Emma

“We are gathered here, friends,” he said, “to honor lo Hoon-yera
Mora-toorz tut Zamoo-cratz-ya, children dead, all dead, all murdered
in war. It is customary on days like this to call such lost children men.
I am unable to call them men for this simple reason: that in the same
war in which lo Hoon-yera Mora-toorz tut Zamoo-cratz-ya died, my
own son died.

“My soul insists that I mourn not a man but a child.

“I do not say that children at war do not die like men, if they have to
die. To their everlasting honor and our everlasting shame, they
do die like men, thus making possible the manly jubilation of
patriotic holidays.

“But they are murdered children all the same.

“And I propose to you that if we are to pay our sincere respects to the
hundred lost children of San Lorenzo, that we might best spend the
day despising what killed them; which is to say, the stupidity and
viciousness of all mankind.

“Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes
and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like
pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and
shows of flags and well-oiled guns.

“I do not mean to be ungrateful for the fine, martial show we are about
to see—and a thrilling show it really will be . . .”

He looked each of us in the eye, and then he commented very softly,
throwing it away, “And hooray say I for thrilling shows.”

We had to strain our ears to hear what Minton said next.

“But if today is really in honor of a hundred children murdered in war,”
he said, “is today a day for a thrilling show?

“The answer is yes, on one condition: that we, the celebrants, are
working consciously and tirelessly to reduce the stupidity and
viciousness of ourselves and of all mankind.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle