George and the Hornet's Nest

As I try to wrap my thoughts around our current situation in Iraq, I find that it sometimes helps to think in allegory. Perhaps this is from working with children for so long. In any case, read this short story and see if it might sound familiar.

There once was a man named George. George loved hanging out on his ranch. He was all the time mending fences and clearing out brush. Perhaps he was looking for oil. After all, he tried that many years ago, and he only ended up with a bunch of empty holes.

One day George was out cleaning brush, and he felt a stinging sensation on the back of his neck. He immediately slapped at the spot, and as he brought his hand back in front of him, he saw that he'd been stung by a hornet. A hornet? On MY property?! It's not possible! They must be invaders...

He noticed another hornet buzzing around and decided to follow it back to the nest. When he found the nest, he saw that it was very high up on a tall tree, and was very much unreachable. But he was sure that this was the nest. He tried to throw a few rocks at it to knock it down, but all he did was agitate the hornets swarming about the nest. He gave up and walked away grumbling.

George was very upset about being stung on his property. As he walked back toward the house, he noticed another hornet's nest; this one being much more within reach. In a moment of rage and vengeance, he punched in through the nest, his hand squeezed and smooshed every hornet he felt inside. Of course, he was getting his hand stung dozens of times, while killing very few hornets.

Some of his buddies saw him and came over to cheer him on. I'm fighting for freedom! Freedom to go where I want on this great land, he told them, his face twisting and wincing with pain (but desparately trying to hide it). With each new sting, he took it more and more personally, and became more determined to rid the nest of all the hornets.

After a while, George became weak from all the venom in his system. His friends, seeing his more delicate state, started to get a little nervous.

You know George, if you take your hand out of the nest and get away, they'll quit stinging you. Besides, these aren't even the hornets that stung you, they told him.

That's wimpy talk, George snapped back. How dare you question my judgment! That's very unpatriotic! What kind of message are you trying to send to me? Besides, I have a good feeling that these hornets are in cahoots with the other nest. I won't take my hand out until they're all gone, or they decide to quit stinging me!

This went on all afternoon, and George wasn't making any progress in killing all the hornets in the nest. In fact, there were actually more hornets that were coming to the nest to help defend it. Some of George's friends, seeing how utterly ridiculous the situation looked, eventually left George to his obsession. But a few of them remained.

OK, George said feebly to himself, I think I need a change in tactics. The few remaining people thought to themselves: Finally! Common sense is prevailing! Expecting George to pull his hand out of the nest, they were horrified to see George shove his other hand into the nest. There, George said, that oughta show 'em who's boss! He started killing hornets with both hands, his fingers reaching in futile of any hornet he feels. Of course in reality, they were overwhelming; the new hand was just something else for those hundreds upon hundreds of hornets within the nest to sting without mercy. And so the few people standing around left shaking their heads.

And George was left to himself, and is still there, actually. With both hands in the hornet's nest, killing very few hornets but getting stung many times. He's trapped there, fighting (ironically) for freedom. He will be remembered as the man who, because of either pride or anger, refused to take his hands out of the hornet's nest.