Op-Ed: Huntsman Spiders and the Art of War

When I finished college in 2008, I felt compelled to serve my country as a United States Peace Corps volunteer. I spent two years training teachers and building a modest library in a quaint village in eastern Thailand. Surprisingly, I also learned a great deal about the art of war.

Thai people taught me humility, hard work, selflessness and presence. Thai spiders, on the other hand, taught me the nuances of careful de-escalation in the face of existential conflict. Thai spiders also taught me that, beyond a certain point of no return, even the most peace-loving pacifist must engage in war or die.

Type “Thai Huntsman Spider” into your search engine. Now, imagine finding one of these atrocities perched on your bathroom sink when you reach to turn on the faucet. Stop. Do not engage until you regain control over your breath, pulse and mind. Yes, it’s going to take a minute. No, you cannot skip this step if you want any chance of success. Composure is critical because, at least at first glance, your enemy remains completely connected to the moment. He still sees all of the options available to him. If you choose to proceed without the same perspective, you will almost certainly be driven off the battlefield (or out of the bathroom, as the case often was for me in Thailand).

You have a fleeting opportunity at this stage: If you leave the spider undisturbed and return to the wider world, you might avoid war altogether. By the time you return to your bathroom, the spider will often be gone, content with its current sphere of influence over fruit flies, gnats and the occasional small rodent. Having seen you in the periphery (and he did see you), the huntsman will usually share your desire to keep on living independently of one another. While war may come eventually, it need not come at once.

We’ve been dancing this dance with a huntsman named Vladimir since the end of the Cold War. Time and again, we’ve locked eyes over the past thirty years — over Syria, Iraq, Libya, and on and on. Time and again, we’ve remembered that only one side can survive a direct military confrontation between our two nuclear powers. And time and again, we’ve turned our heads just long enough for Vladimir to crawl back into the shadows and simmer.

Not this time. Vladimir has done what all huntsmen eventually do in the face of a perceived existential threat. He’s spread his legs in a fit of menace. He’s raised his hair in a warning that speaks as much to his own fear of death as to the possibility that he might harm us. He’s charged headlong into the fight.

Here again, the Thai Huntsman is instructive. Once a huntsman charges, there is no turning back. I have tried to stand up to a charging huntsman. He won’t stop. I have tried to run away from a charging huntsman. He won’t relent. I have tried to redirect a charging huntsman with non-lethal blows from whatever broom or rag I might have handy. He will not be deterred. Once a huntsman chooses war, he commits both himself and you to the process. There is no other choice.

As weeks turned into months and years in the Peace Corps, I learned that the only way to respond to a charging huntsman is to crush it. Quickly. Completely. Until it is dead. No other path leads to peace. Any delay results in being chased, or bitten, or driven away.

I hated killing huntsman spiders. I didn’t go to Thailand to kill anyone or anything. But hating the war does nothing to obviate its need once a huntsman makes its choice.

We stand on the brink of a global conflict the likes of which we have never seen before. Every fiber of my being wishes we could simply turn our heads and let Vladimir crawl back into the shadows; I expect all reasonable readers feel the same way. But Vladimir has already spread his legs. He’s already begun the charge. And we have only one choice left to make: Cede the disputed territory (Ukraine? All of Europe? The World?) or kill the huntsman.

Once I came to understand the zero-sum game of the huntsman, I developed a consistent approach to dealing with a charge. I would stand tall while the huntsman came at me. I would still myself as it closed in on my feet. Then I would drop a large book on its head. The size of the book was key: It had to be three or four times the size of the spider itself. So while the huntsman might dart left, right, forward or backward in a last-ditch move to continue the fight, it would do so without hope.

NATO and the United States must prepare ourselves for war. The Ukrainian people are brave, fierce and committed to fighting for their democracy. But their best efforts seem destined to fail in the face of Russian military might. We are using them in a futile effort to thwart the huntsman without eliminating it entirely. It won’t work. It is time for us to stand tall, raise a book high in the air, and drop it on Vladimir’s head.

To be sure, I do not arrive at this conclusion lightly or without solemn appreciation for the dire human costs of direct conflict with Russia. We will all suffer in the weeks and months ahead. But we cannot diminish the cost of this war by delaying it now. The huntsman has already crossed a point of no return.

Chris Boeckx is the co-founder Boeckx Law LLC.

Westword frequently publishes op-eds and essays on matters of interest to the community; the opinions are those of the authors, not Westword. Have one you'd like to submit? Send it to [email protected], where you can also comment on this op-ed.