Copyright © 2016 by Thomas Gangale
Dirty little wars in the underdeveloped global south tend to go under-reported by the news media of the developed global north. They are far away in places that don't matter because the people are poor, dark-skinned, and not well-connected to the developed global north by a vital commodity such as petroleum. And that's just the human-on-human violence, so humans engaged in endemic violent conflict with another species isn't going to make the six o'clock news.
Tongans generally aren't aware of it, but they are trapped in a protracted war with one of this planet's apex predator species. They do not understand the enemy, they underestimate the enemy, and they have neither the moral compass nor the understanding of their self-interest to make peace. Their tactics are unorganized and they have no strategic objective, therefore victory is not even an applicable concept; there is only a tragic parade of defeats in the form of dog bite wounds treated in the emergency room and dogs either shot by police or butchered by citizens for their meat.
I have seen old women and small children throwing stones at dogs for no reason other than cruel sport. Most despicable are the incidents of drive-by rock throwing. Meanwhile in recent years there has been some semblance of an awareness that domestic violence is endemic in Tonga, but it comes as no surprise that no one in Tonga has yet made the link between cruelty to animals and violence among humans, even though it's easy to find criminological studies regarding this link.
Frederick II, King of Prussia, famously said that the dog is man's best friend, but as almost everyone understands, a dog can also be man's implacable enemy. Tongans eschew the potential for amity and instead cultivate the certainty of enmity. A dog having known only cruelty and violence from humans knows only to respond in kind, and evolution has bestowed upon it a body quite capable of doing so. Thus Tongans "sow the wind and reap the whirlwind" (Hosea 8:7). What might be characterized as the motto of the majority of Tongans, human and canine, toward each other, was best expressed by one of history's great human monsters, the Roman emperor Caligula: "Oderint dum metuant." ("Let them hate as long as they fear.") But it is humans who taught canines hate and fear.
Because dogs breed out of control, Tongans live in almost constant fear of dogs. Hardly a day goes by that a passerby doesn't ask, "Do your dogs bite?"
It's so very tiresome. My responses vary: "If you bite them first," or "No, but I do... tokanga palangi fekai" (beware the vicious while man). It is my idle amusement to think up new responses. One I don't intend to use is, "How about you bite me?" Beside being a breach of etiquette, it might be a source of miscommunication... Tongans tried to eat Captain James Cook.
Never have I seen everyday fear in a society. It is as tough my dogs and I were space aliens armed with death rays. Big, strapping lads in their 20s, at the peak of their physical strength, give my dogs an excessively wide berth, even though the dogs display no aggression whatsoever and in any case they are on leashes. What's up with that? I think back to what I was afraid of when I was in my 20s. I lived in South-Central Los Angeles for a couple of years, and even walked home from night classes, no big deal. I got hypothermia once while body-surfing on a foggy day, and I was almost pounded to death one day when the surf turned mean, no big deal. I flew as a back-seater in T-38s and F-4s, and I'll admit I wasn't that good at it, but I was never afraid, not even when a student pilot lost control for a few moments; as I watched the altimeter unwind, my training told me that I would eject at 10,000 feet, no big deal. I don't consider myself extraordinarily brave, but where I come from, 20-year-olds aren't afraid of all that much. It's the age of indestructibility, right?
But in Tonga the fear of dogs is everywhere, all the time. And, people hate what they fear. Even children tell me, "I want to shoot your dogs!" Just for passing by.
As I sipped a New Zealand Lager one day while accompanied by my four dogs at Rodney Tu'inukuafe's liquor store in the Fanga district of Nuku'alofa, a woman with whom I had previously had an unpleasant exchange pulled up in her car. "You again!"
"That's right, me again. I'm here almost every afternoon at this time."
"I hate you and your dogs!"
"Well, Jesus preached love, and you practice hate. What does that say about you? Jesus said, 'Love thy neighbor.'"
"You are not my neighbor!"
"You live in Fanga. I live in Fanga. We live in the same neighborhood. That makes us neighbors."
"You live three blocks away!"
"The people who are buried in the cemetery across the street from your house, are they your neighbors? They are in the afterlife. That's a lot farther away than three blocks. If I lived in a neighboring village, I would be your neighbor. If I lived on a neighboring island, I would be your neighbor. If I lived in a neighboring country, I would be your neighbor. If I lived on the other side of the world, I would be your neighbor. It is in that sense that Jesus meant that we are all neighbors."
"Forget about Jesus!"
One would think that someone who lives across the street from a cemetery would be a bit more contemplative of how we treat each other during our short time on Earth and what the Day of Judgment may mete out to us.
There is a church practically on every block in Nuku'alofa. I try not to judge, but it doesn't seem to have helped much. How could it, given the following example? One Sunday my four dogs and I encountered a Catholic priest who told me I had too many dogs, and when I countered that one cannot have too many friends, he suggested that I give him one so that he could cook it. I suggest that he be summoned to Rome to discuss the issue with the Pontifex Maximus. "One day, we will see our animals again in the eternity of Christ," Pope Francis II told a boy grieving the loss of his dog. "Paradise is open to all of God's creatures." But, I suspect that some humans may expect lengthy delays at the gates as they declare all of their sins.
Any predatory species is finely-tuned to sense fear; primarily they pick up on it through body language. Sensing fear puts them on high alert; there's no telling what a frightened animal, including a human, might do, so if you make some sudden move, it will provoke a counter-move, and if you were scared before, now you have real reason to be, and it's your own damned fault because you didn't understand how to deal with the situation to begin with. It's no mystery why dogs are wary of Tongans, even if they are not throwing stones. They smell the fear.
A couple of years ago, when Bette Davis Tongilava was still a feral dog, she had a burly man dressed in a tupenu (traditional wrap skirt) kicking ineffectually at her as he backpedaled off the sidewalk into heavy traffic. It looked like the latest Tongan dance step. I restrained the impish impulse to set the rhythm by clapping my hands.
One evening a clutch of loiterers in the field next to the Sione Tongilava house had worked up Bette into combat mode by throwing rocks at her, to the point that she lunged and nipped at a small girl. The adults around the girl did not appear to have anything to do with the rock throwers, but in Bette's wolf brain the human herd was one, and naturally she took her shot at the most vulnerable member of the herd. Fortunately, Bette merely counted coup, but I was concerned that the situation was escalating toward the inflicting of serious injuries. I rushed into the field and scooped up Bette, who was still semi-feral, at the very real risk that in her combative mental state she would bite me, but she let me carry her off the field. That was the end of her freedom and the beginning of her captivity. I put a collar on her and kept her on a chain from then on. Bette was now our dog. For a detailed account of this incident, see "In Defense of the Dogs of Tonga." For an account of the police response to this incident, see "In Defense of Human Rights in Tonga." For an account of Bette's transformation from feral to friendly dog, see "The Rehabilitation of Bette Davis Tongilava."
People fear what they don't understand, which is practically everything if they never try to understand."The truth shall make you free." (John 8:32) This has so many corollaries, but one might be expressed as, "Understanding shall free you of fear." Yea, though I walk through the streets of snarling dogs, I fear no evil, for I understand them and I know how to behave around them. In a 1957 book written by political scientist Samuel P. Huntington, The Soldier and the State, he argued that every "profession," such as lawyers, theologians, scientists and physicians, has its specific area of expertise, and that the professional military officer's specialized knowledge is the management of violence. I don't claim to be a scientist whose area of expertise is canine behavior, bur as a retired professional military officer, here are my tips for managing a violent encounter with the species formally known as Canis lupus familiaris, literally "familiar dog wolf;" and I emphasize the "wolf" part, because in a violent encounter, that is its core nature; however different from a wolf a few thousand years of selective breeding may have made a dog's body appear, its brain hasn't changed a whole lot.
Rule 1: Don't run. Evolution has designed dogs' bodies and hardwired their brains to chase prey, and they are among the best predators on the planet. The moment you make a break for it, you have marked yourself as prey, and the dog will catch you if you are on foot. If you are on a bicycle, and if you are moving considerably faster than walking speed as you enter the dog's zone of operations, you are already potential prey; if you have strong enough legs to accelerate out of his territory before he can catch you, do it, otherwise stop so that the dog's "chase the prey" software stops running.
Rule 2: Don't stare. Staring is dominance behavior. Staring at a snarling dog is accepting a challenge to a battle which you are destined to lose. Avert your gaze, turn your head, and glance at him sideways. This assures the dog that he is successfully managing the situation. But, simultaneously, your behavior is influencing his behavior. The reality is that there is shared management of the situation; acting cooperatively, sending the right signals to each, you can work together to de-escalate the situation.
Rule 3: No sudden movements. A flash of movement will trigger a "fight or flight" response, and since dogs are territorial, they are more likely to fight to defend their territory than to run away and abandon it. However, the dog would much rather have you leave his territory than have to fight you for it, so don't force the dog to choose between "fight or flight;" his choice may not work out for you.
Rule 4: Don't allow a dog to get in your blind spot. A lone snarling dog in front of you is issuing a warning. He prefers not to attack you. If the dog in from of you is one of several, you can expect one or more of the others to circle around in an effort to get behind you. In this case, the dog who remains in your front is not the primary threat; rather, he is performing two tasks: continuing to issue his warning and also diverting your attention from the flanking movement in progress. Dogs are a hell of a lot smarter than First World War generals; they don't do frontal assaults unless, like human soldiers, they have been trained to do so. Otherwise, their natural behavior is to demonstrate in your front while maneuvering to your rear, and that is where the attack will originate if it comes at all. Dividing one's forces is tactically sound if there is the opportunity to achieve surprise. Again, dogs aren't stupid when it comes to tactics; after millions of years of conducting successful operations, they know the drill. If you maintain eyes on the flanking maneuver by glancing sideways at the flanker, you deprive him of surprise; a nod in his direction will signal that you know his position, and as long as you take no provocative action, the flanker may not attack. Backing up against the nearest large object such as a fence or a car is not a bad move; it protects your rear and thus it defeats a flanking maneuver. Sure, it cuts off your avenue of escape, but the hope of escape is an illusion; you can run, but you can't win the race.
Rule 5: Move slowly. Freezing solid is a sign of fear, something you absolutely do not want to communicate; besides which, you are not going to extricate yourself from the situation as quickly as you otherwise could. Rather than wait for the dog to get bored and walk away from you, walk slowly away from him.
Put all of these things together and you reassure the dog of several things: you're not afraid, you're not a threat, and you know how to handle yourself.
I have been bitten by a dog only once. I heard a neighbor's puppy yelping, and I rushed to free its front paw, which was lodged in a picket fence, before he injured himself by struggling. As I lifted the puppy free, his mother came from behind and bit my calf. According to Tongan law, the bitch deserved to be put to death, but the incident was the result of miscalculation on both sides. Her mistake was in acting out of fear that I was hurting her puppy. My mistake was lack of situational awareness; I rushed in without looking to see that she was nearby. Thus, a classic surprise attack from the rear. After action, perfectly understandable. In this way as well, the truth makes you free; understanding the adversary's motivation may make it not simply easy to forgive, but effortless. Who would begrudge a mother defending her child? And, above all, one must understand that she was a Tongan dog, therefore she expected cruelty, never having experienced kindness.
I would not recommend the following to anyone who is not experienced in handling dogs: sometimes, when several dogs rush at me, I sit down on the sidewalk right in front of them. Of course, I do so only when I am accompanied by my own dogs; if deterrence fails, they will defend me. I speak softly, and my dogs are the "big stick." The other dogs bark and bark. If my dogs respond by barking or baring their teeth, I chastise them. The object is to control the level of tension, to reduce it if possible, but above all to show the snarling dogs that I am not afraid to sit in their territory and there's not a damned thing they are willing to do about it other than mouth off at me.
Lately I have been working with a particularly vocal dog pack which my dogs and I pass by every day. I have taken to sitting down and sharing a 5-gram package of cheese puff balls with them. On the first run, it took them some time to figure out that I was throwing them treats rather than the rocks they have come to expect from other humans. On the second run, they barked some, but it was short-lived. On the third run, they barked only in response to my dogs, who were wary of them getting too close (the comfort zone then was about two meters). The weeks of animosity must be unlearned on both sides, but they are adjusting more quickly than I dared hope. Astonishingly, even as I was tossing cheese puff balls and gaining their trust, passersby threw rocks at the dogs, either oblivious or indifferent to what I was trying to accomplish.
It was on the third day that several pairs of LDS missionaries happened upon me as I sat with my dogs on the sidewalk, feeding cheese puff balls to them and to the former hostiles. I often encountered them on our afternoon walks, and I had told them several days earlier of my plan to make peace with the dogs on this particular corner. They asked me how it was going. I held up the little bag of cheese puff balls. "Couldn't be better. You know the Sermon on the Mount, the part where Jesus said, 'Blessed are the cheese makers?'"
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