There’s a burden to being called to tell someone else’s story … especially ones as powerful as those of women secretly sheltered from “honor” killings in the great and ancient city of Baghdad. A few years ago I worked as a consultant with the Organization of Women’s Freedom in Iraq (OWFI). The heart and soul of that organization’s mission was protecting women in a country where a complex stew of war and social instability grew violence against women … violence in general … to epidemic proportions.

In a few weeks Nat Gold Players of Las Vegas, New Mexico (NOT Nevada) will present “Sheltered Women,” a play I wrote loosely based on the lives of some of the women OWFI sheltered. I am honored this company of players … this company of friends … chose to perform my play. The cast and director, Rand Kennedy, are doing an amazing job of bringing those stories to life, and I feel like a proud mother.

Last night, during that witching hour when both fear and wisdom are at their most raw, I awoke with both a terror and an epiphany. The fear was triggered by FaceBook posts from beloved friends with whom I share affection but not political agreement. I see so much finger-pointing and blaming of those in the Muslim world. My play will be performed in the U.S. and there are those who may use it as another reason to point fingers at the Middle East. That I do not want.

Luckily, the fear was accompanied by an epiphany. The play must include a reminder that violence against women … hell, violence in general … is epidemic everywhere, including the United States. Bullying in the classroom is even more common than the cold; among the brother and sisterhood of generally benevolent police, there are those who use the uniform as camouflage to hide actions of bigotry and violence; innocent children fleeing violence and oppression in their home countries are greeted at our borders by those spewing rejection, even hatred.

Violence exists every time one person verbally demeans another into silence. Violence exists every time money or position or power are used to oppress others whether it’s an individual or an entire class of people. Violence is like a fever or puss pockets on the skin. It is a symptom, a sign that something is wrong.

I recently read a wonderful story of a young man who was a student of aikido, a martial art advocating “harmonious spirit.” Apparently the art teaches fighting skills but advocates peace and healing. A violent and angry man entered a train where the young man was passenger. Drunk and out of control, the man struck a young woman holding a baby. Although neither the woman nor child were badly injured, the passengers scurried to get as far from the man as possible. The young man saw the opportunity to apply his fighting skills in a justified conflict, when the situation was interrupted by an old man, another passenger, who engaged the drunk in conversation. In a short time, the old man led the drunk past his anger and into his pain, exposing the man’s grief at the death of his wife and the spiral of self-destruction that followed. As the young man left the train, the old man stroked the matted and dirty hair of the drunk who now lay weeping, his head in the old man’s lap.

Hate cannot stop hate. Only love can do that. The old man in the aikido story knew that. Gandhi knew that. Martin Luther King, Jr. knew that. Chief Joseph knew that. Mohammed knew that. Jesus knew that. Each became teachers of peace, and each suffered for choosing to continue as teachers rather than taking up the sword to become conquerors, but they each helped make humanity just a little better.

The change will not come until enough of use chose love. Don’t misunderstand me. I am a peaceful warrior. If I must commit an act of violence to protect someone, I will, but I pray never to hold hatred in my heart against anyone with whom I may find myself in opposition. If I do, I become a part of the sickness.

I pray that “Sheltered Women” will not trigger finger pointing to the Middle East. I pray, instead, that it causes others to look within to find the courage to offer the love and strength needed to face the little violations they see in the world around them every day. That’s where change will start. When enough people choose courage and love.