Part One: The Most “Un‑Civilized” Civilization on Earth
[Revised one]
A nation born through a bloody civil war,
built upon the suffering of enslaved people—demeaned and dehumanized,
and later sustained by the thankless labor of migrants from across the world,
especially from the so‑called “third world,” including India.
It rose to wealth through economic dominance that often drained other nations,
claimed global power through the production and export of weapons of mass destruction,
and continues to intrude into the internal affairs of vulnerable countries
under the banners of “world peace,” “security,” and “self‑preservation.”
Relentlessly pursuing the resources of others—oil, minerals, and wealth of every kind—
its footprint across the world has too often meant conflict, instability, and destruction,
driven by a modern form of neo‑colonial ambition.
A nation that speaks of peace, yet wages wars;
that claims to protect, yet destabilizes;
that calls itself civilized, yet has repeatedly undermined
ancient civilizations that have endured for thousands of years.
I find myself grateful not to have been born into such a system.
For what does it mean to belong to a nation
whose history and actions so often contradict the very idea of civilization?
With such a past and present, one must ask—
has it ever truly understood what civilization means?
Or does it stand, paradoxically,
as one of the most uncivilized forces in the modern world?
Yet, even as these questions rise, a gentle correction also does.
A reader once wrote: all nations have done similar things at some time or other.
This is not to excuse cruelty, but to remind us that the problem lies not only in nations,
but in the human heart when it tastes power. Power, when concentrated, tends to corrupt;
and political systems often amplify this tendency.
Within the United States itself, there have always been voices of dissent—
soldiers, thinkers, artists, and ordinary citizens who have questioned, resisted, even wept
over the very actions I have described.
Cultural expressions—songs, literature, public discourse—have often challenged
political authority in the most direct terms.
This capacity for internal critique, for self‑doubt and repentance,
is itself a sign that something of “civilization” still lives within the system.
A small but haunting artifact captures this ambivalence.
A lighter carried by an American soldier during the Vietnam War bears the inscription:
*“We the unwilling, led by the unqualified,
to kill the unfortunate, die for the ungrateful.”*
These words are not propaganda, but confession—
the lived disillusionment of those sent to fight,
revealing a gap between political decisions and human cost.
Still, even this awareness does not erase the pattern.
From the Vietnam War to interventions in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya,
and in its roles in contemporary crises such as Ukraine and Gaza,
one can observe a recurring rhythm:
where strategic interest, ideological assertion, and military power meet,
the consequences often include long‑term instability, suffering, and displacement.
At the same time, no nation acts from a single motive.
What looks like aggression to one may be framed as self‑protection to another;
what appears as hypocrisy may also be a tension between ideals and interests.
The truth usually lies somewhere in between.
In the end, this is not about condemning one nation alone,
nor about glorifying another.
It is about facing a harder question that stares back at all of us:
What kind of civilization do we, in our own corners of the world,
allow to grow when power is given to our leaders?
Ashram, April 9th 2026, revised on 11th April, Chennai.
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