"Peace has its victories no less than war, but it doesn't have as many monuments to unveil"
About this Quote
Peace rarely gets a ribbon-cutting because peace is an achievement that refuses to pose for the camera. Kin Hubbard, a journalist with a columnist’s ear for the everyday lie we tell ourselves, delivers a line that sounds like a compliment and lands like an indictment. The first clause grants peace its “victories,” borrowing war’s preferred vocabulary only to expose how lopsided our reward system is. We don’t just fight wars; we build an entire aesthetic around them. Victory arches, statues, plaques, anniversaries with marching bands. Peace, by contrast, is maintenance. It’s budgets that don’t spike, children who don’t get drafted, cities that don’t burn. Hard to immortalize a non-event.
The subtext is that monument culture is less about gratitude than about storytelling power. War compresses history into dramatic before-and-after narratives with heroes you can chisel into granite. Peace is diffuse, collective, and often anonymous; it depends on compromise, boredom, and restraint - traits that don’t read well on horseback in bronze. Hubbard’s joke also catches the perverse incentive: if commemoration is tied to spectacle, then catastrophe becomes a reliable pathway to honor, while avoidance looks like nothing happened.
Placed in Hubbard’s era - the hinge between the Civil War’s long shadow and the mechanized slaughter looming in World War I - the line feels like a warning wrapped in wit. Societies that only monumentalize violence end up training themselves to crave it, or at least to remember it more vividly than the quiet labor that prevents it.
The subtext is that monument culture is less about gratitude than about storytelling power. War compresses history into dramatic before-and-after narratives with heroes you can chisel into granite. Peace is diffuse, collective, and often anonymous; it depends on compromise, boredom, and restraint - traits that don’t read well on horseback in bronze. Hubbard’s joke also catches the perverse incentive: if commemoration is tied to spectacle, then catastrophe becomes a reliable pathway to honor, while avoidance looks like nothing happened.
Placed in Hubbard’s era - the hinge between the Civil War’s long shadow and the mechanized slaughter looming in World War I - the line feels like a warning wrapped in wit. Societies that only monumentalize violence end up training themselves to crave it, or at least to remember it more vividly than the quiet labor that prevents it.
Quote Details
| Topic | Peace |
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