Happy birthday trans-Atlantic radio ! Today (I haven't gone to bed yet, so it's still Wednesday to me) was the anniversary of Marconi's experiment... the event that linked Europe with North America with the wonderful new invention: The Radio. So, one hundred years after the world was linked in a way no one had thought possible only years before, where are we?

We are in a world full of people that hate other people. One hundred years after Marconi, this wondrous thing allows us to hear instantaneous reports of our hatred for our fellow human beings.

Of course, into everyone's collective mind, flies images of Afganistan, of the ruined World Trade Centre. Perhaps Israel and Palestine come to mind. Perhaps events further in the past; segregated South Africa, or ethnic cleansing (isn't that a nice way of saying holocaust and genocide?) in Rowanda, or Serbia et al. Maybe you remember the Second World War. Maybe. Everyone can identify at least one event related to one group of people's hatred for another. Unless it directly affects our lives, we go about our apathetic way, not really being moved one way or another who is being hurt or for what reason.

Hatred is a stupid, petty thing. It takes many forms from an intense dislike of something or someone, to a visciousness concerning a person's religion, race, or orientation. Hatred is everywhere. I don't know if it can be beaten, eradicated... people keep on hoping, and people keep on hating. Radio also gave us hope: against anger, corruption... hatred. It gave us humour and pleasure, but still, when we hear the news, that is not what comes to our ears. Sadly. Politics is loveless, but often hate-filled; death-tolls and grief fill the reports. Where is the balance?

I don't frequently open up my bible. I have one, sure. I stole it from my highschool English class. Ironic, isn't it? Anyway, I'm not really one for Bible thumping, or even reading (though the Old Testament is one heck of a good story), but since my bible is care of the Gideons, I figured they'd point me in the direction of some parable or something related to hatred. They did. Rather than typing out the rather uninspired later day translation of the text I have before me, let me instead direct you to a link:

Jesus said: " You have heard that it was said, `Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. " - Gospel of Matthew 5:43-48

It is good advice regardless whether you are Christian or not. Whether Jesus said that, or someone made it up - that doesn't matter either. Pretend that it was just some guy (or gal) speaking emotionally, from the bottom of his (her) heart, desperate to stop the hatred. To stop the hurt.

Today, I was saddened when a woman came into the store and admitted her hatred for me.

I was open to this woman that came in asking about Norse runes and literature about Norse religion. I was as helpful as I could be, explaining that I was not a Pagan and did not in fact know as much about the pantheons as I should. I explained that I was Jewish when she asked me why not, wary, I supposed as many Pagans can be of the biblical faiths. I pass no judgement on the faiths of others and I expect the same in return. I knew that she wouldn't buy anything, she admitted to be sheltered at the Salvation Army and I felt my helplessness that I could not help her. I laughed when she told me about how the Chaplains there reacted when she cast runes, about how they disapproved of her Pagan ways, leaving bible tracts on her bed each morning. I agreed with her when she lamented how religious freedoms did not extend to within the shelter. She shook her fist and we laughed.

I did not laugh when she told me she was a neo-nazi. I did not laugh when she told me her two most sacred possessions was her book on Norse religion and mythology and 'Mein Kampf'. I did not know how to react. I suggested she probably shouldn't discuss her white-supremacist beliefs in the stores on Queen St as she was not likely to garner a warm welcome. Though she would change the topic, she would always revert to it, commenting on the desecration of synagogues and the like. She called herself a skin head, and I thought bleakly of my baby-sitter's skin head friend who explained to me when I was ten years old that "just because a person is a skin head, doesn't make them bad or a nazi." I remembered his promise and stared at this woman. I felt no hatred toward her, though I did feel discomfort and anger. I am no perfect model - I can be judgemental - but while I can disapprove, I try not to tell another how they should live. I would never tell another that their beliefs were wrong, even if they were disagreeable. Beliefs are beliefs; they are personal. And I certainly did not know how to handle someone who, in the nicest way possible, was telling me that Hitler was right in his purpose, that my faith and my people were not worth allowing to live.

For twenty minutes, I wracked my brains for some way to get her to leave the store. I didn't want to upset her, if only to protect the store from her or her friends' unwanted attentions. Neo-nazis have an unpleasant way of enacting justice when they feel wronged, and as much as she was wronging me, I would NOT do the same. So, I ran over options in my head and grunted noncommitally when she looked my way for response. I considered phoning the owner, "Hi Sandra, there's a neo-nazi in the store and I can't get her to leave..." but didn't think that would be terribly helpful. Finally, as I was getting desperate, a beautiful blonde woman strolled into the store. She was so beautiful, I figured she had to be a man, but I wasn't sure. I asked her if she was looking for anything particular and she replied no. The nazi asked, "Are you a Pagan?" The woman replied a simple no and the nazi nodded, "Oh, just curious?" The woman raised an eyebrow and shook her head, "No." I finally opened my mouth with what I thought might be a good way to ask the nazi to leave, but just then, the door opened and five of the queeniest men walked in. The neo-nazi paled and, waving (how genial of her, since she knew I was not interested in what she had to say), left the store.

I explained to the men what she'd been up to since she'd come in, and vented my frustration, especially since I am one at whom she targets her hatred. One of them struck a pose and grinned, "That little neo-nazi must have had her GAYdar going wild when we boys came in... We scared her away... GRRR !" And we all cheered, including the beautiful woman (who turned out to know all of these fellows and indeed, was actually a drag queen), and then I said, "You know how frustrating it is to have to figure out a way to be rid of a neo-nazi, and not know how... and on top of that to be a Jew?" And they all groaned, one of them hopping over to the counter and saying, "Hey, not only am I gay, but I'm Jewish too !" And we high-fived.

They ended up spending another fifteen minutes in the store, cleansing it of her hate-filled aura, filling it with mirth and humour. And yet, not one nasty word was uttered between the seven of us concerning the nazi. They stayed to make sure she didn't come back, which was wonderful of them, not that it was really necessary, but just in case. "You never do know," one of them told me, petting my arm. Even so, approximately half an hour later, the lot of them went past the store once more and each one of them looked in to make sure that I was alright. I cannot explain the strength I felt from them, they refreshed me and reminded me that the regardless of what others feel toward me does not make it so. In simple words, a light touch, and a promise of security, these men showed me that sometimes, no retaliation was necessary.

So, Marconi, you opened up the world with your radio experiences, a world sometimes filled with hate, and sometimes with hope, but today I found a remedy to the hatred of another right in the store where I work. Five men and a cross-dresser soothed my shaken world, cooled my ears burnt from sentences half-finished. Perhaps there is no end to hatred, but there is yet hope, and maybe it should be that Hope which becomes our focus. I don't know what Marconi thought his experiment might achieve, but one hundred years later, it still has not realised its fullest potential. The days of radio are not waning; it may yet change the world anew.

Let us hope.