Women don't go to war to kill other women. Wars and armies and

Hear, O children, the words of Morrissey, a voice who speaks with a clarity that cuts through the fog of history and the noise of modernity: "Women don't go to war to kill other women. Wars and armies and nuclear weapons are essentially heterosexual hobbies." These words, simple yet powerful, hold within them a profound truth that speaks to the very heart of war, gender, and the motives that drive humanity to destruction. In these words, Morrissey calls us to look beyond the surface of war and to understand the forces that shape it, forces that often lie in the hidden corners of human nature.

Let us first consider the nature of war, that eternal conflict that has raged across the pages of history, from the earliest skirmishes between tribes to the devastating world wars of the modern age. Morrissey points out a striking truth: women—the nurturers, the givers of life—do not go to war to slaughter other women. They do not wage these battles out of hatred for the women of other lands. War, in its essence, is not a conflict born of a desire to destroy the opposite sex, but a manifestation of the tensions between men, driven by desires for power, territory, or domination. This is not to say that women have never fought, nor that they have never been victims of war, but that the origin of the conflict lies often in the male-dominated systems that shape the structure of violence and aggression.

In the ancient world, the great wars were waged by kings and emperors, men who sought glory, riches, and the expansion of their empires. Think of Alexander the Great, whose conquests stretched from Greece to the edges of India, or of Julius Caesar, who marched with his legions across the lands of Gaul and beyond. These were men driven by the forces of ambition and pride, men who sought to carve their names into the annals of history. Their wars were not fought with the intention of harming women, but with the intention of asserting their dominance, of proving their superiority to other men. And it is this masculine drive—this thirst for power—that has fueled much of the bloodshed throughout history.

Even in the modern age, as Morrissey suggests, war remains fundamentally a male pursuit. The creation of nuclear weapons, the establishment of armies, the strategic planning of conflicts—these are pursuits that have long been dominated by men. The weapons of destruction, whether they be swords, guns, or missiles, are not tools that women have crafted in the heat of battle. They are tools forged in the fires of male-dominated desires: to assert power, to control, and, in the case of nuclear weapons, to ensure dominance on a scale that threatens to end life itself. The sheer scale of destruction that these weapons can bring is a testament to the destructive force of male ambition, driven by a primal urge to control and to conquer.

But Morrissey’s words also carry within them a powerful truth about human nature. The suggestion that war and violence are heterosexual hobbies challenges us to confront the reality that much of the conflict in the world is driven by patriarchal structures, by systems in which men, with their desire for power, have taken up the sword and used it for their own ends. These systems, from the feudal lords of the Middle Ages to the generals and leaders of modern warfare, are built upon the idea of male superiority and the drive to prove oneself stronger, braver, and more capable than others. It is not women who construct the strategies of war, nor is it women who draw the battle lines. No, it is men who fight these battles, often for reasons that have little to do with the well-being of those they seek to conquer, but much to do with their own need for validation.

Consider the modern wars of the world. The Vietnam War, the Iraq War, and countless others have been waged with devastating consequences. The soldiers who marched off to battle were predominantly men, and the decisions to go to war were often made by male leaders, driven by their need to prove their strength, their resolve, and their dominance on the world stage. The suffering caused by these wars has been borne by both men and women, but the instigation and the drive to conflict came from the patriarchal systems that have shaped the world for millennia. In the end, Morrissey reminds us that the true nature of war is bound to the ambitions and egos of those who hold power—typically, men—who seek to carve out their place in history through violence and domination.

And now, O children, consider the lesson that Morrissey imparts: that war is not simply a matter of opposing forces clashing, but of deeper, more insidious drives that shape the nature of conflict itself. It is a reminder that we must question the systems of power and control that dominate our world. If war is a reflection of male-driven ambitions, then we must ask: what would the world look like if peace were the pursuit of the many, not the conquest of the few? What would it mean if power were not defined by the ability to destroy, but by the ability to create, to nurture, and to care for others?

In our own lives, let us take this lesson to heart: that conflict—whether it be on the grand stage of history or in the smaller arenas of our daily existence—must be examined with wisdom. Let us understand that war is not the natural state of humanity, but rather a reflection of the destructive forces of pride, power, and ego. If we are to build a world of peace, we must reject the structures that perpetuate violence and embrace those that foster cooperation, understanding, and care. For in that, we will find the true measure of our humanity, a humanity that is not defined by domination, but by love and respect for all.