Books by Eric Douglas

Thriller fiction and Non-fiction

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Easter morning Peace

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I’ve been thinking a lot about “Peace” recently since some people I know jeered and laughed at the idea of “World Peace”. A couple days ago, I was driving and heard a song by one of my favorite bands (that most people have never heard of) The Subdudes. It was the song, One Word (Peace). And from that, this blog began to form in my mind.

I understand that we may never find “World Peace”. There are too many angry people in this world. There is sin in the world. There is greed. All of that makes complete peace just about impossible. But does that impossibility make it any less important for us to keep trying? I would say the presence of those things in the world makes it doubly important that we continue to work for peace. We may never find peace, but I can guarantee that if we don’t try, we never will.

Many great modern leaders have led their movements with the example of peace: Martin Luther King, Mahatmas Gandhi, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela. They each understood that confrontation was inevitable, but that peace was the way to gain what they were looking for. Obviously, they had varying amounts of success, but they tried and never gave up.

A few weeks ago, the pastor at my church spoke about how strong Jesus was in the days leading up to his crucifixion and death. He said many people saw his actions of passiveness and acceptance as weakness. He could have called down the wrath of God on the people who hurt him, yet he accepted their torture for the greater good. He had a plan and he stuck to it. He didn’t hate the people around him.

Easter means a lot of things to a lot of different people. For Christians, it means the day Christ rose from the dead. It also happens to coincide with Passover (which probably says more about the calendar of the early Christian church than anything else). For others it means the day the Easter Bunny brings candy and presents. For a lot of people, it means both. I know many people have a problem with secular imagery on religious holidays, but I’ve never worried about that too much. If anything, kids today are smarter and savvier than we were. They know how to separate the two easily. I don’t think they forget one in exchange for the other.

I think we adults might forget the message of the day, however. Easter is the day that the Jesus paid the ultimate sacrifice for the world’s sins. Up to that point, Jews and Gentiles alike had to offer sacrifices to God for forgiveness–buying it in a sense. From Easter forward, the debt was paid. We just had to ask for forgiveness and to do our best to live like Jesus asked us to live. That meant forgiveness, love, peace and understanding. And that doesn’t mean love and understanding for the people who think like us, look like us, or act like us. It means for everyone.
I saw a joke the other day that said (in part):

Jesus: Love and forgive all of your neighbors

People: But what about the people who don’t agree with us?

Jesus: Did I stutter?

For me, Easter Sunday is ultimately about Peace. It represents the opportunity to be forgiven, to forgive, and to find peace and love.

Happy Easter. I hope you find Peace.

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Everyone should hate shark finning

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I’ve been fortunate to see sharks on a few different dives. As most divers will attest, dives with sharks are much fewer than dives without them. They are amazing to watch. I’ve never had the opportunity to dive with Great Whites, but I would. I would do it for the same reason that I’ve taken photographs of lions and cheetahs, wild dogs and dingoes. They are apex predators. They are beautiful. And they are important. I see no difference between a lion on the African plain and a shark in the ocean.

Every time humans mess with nature and eliminate apex predators from an environment, we suffer from unintended consequences. We killed all the wolves in the West and the herds of elk overran their territory, in turn weakening the herd. We’ve started reintroducing wolves back into their natural habitat with good results. They are culling the herd and everything is healthier, including the elk.
According to the World Resources Institute, humans rely on the ocean for one-fifth of their animal protein and one billion people rely on seafood as their primary protein source. At the same time we allow the wholesale harvesting of sharks—the ocean’s apex predator—and we have absolutely no idea what that will mean to the health of the ocean. What’s really sad, is we aren’t even harvesting sharks for meat. Millions of sharks are killed annually for their fins.  Estimates vary on the actual number because no one tracks it, but conservative estimates suggest a median of 38 million sharks a year. Yes, that is MILLION.
Sharks are netted or caught on a line and brought to the surface. Once they are brought on board the boat, their fins are cut from their body and the bleeding shark is tossed back overboard to die in the water. This is the rough equivalent of killing a bear or a lion for its claws. The stiffeners inside a shark fin are tasteless and contain material similar to hooves or fingernails—keratin. All of this so people can have shark-fin soup, a delicacy.
This frustrates me on several different levels. It’s selfish. A select group of people demand shark fins so they can have a “delicacy” with no regard to the consequences. It’s short-sighted. The harvesting of sharks is throwing the ocean out of balance with unknown consequences, at a time when we depend extremely heavily on the oceans already. It’s barbaric. Shark fins are harvested while the animals are still alive and then the animal is thrown into the ocean.
Finally, it’s just plain wasteful. I can’t speak for all religions, but I do know Christians are called on to be good stewards of the world we live in. I’m sure every other major religion says the same thing. I can’t imagine how this is considered good stewardship.
Sharks are beautiful, amazing creatures. And they are being destroyed for the silliest of all reasons. For soup. Would anyone in the world accept cutting the feet off of a lion, even though it is a frightening apex predator, and then leaving it on the African plains to die?
I don’t often get off into the “political” with this blog. I prefer to talk about the beauty in the world. But when I see something I know is wrong, I have to say something. Fortunately, shark finning is illegal in the United States, but many other countries allow it and much of the open ocean is not under any nation’s laws.
Sign the Petition from Project AWARE!

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History in a cemetery

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I’ve always been fascinated with old cemeteries. Obviously, they are places of sorrow and grief along-side honor and remembrance. But they are also incredibly historical. I still remember a photograph I took 20 years ago in Buffalo, West Virginia. It was a small family cemetery with a light covering of snow on the ground. There were two headstones together; one of a mother and one of an infant. The mother died “aged 23 years, 10 months and 11 days.” She probably died in childbirth with her baby.

Sometimes it’s hard to grasp “history”…especially things that happened 200 years ago in places you’ve never been. At that point, it’s about words on a page rather than people and lives and human events. But when you visit a cemetery and see a grave from someone who lived through an event, or even died during that event, it seems to become more real. Since my daughters are hanging out with me this week for spring break, I thought I would show them what they could learn.
There is a small family cemetery just up the road from where I live. I’d never stopped there, but I was sure just from the look of it that we would find something interesting. A man was cutting the grass when we arrived. He said his father had cut the grass for years and when he got too old to keep it up, the man took over the job himself. His grandparents were buried there, along with his great, great grandfather who fought with the 4thWest Virginia regiment in the Civil War. And there was the connection I was looking for.
I showed the girls how to make rubbings of the headstones to possibly find details that you couldn’t see clearly. We ended up making a rubbing of the headstone for the man’s ancestor and we gave it to him to take home with him. He showed us the oldest grave in the cemetery, too. SG Jarrett was born in 1782 and died in 1860. Think about those years. That was the formation of our nation between the Revolutionary War and the Civil War.
Our friend also told us that there were some slaves buried near the front of the cemetery. He wasn’t sure of it, but that was local history. That got a “cool” from one of the girls. Not a “cool” for slavery, obviously, but a cool that that sort of history existed right there. They stopped to look at the small, un-etched grave markers. At each spot, there was only a small block of stone to record a life. They seemed to realize that it wasn’t “just” or “fair” that some people got large, family markers while slaves got little more than a rock indicating where their head would lie for eternity.
History isn’t always huge monuments in the nation’s capitol. But there is history in our very own backyards as well. In this one cemetery, in about a half an hour, we found a man who fought in the Civil War, graves of slaves, and someone who lived even before that, when the very first settlers came to this part of the world.  It never hurts when you can make a connection through a person as well.

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Voices of War Update

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I’m collecting oral histories from West Virginia war veterans. It’s not about “war stories” but about the human side of war, how it changed the men who fought and how they felt when they came home. So far, it has been a very powerful and meaningful experience for me.

I’ve collected 16 oral histories so far, which is a fancy way to say I have recorded interviews with 16 veterans talking about everything from their lives to their experiences to what they felt. I’ve seen more than one man shed a tear in the process.

I think one of the greatest things that will come out of this project is that families will learn something about the veterans. Yesterday, I interviewed a Bob Payne –my fiancee Beverly’s uncle. We were talking about the interview afterward and she learned for the first time that her uncle earned a Purple Heart serving in Korea.  Bob was actually wounded by friendly fire when an artillery shell failed to launch properly and landed directly on his own mortar emplacement. With the typical attitude of a Marine, he could only stand to be away from the front for a couple days before he returned to service. Beverly didn’t know anything about it. In spite of loving the Marine Corps and being proud to have served in Korea, Bob also talked about occasionally waking up from combat nightmares 60 years later.

Another veteran spoke about his time in the South Pacific during World War II and the Battle of Ormoc Bay (he was frustrated, by the way, that no one had ever heard of this particular fight). Herman Bartlett’s role during General Quarters was to help supply ammunition to a 40 mm gun. His gun crew ended up shooting down a Japanese Kamikaze plane that day. Herman said the plane got so close before it exploded, he could see the expression on the pilot’s face. The twist to this story, however, is that Herman’s regular duty station—four hours on and eight hours off, seven days a week—was as the helmsman. Three kamikazes attacked his ship. They got two of them, but the third crashed into the ship’s bridge killing all but one member of the bridge crew, including the Captain. If it had been his turn at the helm, Herman would have died that day.  

A third veteran this week served two tours in Iraq. Tom Bearfield’s second tour was in 2005 when the insurgency was heating up and road-side bombs, known as IEDs or improvised explosive devices, were a real problem. He was hauling fuel all around the country in tanker trucks. Tom is still haunted by a day when he was providing security for a convoy. From the gun mount of a Humvee, he watched a man pull his car off the side of the road so the convoy could pass. He said the man driving the car did everything right. Tom didn’t think anything more about the car…until it exploded. The car was filled with explosives and the blast seriously wounded the gunner of another Humvee. There was nothing Tom could have done to prevent it. In spite of that, there is still a measure of guilt that comes with the experience.

I’m calling this project Voices of War. Not because I want it to be about war stories, although I have to admit they are fascinating. I want it to reflect that, regardless of the war these men served in or how they served, their experiences are still very much the same. There is pride and excitement alongside guilt at leaving their friends behind and horror at the things they saw. This will neither be pro- or anti-war. It will allow the men who fought and came home a voice to tell their own stories.  

My goal is to interview about 50 men and women before I begin to put the documentary together. I can already see, though, that that part of the process is going to be extremely difficult. Editing and making choices of what to cut and what to keep will be challenging. The final product will be a printed piece with stories of service and photographs of the veterans. I’ll also produce a multimedia documentary made up of the veteran’s voices.
I am looking for more war veterans from West Virginia to interview. I want veterans of all wars, but I am especially looking for women and veterans of Afghanistan, along with all of the WWII veterans I can find.  Please send me an email if you are one, or know of one I can interview. If you want to donate to this project to cover the cost of materials and travel, you can do so through IndieGoGo.

A quick production note, the finished multimedia documentary will have moving images, not static pictures like you see above. I simply added them this way so Youtube would allow me to upload them.

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Getting “made up” for International Television

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Some of the earliest posts in this blog, and many posts since then, have talked about the situation of the lobster divers of Honduras and the work Dr. Elmer Mejia does in caring for those divers. I’m happy to say that the documentary project I created while working on my Certificate of Documentary Arts at the Center for Documentary Studies at Duke University has been used for background by the New York Times and NBC’s Rock Center with Brian Williams.

 

A couple weeks ago, a journalist from CCTV was in Honduras working with Dr. Mejia on her own story. Dr. Mejia recommended that she speak to me because I have been to Puerta Lempira (where the divers live) twice. After a number of phone calls and emails, we finally worked it out that I would head to Washington DC to be interviewed in their new studio for the show Americas Now. And that was how I ended up getting “made up” by a makeup artist before heading to the studio.

 

Never heard of CCTV before? It stands for China Central Television. At the beginning of February, they launched a new show called Americas Now from their still-under-construction studio in DC.

“CCTV America (as it contributes to global CCTV News) aims to inform, engage, and provide debate on a range of issues of relevance to American and global viewers with a particular interest in China and Asia. It aims to highlight coverage in underrepresented regions of the world with diversified perspectives and alternative views.

 

“On Sundays, CCTV America will feature a unique magazine program. “Americas Now” will focus on issues in Central and South America. Recognizing an absence of in-depth reporting from the region in the US media, “Americas Now” will provide long-form investigations across Latin America.” 

After getting thoroughly made up, I was interviewed in the studio by Americas Now anchor Elaine Reyes. We talked for about 25 minutes with two cameras going the entire time. It’ll be cut down to probably five minutes, but that is the nature of television. The story is scheduled to air on April 1. Should be interesting to see how it all comes together.
As you might have noticed, this is one of those stories that has gotten under my skin. I hope the continued attention will help find a way for the Moskito Indians to earn a living without sacrificing their bodies for lobster. It’s been interesting. Some of the reactions to these stories have been negative. People have said “It’s their fault. They know the risks.” Or variations on that. I don’t really believe they do. But when the only way you can feed your family is doing this job, you do it. I see no difference between this situation and people working and dying in sweatshops or in coal mines 100 years ago.

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The power of monuments

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Washington DC is full of monuments. (Yes. I know that is a fairly obvious statement. I get it.) I was there earlier this week and had to pick and choose which ones I spent my limited time appreciating. We hit all of the majors–Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, FDR and MLK.

 

Probably more moving, though, were the monuments to great events in history—wars. More importantly, those monuments are a tribute to the men and women who offered their lives as part of them—World War II, Korea, Vietnam. These were especially relevant as I have been interviewing veterans of each of these conflicts. 

Women in Vietnam Memorial
Where the World War II monument had an almost festive atmosphere (it might have had something to do with the fact that it was 80 degrees and sunny out and that monument is full of water and fountains), the Vietnam Memorial has a much quieter, much more contemplative atmosphere. Both are appropriate to the situation, but it’s interesting to feel the power of each of these monuments. My own feelings and reactions changed while I visited them…influenced by nothing more than stone, water and emotions tied to history.
A place that you might not think of as a “monument” is Arlington National Cemetery. If you’ve never been there, plan to go sometime. I’ve been a couple times and each time I can sense the power of the place. It is beautiful, immaculate and quiet—even with the ever-present gardeners tending to the grounds.
As Bev and I walked up the hill toward the Tomb of the Unknowns, we heard the distinctive crack of a 21-gun salute. And then the second. And finally, the third. Another soldier was being laid to rest. I have no idea if it was a modern solider who died in Afghanistan or one who served years ago and returned home to die peacefully in his sleep. It didn’t matter to the men of the 3rd Infantry Division’s Old Guard. They take their duties at Arlington extremely seriously.
We were fortunate to time our arrival (totally by happenstance) just before the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns followed by two wreath laying ceremonies. It was stirring to listen to a bugler from the Army Band play taps following the laying of the wreaths offered by visiting school children. I was relieved to see the Army sergeant in charge of the ceremony smile when he spoke to the children, because he seemed like he was a moving piece of granite up until that point.
On our way out, we saw a horse-drawn caisson pulling an open hearse with a flag-draped coffin. Another funeral was about to begin. A contingent of the Army Band was on hand to play. I noticed an interesting mix of emotions on the men and women of the band. They stood around waiting for things to begin, laughing and joking, but you could also see the seriousness of it. I watched one man help make sure another’s uniform was perfect, pulling and tugging it to make sure there were no wrinkles –and this was in the back. Everything had to be perfect for the honor they were about to bestow.
A different sort of monument, but one no-less powerful, was the monument to 9/11 at the Pentagon. It honors the men and women and children that died on the plane and in the building on that terrible day. It had a quiet, reflective air about it. We were there in the early evening, just after the sun had set. Lights illuminated each of the benches. Paul Ambrose died on Flight 77 when it crashed into the Pentagon. I didn’t know Paul, but I took several classes from his father at Marshall University. Paul was a Marshall University alumnus and had everything to live for. On that day he was flying to California to deliver a report on youth obesity prevention for his employer, the Office of the Surgeon General.
Each of these monuments served its own purpose and had its own feeling and spirit. And each must be seen in person to be appreciated. Monuments may only be cold stone, water and bronze. But they serve as triggers to something deeper inside of us. That is their ultimate purpose.

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