Apodaca: Let’s call a truce this holiday season

In late 1914, the Great War was raging, and British and German troops on the Western Front were locked in a miserable battle of inches. Soldiers shivered in the mud of claustrophobic trenches. They were hungry, terrified, sleep-deprive, and drenched to the bone. Hope no longer existed.

But then, suddenly, almost miraculously, it did.

On Christmas Eve British soldiers heard a sound emanating from the German side, one that was strikingly different from the nightmarish cacophony of battlefield slaughter. It was singing. Their enemies were singing Christmas carols.

The British soldiers began singing carols as well. That was the beginning of the famous Christmas Truce in the “No Man’s Land” that separated the warring armies. Fighting forces met in the middle, and on the blood-soaked soil — ground that was laced with barbed wire, spent shells and bodies of fallen comrades — they shook hands, sang, drank, played football and wished each other well.

The impromptu truce spread along the front, and for a brief moment in time the hate vanished.

This remarkable story has been retold countless times in the decades since, and it undoubtedly has been overly romanticized. Many military leaders at the time disapproved, seeing the comity as a sign of weakness. And the good cheer didn’t last; there were no other widespread truces during the remaining four years of what would become the deadliest conflict the world had ever seen—until it was surpassed on that grim score by World War II just a few decades later.

Even so, the fleeting expression of goodwill in the most hellish of circumstances remains as relevant today as it ever was.

Lately it often feels as if hatred and division are once again consuming us. Neighbors look upon each other with contempt. Family members no longer speak because of differing beliefs and lifestyles. Name-calling is normalized.

Conspiracy theories take root, driving the ruptures in our society ever wider. Some of us refer to fellow citizens as “enemies,” viewing them only in black-and-white terms of good vs. evil. Authorities have reported a steady increase in hate crimes and incidents. Public figures regularly receive threats.

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It’s not hard to see why. It’s easier to hate than to love, to indulge in resentment instead of finding common ground, to point fingers rather than seek realistic solutions together.

The mutual animosity is running so high, particularly in the aftermath of the election, that some mental health professionals are leaning heavily on the idea that, in the interest of mental health, it might be better for some people to skip certain gatherings of family and friends altogether.

Admittedly, it seems a bit ridiculous to compare the trench warfare of World War I Europe with our current political and cultural battles. Nonetheless, it’s instructive. If soldiers facing death at the hands of an intransigent enemy can put aside their differences, if only for a day or two, surely we can find common ground over mashed potatoes and gravy.

If this reads like a Pollyanna-ish wish for this holiday season, so be it. We can go back to cursing at each other tomorrow. But if this is not the time to appeal to our better natures, tell me when is?

As I wander my local shopping haunts — Fashion Island, South Coast Plaza, Roger’s Gardens, and browse charming Christmas boutiques with unique gifts by local artisans — I always indulge in a hearty dose of people-watching. This year, as I look around me, I wonder:

Behind the happy facades are there reservoirs of animosity? Do the smiling faces mask bitterness and cynicism? Are we really so suspicious of each other that we see nefarious schemes in mere attempts at compassion?

Surely we all want essentially the same things — respect, safety, opportunity. We disagree on how to achieve those goals, but we need to reclaim the will to meet in the middle, to acknowledge our common humanity even as we fight for our divergent causes.

It occurs to me that we could also learn another lesson from history.

As hostilities mounted in the run-up to World War II, France sought to avoid the previous war’s experience with trench warfare. A line of fortifications, bunkers, minefields and weapon installations were built to deter, or at least significantly slow, an invasion by Nazi Germany.

The French miscalculated. The line was outflanked by the Germans, who swept through Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands, and then quickly and easily invaded France. What became known as the Maginot Line is regarded as such a massive failure that it is now a commonly used metaphor for a strategy that gives a false sense of security.

It’s possible that many among us are now in danger of erecting their own Maginot Lines, as they seek to fortify themselves against the villains, real or imagined, in their midst. And maybe we’re all too angry to turn back from that course.

But if history teaches us anything, let it be that holding on to hate is a sure path to destruction, and that erecting walls — metaphorical or otherwise — won’t solve our problems. This Christmas let’s try to remember that.