Intervention

I had a neighbor once, who over time became a friend. This is what I learned of him and from him over the course of five years. He went to the most elite private schools in the city, and attended The University of Alabama. He was the heir apparent to his father's insurance business, and like his parents, belonged to high society. He was married to a judge's daughter, and they had two daughters together. His life was what most would consider great. He had everything a man  could ever wish into being.

His only problem was a lingering taste for alcohol that was a large part of college life, and also the life of society. Like most, a minor drinking problem was not hard to hide; but only until it grew into an unmanageable force.

By the time he knew that his drinking had become a problem, his wife had already taken her heart back and given it to another. It was a classic case of being physically present but emotionally absent. He was none the wiser until his wife presented him with divorce papers. Of course, this was after she had tried exhaustively to shake him from his stupor. She is a good woman. This was a smashing blow to every part of his person. He was devastated even more by the fact that he didn't know anything was wrong; his senses were blinded by his habit.

Not long after the split, his work began to suffer. The drinking had steadily grown into an even more disgusting monster, and one might sympathize his position after what had been lost. No matter, it was now a family issue. His father only tried passively to communicate the fact that his legacy was being squandered by his son. Dad was aging and fast approaching retirement, at which time my friend would take the helm. His destiny was drowning along with his sorrow and showed nothing like reversing or even waning in the slightest.

If things could get worse, and they almost always do, daddy died. This seemed like a great place to turn around, to see the habit as the hinderance it had been for so long. It was his turn to make something of what had landed in his lap. No amount of loss could snatch him from his own death, impending. The corporate board made the decision to liquidate the entire business in one meeting, while it took dad his entire life to build. My friend was not a consideration to the board, as they had all been watching him commit slow suicide for years. Again he had no idea.

I met him about ten years after all of this happened. I knew he was a heavy drinker, but had no idea how tight of a grip it had on him. I learned the details of his life over beers and cigarettes on his porch at least three nights a week. The more I heard of his story, the less I drank with him. Alcohol is one drug that I never really took to, but there were plenty of others that nearly caught me. I knew that it was not supposed to be good to drink with a person that was as addicted as he was; at least for my conscience if for nothing else.

My friend hadn't worked since he lost the business, and I was in a position to hire who I wanted, so I offered to let him work with me on the weekends.  I thought that if he got out and accomplished something with his hands maybe he could see life from a new angle. The first day he worked, he told me that he would need a drink no later than nine in the morning. I thought he was kidding, but he wasn't. Since it was only the two of us, I let him drink the beer that was already in what most of us would call a lunchbox. I knew then that his working would probably not help. He worked with me for three weekends in a row, then decided to stop for the early mornings.

A few months later, I was up at the usual time on my way to work. Surprisingly, he was outside waiting for me. My day was going to consist of making sure two crews were supplied for the day, making a payroll deposit, buying tools and bidding new jobs. He asked if he could go with me, and I figured it would be nice to have company for once. By ten o' clock that morning he was convulsing as if he was having a seizure. Ha told me he needed a drink. I went to the nearest liquor store, and he ran in. He came out with a pint of cheap vodka, and drank it like a thirsty man drinks water. That was the day I decided to address his problem. I waited until that evening to tell him what I thought. I couldn't stand to watch a man dying like this.

After I spilled my opinion, he looked at me with a dead serious look. He proceeded to tell me of all the people who had tried this intervention tactic on him. He said his friends were never friends because they watched him for years and never said anything; then they ran. He told me something that I had never thought about. "Johnny, I'm not an alcoholic, I am a drunk. I have no desire and no way to stop. Don't waste your time, you are the only friend that has stuck around this long."

Later that night, I got to thinking about this as a concept, and not a personal problem. I had recently finished a book about American Imperialism that chronicled the exploits of a miltary power that took what they wanted without regard for human life or culture. They are referred to as "Interventions". These interventions are always unsolicited, and are never about the stated reason. There is always some resource or position that is desirable. The people of these sovreign nations never ask for  this "help", and it never benefits them; especially when an elected government is removed and replaced with something tyrannical. They have been begging us to stop the interventions for so long. Their cultures are such that they need no outside influence, nor do they want it.

The next time you see a situation that you think needs fixing, be sure that your idea of brokeness is not only yours. I could have lost a friend because of my ignorance, and millions have been killed and displaced by unwelcome interventions. The desire to change must be in the heart of the individual, and no outside force will ever be effective otherwise.