Point of the Ploughshare

[Ann Emerg Med. 2009;54:753.]

Tonight, there is peace in the Middle East. Stepping away from the building lights, a canopy of a million stars. I breathe in the cold dry desert air, the whisper of prophets on the wind, a trace of camel scent near the helipad, and my white coat furls in slow motion. “Hey doc, better get in here, Red Crescent's on the radio.” The nurse is from Kerala, beautiful, dedicated, and in her words, I know 50 kilometers away another road traffic accident. I reach out with my senses and feel the blood drip from deformed metal. A sigh of sadness, and I return to the comforting chaos of the ER.

We are Arab, Pakistani, Filipino, African, and American working side by side to promote health and well-being. We teach a young girl to blow her nose and explain to the parents that antibiotics don't cure the flu. Spreading a soothing balm on a scald, and a soothing thought on a distraught husband, his wife in labor, we don't have time for armies, diplomats, and power brokers. Perhaps if they were told to conduct their business off world, on a lunar landscape, the rest of us could get on with the business of living. We couldn't care less about religious fanatics, ideologies, and jihad. Here it is about the commerce of flesh. A suture binds a wound and frees a mind from trouble. Oil flows and skyscrapers rise from the basalt around this small hospital. Building is more than construction; it is the negation of destruction.

Point of the ploughshare thus is far better than the edge of the sword. There is prosperity in these quiet motions. There is no higher purpose in the warrior's profession. It is not naiveté that blinds us; there is no greater cause than what we do. We advance the species and lead by example. Peace in the Middle East is not a dream; it is what we promote every day.