Women as Leaders and the End of War

Last Sunday, a bird flew into the sliding glass door that leads out from our living room to our deck. We thought he’d injured himself, but he hadn’t. He shook it off, looked up at the slider a second time, strutted around and then flew up and bashed into it again.

He did this over and over. He seemed to enjoy it. Occasionally, he’d fly off. His destination was always the same — the top of something very tall nearby — either at the very top of the telephone pole across the street, or atop the mast of the tallest sailboat tied up in one of the slips there. We live across from Three Mile Harbor. Up there, this bird oversees his domain.

This fellow is a red-winged blackbird. We identified him from a bird book. We think he thinks he is driving away an intruder. And from his perspective, he’s a great success at this. The intruder flies off after he bangs into it. He does return, however. So our bird gets him again.

You will notice I refer to this bird as a male. Males behave this way. Females don’t.

Here’s another interesting thing about male birds: every weekend, when we drive out from the city, we pass by East Hampton Town Pond, looking to see if a male swan has decided to settle in it and establish his family there.

For many years, a male swan set up housekeeping in that pond. He’d arrive in the spring with his mate, get the go-ahead, chase her around, build a nest and make a home for her.

After that, the female would sit on her eggs for a month, the male would strut back and forth, and then he’d chase away anybody or anything that got close.

The residents of this town were mostly happy to see this, but some weren’t. They’d park along the side of the road, get out of their cars and take pictures. Angry, the male would flare his wings and race toward the interlopers to drive them off. They’d rush back to their cars and slam the doors, then, as the male swan pecked viciously at their car tires, drive off.

Male creatures are full of testosterone. The females, sweet and happy, are full of estrogen. That’s nature’s way, and it seems, with little exception, to be the way all the way down the food chain. The males hunt, kill, feed the family and keep them safe. And it’s that way all the way up the food chain. Which includes us.

And yes, there are exceptions. There is Princess Olga, who lived in the 10th century ruling the city of Kiev. She attacked and defeated a neighboring tribe. And when the leading members of this tribe came to pay tribute and negotiate peace, she laid out a great banquet for them and then had her soldiers come in and kill them all.

Nice lady, that one.

Well, I’m writing this in wartime. Russia, Ukraine, Israel, Palestine. Deadly male behavior. About real estate, liberty and power. Pick one.

Recently, I saw a video online where a male professor defended men to a young female student. Who is the victim, he asked? Over 500,000 American men were killed defending democracy in World War II. Only 73 women fighting were killed. Was that fair?

It is my belief that, if females headed up everything, wars between the nations would come to an end. The females have only love to give. They really do. And the males, well, not so much.

My idea going forward is — and I am just one of these useless males — that we get women to rule the world. I propose a little trick.

Make a law that each of the 193 U.N. member states have a woman as their ambassador. They’d talk and talk and get along. Meanwhile, the men, the rulers, would be out there, killing and marauding.

After passing this law, pass another, ordering a switch. The U.N. women become the rulers and the men the ambassadors. It wouldn’t be too hard a sell for the men. They’d confront all the other rulers they hate, up close and personal. Fist fights would break out. Maybe a few assassinations. They could have boxing matches and spear-throwing competitions, struggles for M17 rifles and knife fights. All in one big room. The U.N. would become a man cave.

It might be harder for the women. Before the change they’d all be chattering away with one another while talking about their children and grandchildren, probably showing off all their cell phone photos. And, of course, they’d all invite each other out for lunch.

The women might not like to leave all that. But if it could be phrased right — something really needs to be done — maybe they’d go for it.

In the end, the females would end wars and fix global warming while we males played tennis or watched professional wrestling on TV until somebody got bloodied. Could happen.

Well, you know what? Here on the East End, for the first time ever, a woman was elected leader of the Shinnecock Indian Nation. She is Lisa Goree.

It’s like she knew I was going to write this column.

When I first moved here in the 1950s, the leader of the Shinnecocks, a male, ruled with an iron hand. Women weren’t even allowed to attend meetings. Or to vote. On the roads leading into the reservation, big “keep out” signs kept the curious away. And now, look at this.

Also now, for the first time, a woman, Claudia Sheinbaum, has been elected president of Mexico. It’s begun.

By the way, Kathleen Mulcahy, the executive director at the Evelyn Alexander Wildlife Rescue Center in Hampton Bays, said our fighting red wing could not only be a male fighting an intruder, he could also be a female, thinking she’s just found a mate, or a male thinking he’s found a mate. And I told her — she was wrong. It’s a male. Driving away another male. Your perspective is as a female leading a wildlife rescue center named after another female. Estrogen rules testosterone.

Our bird keeps attacking and driving off the intruder over and over. Keep it up, pal. We’re voting you pound-for-pound champ next week.