Les Miserable

It must have been our second year at university. I was living with the President of st Andrew"s Musical Society. The advantage to the living arrangement, other than the obvious joy of living with close friends, was that her life had a soundtrack. And it was so infectious, that it couldn't help but be absorbed by all those closest to her. She sang almost constantly.

Over breakfast in our grubby kitchen, whose window opened out onto a river. While hanging up the laundry on one of those pully systems that the Victorians loved, perfect for dangling your clean underwear and sheets at eye level. Even when her boyfriend also half moved in (also a musical star at heart), I would giggle away as she and her boyfriend took to serrinading each other with duets in the shower (because sometimes things can seem just a bit too romantically perfect).

As someone who is tone deaf I absolutely adored this living jukebox I lived with. And without me realising it, she introduced me to the sheer unadulterated joy of the musical. A genre that is often unfairly slated.

But more than any other musical it was the soundtrack of Les Miserable that dominated our second year. Whenever we had some moody, romantic inkling (which was often, and usually coincided with essay deadlines) we would fling open my window - which overlooked the North Sea - and play "Red the blood of angry men!" and "Do you hear the people sing" on full blast. She would belt along and I would breath in the sea air and feel that the world was all the more dramatic and wonderful for the existence of music that was about joining the fight for the right to be free.

Fast forward four years and my longing for the movie quality of life has not diminished. Although I am no longer in that romantic cottage in Scotland. Music still accompanies me everywhere - unfortunately I also no longer have my walking jukebox, but my ipod suffices. It is on the particularly rough days that it comes to aid. It allows me to feel not just grouchy, but overwhelmingly tragically sad. To express and be emotional beyond the call of the day. And for some reason - it makes the commute, or the moment feel valuable. To have provoked strong emotions is somehow enough in and of itself to feel alive. There's nothing wrong with a bit of indulgent mourning every once in a while.

Except that the other day I put on the Les Miserable soundtrack. I had just written my ranting blog about militarism and violence, a few days before that my newspaper had published something I'd written on how empowering Ninja is for women.

And now, quite all of a sudden I wondered how I myself relate to violence.

I am seduced by the call for revolution in the lyrics of Les Miserable. I do believe that it is when you are doing what you most believe in that you feel most alive. I often induce a sense of dramatic tragedy and fate to turn my small grumbling discontent into a full blown sense of heroism. And to die for what one believes in, or to stand and fight alongside others, seems to hold some captivating charm - more than charm - it seems to be about what it is to be human. Or atleast much art makes us believe so.

Can we remove the seduction of a call to "fight for freedom" from violence? Or are the two instricably linked? Does our humanity exist, as some philosophers believe, because ultimately our community must be defended by the willingness to lay down our lives in a fight for its existence?

Whenever I speak to people about B. they tell me of the dissidents within the regime. They tell me the people of B. are willing to die for democracy - are willing to die to fight years of oppression. They talk about monks who have begged for Ak47's, even as they have spoken with respect of A.S.S.K's consistent philosophy of non-violence. They make me wonder about how me singing Les Miserable's call for the rights and liberty of France, links up to the stirring in the hearts of the monks and civilians of B? And if A.S.S.K and my previous criticism of Violence as a tool, is strong enough to over-ride all the cultural implements and art that stirs the soul - even the soul of a tone deaf, comfortable, pacifist-leaning person - then how much more powerful is that in a land of oppression?

Is the challenge about learning to write songs that stir the soul and re-affirm our existence, even as they ask for non-violence? And how do we stop non-violence just being about passivity? I want to be moved - I want to feel heroic - I want to hear speeches and songs and poetry that talk me into action. But if it is not to violence - than what is it that we must be called to do?

What can link and affirm our community identity, even as it seeks to build connections and bonds between ourselves and our enemies? An enemy to fight with is powerful, not only because of the cultural capital piled around the idea individually - but because we have structured our groups to behave and exist in juxtaposition to an enemy. Our community-thinking means we cry to belong. And we ask to belong in opposition to what we are not.

Complicating the picture requires a re-assessment of art most fundamentally. (Atleast I for one hope it does not mean giving up the emotional high of listening to songs that ask one to fight to be free). Therefore until a song that calls for nonviolence can stir me from simply being tierd and cross into being a hero, I am unsure as to how we are going to begin to build and work for a non-violent society.