide how far you’ll go. And there are eating and chill-out spots in between.’ ‘OK. I’m in. And I’m glad you’re— we’re not alone.’  // In the afternoon, a journalist wrote: For the first time in twenty-nine days of campaigns, the town project struggles to find the positive notes for today’s theme: ENDING THE WAR AGAINST OURSELVES because no matter how positive a play, a concert, a game, a flashmob, a speech, a challenge, a dance, an interactive show, a debate begins, by the end of each there is the inevitable realisation that the project team might be right, that we might indeed be at war with ourselves thanks to buying into ads, trends, opinions, goal setting, competition — all of which constantly suggest to us that we are not enough, that we don’t look good enough, that our bodies aren’t strong enough, that our food isn’t healthy enough, that our minds aren’t balanced enough, our careers aren’t skyrocketing enough and so on. Not enough. Always. There is one event, I visited earlier, which managed to get to this dark valley and back out again by inviting us to form groups with strangers and to tell each other who we think we would be if we didn’t have access to ads, news, social media. The amazing thing for me, and others, was: we started shyly and ended up laughing, and laughing, and laughing, because we quickly realised that no one, at least not in my group nor in the six groups of people I talked to afterwards, was in the least interested in conforming — if given a choice, and that we actually liked the people who suddenly emerged before our eyes much better than the ones we’d encountered before. It was liberating. // In the late afternoon, a poet welcomed her six friends to an evening on her houseboat: dinner, a peace treaty and peace celebrations. The friends had been in contact throughout the day, sharing their thoughts, experiences, poems and sketches from the campaigns’ events. It was the host who had written, earlier in the afternoon: My eyes are open and they are burning — with tears of pain and joy. Pain for I finally sense the wars within me. Joy because now that my eyes are burning, I can extinguish the fire. Will you join me, my friends? In the task of negotiating a peace treaty with myself? And if successful, will you join me in celebrating the new found calm, joy and strength I already sense? The friends were quick to answer that they too had been making notes, some in writing, others in sketches, for the content of their own peace treaties, and would love to join. Delighted, the poet invited them all to dinner, and prepared her houseboat for this special occasion: adding more flowers, candles, fabrics and cushions, and preparing a delicious but light dinner which would nurture their minds not tire them. In the early evening, the friends arrived, and over dinner they exchanged their experiences. After the desert, each friend withdrew to a spot on the houseboat where they could contemplate the wars they waged against themselves, and where they could finish a first draft of their peace treaty. More than an hour passed before the friends gathered again, and two more before they had each finalised a treaty which included details of what their peace entailed: such as quality time for body and mind, rethinking narratives and demands which caused them harm, reshaping their lives in favour of restoring the planet and with that their own health and happiness. It was a solemn moment when the friends read their treaties to each other. And when they signed them, some tears escaped their eyes. All treaties folded and sealed, they lit the candles around the deck, opened a very old bottle of whisky and shared the burning liquid. // At Jellybridge, the day had been no less solemn. Explorations and debates marked the morning, while the afternoon featured a variety of rituals: mind-opening rituals, grieving rituals (for the self-harm done), grieving rituals (for the harm done to nature), mirror rituals (to help see the effects of the war), magnifier rituals (to face who and what tricks people into wars against themselves), self-exploration rituals, exploration rituals (to sharpen the senses for seeing others), nature-bonding rituals (which included exploring, watching, sharing thoughts about nature), peace negotiation rituals, peace treaty rituals and more. // There was one person at Jellybridge who repeatedly declared: ‘I can see what you’re all on about. But I swear I wage no war on no one! And certainly not on myself!’ ‘But you’re tempted to wage a war against today’s events,’ Jimmy, the master of horses, teased as he treated himself to a second pie in the Jellybridge kitchen. Betsy, the head cook, shook her head. ‘I don’t think I am. I’m just saying. Alice is always on about not generalising. And I agree with her. Generalisations are no good for anything. So, I’m the reminder that there are people who are not at war with themselves or anyone else.’ Jimmy smiled. // So did Alice when Jazz (security) told her about Betsy’s declaration, and Jazz added: ‘I believe Betsy. She’s the only person I know who is simply a soul. Not a bit of war in her.’ ‘I think you’re right,’ Alice said. The Building Site Team had little time to attend the events because all team members were busy with completing the plans for the town, now adjusted to the Jellybridge site. Some team members squeezed in a last minute idea, question or critical point, others polished a text or a table, some completed a map or a graphic, and others ran another test on the simulation or checked one of the many calculations again. It was close to noon when Ethan (head of town planning), Alice, Raiden and Beatrice (head of Admin) met in the Old Forest, near the train station, where underground parking spaces and underground loading areas for ex- and imports, and for private vehicles, could be built. ‘Will we dig deep enough not to bother the Old Forest?’ Alice asked. Ethan shrugged. ‘The honest answer is, we don’t know how deep we need to dig so that our underground places don’t affect the ecosystem. But we will dig deep in the hope that that’s where our parking and loading spaces have the least effects on the forest’s ecosystem.’ Alice nodded. ‘So, every towner will be offered a parking space where they can leave their car when they move to town?’ Beatrice shook her head. ‘The application papers advice everyone to consider not bringing a car. A first survey suggests that less than thirty percent would insist on having their car here. My Admin Team have been working with the programmers to set up a car-sharing service for those who want to use a car outside of town.’ ‘Electric cars?’ Beatrice nodded. ‘TwoWheels and our new Energised company are collaborating on a car collection for towners, with the extra challenge of building with as little negative effect for the planet and as much effect for different kinds of drivers.’ ‘Great! What about tourists?’ ‘We’ll have pick-up services with our town bus from bigger towns, and from stations in the region so that tourists don’t have to arrive by car.’ ‘Good.’ // Some three hours later, the Building Site Team came together in the ballroom at Jellybridge, and Olivia, head of the Building Site Team, announced the completion of all adjustments to the original plans for the town. The announcement was greeted with applause, laughter, relief, and clinking glasses. ‘Of course we did it!’ Noel said to Daria. ‘And now we’ll get our town!’ Daria nodded, smiling. ‘Oh, yes!’ // Not long after four, Alice and Raiden left Jellybridge to return to London where, at that time, Andy (campaigns simulation), Isabel (head of campaigns) and Rohana (coordination) had a coffee at the bar on the seventh floor of the Central Building. ‘Did we fail today?’ Andy asked, putting down his cup. ‘People seem super depressed, I heard from several campaigns.’ Isabel shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t.’ Rohana shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. We’ve been super kind for over four weeks, always encouraging, gently nudging, hiding the mirrors. Today, was the day of the mirrors, the day when people got the chance to see what is. Of course, it sucks when we realise how much time we have wasted on making ourselves unhappy. But there is hope value because, to hell with it, yes, we are unhappy and we don’t have to be.’ Andy smiled and let out a deep sigh. ‘You’re right. There is hope value. Do you know when Alice will be back?’ ‘She should be in time for her comedy gig at the Front House Theatre.’ // Alice was in time, and did her one and only stand-up appearance, twelve minutes, between two comedians who had the audience roaring with laughter. The entire evening was broadcast live, went viral, and no, Alice was not a comedian. Foremost she was a thinker, admittedly with a sense of humour, and she liked to laugh and make others laugh, but that was not enough for a show. Alice knew that the moment she reached the edge of the stage. She had never been good at learning texts, poems or jokes by heart. And as she looked at the expectant faces in the audience, she knew she would stumble through the jokes she only half recalled. And when a man in the front row winked at her encouragingly, she remembered who she was. She was Alice Adler. She was the person who was fed up with how the world was run. The person who would never stop asking why things were the way they were, and how those things could be changed so that they would make sense for humanity and the planet. That was her. Plain and simple. And that’s what she gave her audience. There were laughs. There were frowns. There was a sincerity and encouragement in her words that moved many. There was a plea to end all wars: against ourselves, against each other, and against nature. No, she was not a comedian, but she could speak, and she had a few things to say. // After the show, Alice apologised to Penelope and her writers, but Penelope smiled. ‘Jack warned me that this might happen. You were fantastic, Alice! You were fantastic!’ ‘Oh, well. That’s a relief.’ // Meanwhile in the Back House of the Compound, Tabansi smiled at Mudiwa. They were sitting on the sofa in their living room, and Tabansi asked. ‘Would you read my article to me? I need to hear that it’s good. This feels really important.’ ‘I will, my love,’ Mudiwa said, took the two sheets of paper from Tabansi’s hand, kissed him and stood up because she preferred standing when reading aloud. Tabansi smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes. ‘ENDING THE WAR AGAINST OURSELVES,’ Mudiwa read aloud. ‘All day I spent online, on the Hub’s Campaign Square, exploring with hundreds of people what kinds of wars we wage against ourselves and why. The discourses were amazing, often eye-openers. The one question we didn’t ask, because we were busy asking when and why we are at war, was: How do we end our wars against ourselves? Tonight, in the always nurturing company of my wonderful wife—’ Mudiwa stopped and, smiling, she said: ‘Really?’ Tabansi opened his eyes, stood up and took Mudiwa in his arms. ‘I insist. If today taught me anything, then it is that being with you ended some of the wars I had been waging against myself. Your love allowed me to see and love myself in ways I hadn’t before. So, yes, I am naming and celebrating you. I love you!’ ‘In that case I’ll say no more, except: I love you, too. You give me so much strength.’ Tabansi shook his head. ‘I wish there was a way to share with people to find a partner with whom nurturing is mutual, with whom respect and support is mutual. I can’t think of anything better.’ Mudiwa smiled and they wrapped their arms around each other, their bodies reassuring them that they were connected and in love. ‘I’d love to call it a night but …’ Tabansi whispered. ‘We will. Later …’ Tabansi smiled, kissed Mudiwa and returned to the sofa. ‘Tonight,’ Mudiwa continued to read, ‘Tonight, in the always nurturing company of my wonderful wife, the amazing photographer and ripples news reporter Mudiwa Fourie, I finally sit down at my desk and ask that big question: How do we end our wars against ourselves? BECOMING. Change begins in the mind, and so does the end of all wars. We end our war against ourselves by discovering who we are, how our body works, how we can take care of our body and mind. We end the war against ourselves by spending time in nature, in solitude, to experience who we are in the natural world, and by connecting our body and mind to nature. We end the war against ourselves by reviewing who we listen to, by asking which narratives made us wage war against ourselves, and by using our minds to explore which narratives, stories and ideas serve us. We end the war against ourselves by spending time with other people who also decided to make peace with themselves. We end the war against ourselves by exploring ways to dress, speak or dance which might be more fitting than what we did while still catered to the ideas of others and answering to norms and trends. We end the war against ourselves by exploring what nurtures our minds and bodies, by exploring how we want to live and work, and how our actions can nurture nature so that nature can nurture us. We end the war against ourselves by BECOMING. */* How this can be done is something we best discover for ourselves instead of yet again following someone else’s roadmap, recipe or philosophy. I want to wrap my thoughts with a plea for us as humanity. The way we live in our world destroys everything that is wonderful about us and our planet. Our way of life is a war waged as thoughtlessly as it is needless. I wonder what would happen if we all focused on rethinking and restoring our planet: nurses and soldiers, writers and doctors, drivers and teachers, programmers and social workers, entertainers and scientists, footballers and craftspeople. What would happen if we all understood that we are at war with ourselves and that the way out of these wars is to focus our minds, resources and energies on rethinking our ways of life and on restoring the ecosystems we and generations before us destroyed? Would coming together, thinking and working together ripple into our lives and help us to end all wars against ourselves? I hope so. Because this vision of us coming together, of no longer accepting the status quo, of no longer just talking but making detailed plans and setting to work, this vision fills me with hope and joy. And the writer in me guesses that the world which will emerge after the end of all wars will be marvellous. // On Berneray, in Scotland, the door of the hostel creaked open, laughter escaping from a warmly lit room, and one of the hikers stepped out into the night. It was high tide, the sea much closer to the old croft house than in the morning, the waves lapping against the shore in a peaceful rhythm. The hostel door opened again, and the other hiker came out, bringing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. With a nod, the first hiker accepted a glass and the second poured the brown liquid. Sipping their drinks, they watched the stars, listened to the sea and to the night around them. After a while one of them asked: ‘Do you regret you’re not at the campaigns any more?’ ‘If I allowed for regret, I wouldn’t see the end of it. There are so many intriguing events I’d have loved to be part of. But I’m at peace and grateful to be here.’ ‘For me …’ ‘I’m your friend. You needed a break. I had the money and the flexibility to make it happen. You know, I think not supporting each other is another war we wage against ourselves. We are better, happier, healthier when we take care of each other instead of each of us fighting some imaginary wars. And for what? To seem inhumanely perfect, unassailable, respectable, right? I’d chose to be your friend over all of this, any day.’ ‘I owe you.’ ‘Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t been to the Hebrides in such a long time. There’s a magic and strength in these lands and in the sea that makes me wonder whether it isn’t me who owes thanks to you.’

© Charlie Alice Raya, book 4, building, 2025