If Our Country Was On Fire, Who Would Put It Out?

 

It’s like the apartment building I live in is on fire. So I call the fire department as I stand outside watching everything I own burn to the ground. Everybody’s standing, waiting. Finally, a firetruck arrives with a great sound of sirens and everyone is elated because they know something’s going to happen. The truck parks and the firefighters get off and start waving at the people standing in the street. And the people cheer at them because they are their heroes. It’s almost like a parade, where the firefighters strut their stuff to applause and whistles from those who line the street.

 Then one of the firefighters grabs a megaphone and calls out to the crowd: WE’RE HERE TO DO AWAY WITH ARSONISTS!” And the people go wild. And then the firefighter with the megaphone continues to talk about how bad arson is and how bad the people who engage in such tactics are. Like the rest of the crowd, I am initially excited. But after 10 minutes of this I start to wonder if they’re ever going to fight the fire. But very few people around me feel the same way. I see a kid booing them, but he’s flicking matches and I wonder if he’s one of the arsonists and that’s the only reason he doesn’t like them.

I’m as patient as I can possibly be, but eventually I wait for the guy with the megaphone to lower it for a second and I yell out: “What about the fire?”

 The firefighters either don’t hear me or choose to ignore me. So I repeat myself, again and again, until it turns into a chant. I notice others have joined me. The kid with the matches is chanting too, but I don’t stop him. He may have been the one who started the fire, but that’s not my primary concern at the moment. I want to save what I can of my possessions in my apartment. More than that, I’m worried about my neighbors. I see some out on the street who seem to be looking for loved ones. Others aren't dressed properly for the weather. We can deal with Match Kid later. Right now, the immediate problem as I see it is to fight the fire.

 So I continue to lead the chant. “What about the fire? What about the fire?” Because at this point I’m starting to get angry. The whole scene seems absurd. And people might very well be dying inside the burning building. I’m encouraged by those who are chanting along with me, and look over at my fellow apartment dwellers in anticipation of a shared solidarity and frustration.

 I’m shocked to see many of them staring angrily at me, so I ask them why. “Can’t you see they’re here to help us?” says a woman, in her face a look of disgust she genuinely wants to drill into me. “They’re the good guys. You need to give them your loyalty. Or, are you an ARSONIST?” And in her gaze I can see that she truly views me as being every bit as guilty as the person who started the fire.

 “I just want the fire out!” I say, in shocked response. “That’s totally the opposite of what an arsonist would want. I wish the fire had never been started. I am completely and utterly anti-arson. But the question of who started the fire is a stupid one to argue about when our apartment building is on fire. We have to do something.” 

“We’ll why don’t you ask the arsonists to do something about it since you’re being so critical of the firefighters? Don’t you see they are doing all they can? They came with their firetruck and their ladders and their axes.”

 “I want to support the firefighters. But the fact is, they’re not fighting fires. So long as they are not fighting a fire, they are not really firefighters, are they? I mean, they’re not substantially better than an arsonist at this point, because the arsonist is sitting watching the result of his work while the firefighters are simply strutting around saying they are not the problem.”

 “So what do you want?” says another of my neighbors. “Do you expect them to just rush into the fire and get themselves killed?”

 “Well, no. I expect that they are well-trained in fighting fires. I expect them to take all the precautions that their training has instilled in them. But ultimately there are risks inherent in the job they chose as their profession. I mean, there’s more to being a firefighter than not being an arsonist.”

 “So you just want them to commit suicide in order to prove themselves worthy of you?”

 “Of course not. But I do expect them to do their job! I didn’t ask them to become firefighters. They signed on to do it. If that’s what they said they were going to do, if that’s what they said they are determined to do, then they should do it. Otherwise they’re just taking the place of someone else who would actually do what they said they would.”

 Evidently the conversation has garnered enough attention that one of the firefighters feels he needs to respond: “This is not the time to fight the fire,” he says. “First we have to have everyone in position.”

 “Okay," I say. "You’re the firefighter. You’ve been trained for this. You know what you’re doing. Get everyone in position and put the fire out.”

 “You don’t understand,” says a person who introduces herself as a spokesperson for the firefighter’s union. “We have to have the complete support of everyone here. If enough of you speak loudly enough in favor of the firefighters and against the arsonists, we can begin to gain key positions from which we can advance a strategy to defeat the arsonists—”

 “For fuck’s sake, just fight the fire! That’s what we pay you for! That’s your job!”

 “We want to fight the fire. But the arsonists—”

 I hear a woman crying that her child is in the burning building, but nobody else seems to notice. Or care. An elderly man leans heavily on his walker, the cold evening wind sending shivers through him. All around me is misery, and I have no desire to engage in incessant banter while action is needed. I contemplate what I might do for the elderly man, wonder if I’d stand a chance of rushing into the burning building in order to search for those whose lives are in danger. But my thoughts are cut short as a voice comes through the megaphone.

 “Hang tight, everybody,” comes the message. “We are doing everything we can. Don’t listen to those who are trying to cause panic.”

 The man with the walker seems barely able to stand. Next to him a young couple try to keep their children warm.

 The megaphone crackles to life once again. “In the meantime, we have brought marshmallows and sticks for you.”

 An astonishingly large amount of the crowd becomes excited by this announcement. With that, the firefighters begin to dole out supplies for s’mores. One firefighter hands graham crackers to the kid who’s been flicking matches. As she does so, I can’t help think she gives him a knowing wink.

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