The Christmas Truce

War is imposed by systems of power, not demanded by everyday people.

Howdy folks,

I hope you are having a joyous, rejuvenating Winter Holiday season. I want to express my deep appreciation that you are part of the growing community at Redneck Gone Green.

Shane, Ruthi and I are taking a break from our live video show for a few weeks. We will return on Monday Jan 5, 2026 at 3pm pacific, 6pm eastern.

So although there won’t be a show next Monday, I wanted to continue my tradition of a short column. So beneath my signature you will find an essay about the absolutely true story of “The Christmas Truce” of World War I.

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Onward to the world we deserve,

David Cobb (he/him)

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The Christmas Truce

In December 1914, during the first brutal winter of World War I, something extraordinary happened along parts of the Western Front. Soldiers who had been ordered to kill one another climbed out of their trenches on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. They sang carols, exchanged small gifts, buried their dead, and, in some places, even kicked around a football. This event became known as “The Christmas Truce.” It was not planned by generals or approved by politicians. It came from below, from ordinary people in uniforms who recognized one another’s shared humanity.

One of the most moving accounts comes from a letter written by a British soldier, Tom, to his sister Janet. He describes meeting German soldiers not as enemies, but as young men much like himself—cold, tired, and missing home. The Christmas Truce reminds us that war is imposed by systems of power, not demanded by everyday people. When given even a brief chance, ordinary folks choose connection over violence.

The Christmas Truce exposes a truth the empire never wants us to see: ordinary people do not want war. Whether in 1914 or today, it is not working-class kids from small towns who benefit from endless conflict—it is arms dealers, imperial strategists, and politicians who never send their own children to fight.

From Ukraine to Gaza, from the coast of Venezuela to the U.S. military budget that grows while schools and hospitals are starved, the pattern is the same.

The truce reminds us that peace is not naïve; it is natural. What is unnatural is a system that trains people to kill strangers for profit and power. If soldiers in muddy trenches could recognize their common humanity, then surely we can reject a permanent war economy and demand a future rooted in solidarity, not domination.

Here is the letter Tom wrote to his sister. There are scores of other letters here.

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Christmas Day, 1914

My dear sister Janet,

It is 2 in the morning, yet I cannot sleep before writing. While you and the family sang carols in London on Christmas Eve, I did the same with enemy soldiers on the battlefields of France!

There has been little fighting lately, so we have mostly waited. But what a terrible waiting! Knowing that any moment an artillery shell might kill several men. Not daring to lift our heads for fear of a sniper’s bullet.

The Germans first trench is only 50 yards away, close enough that we sometimes hear voices. Yesterday — Christmas Eve Day — we had our first freeze. Everything was white with frost, with a bright sun. Perfect Christmas weather.

There was little shelling or rifle fire. As darkness fell, the shooting stopped entirely. Our first complete silence in months! That night we saw a strange and lovely sight. The Germans had placed Christmas trees in front of their trenches!

Then we heard their voices singing “Stille nacht, heilige nacht….” Translated: “Silent night, holy night.” I’ve never heard one lovelier — or more meaningful — in that quiet, clear night.

The men in our trenches applauded. British soldiers applauding Germans! Then one of our men sang “The first Noel, the angel did say….” They responded with enthusiastic applause of their own and began another. “O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum….”

We replied. “O come all ye faithful….” This time they joined in. British and German harmonizing across No Man’s Land!

What came next was even more amazing. To our astonishment, we saw two figures rise from the trench and advance unprotected across No Man’s Land. “Send officer to talk.”

Our captain called, “Hold your fire.” He climbed out and went to meet the Germans. A few minutes later, he came back with a German cigar in his mouth!

”We’ve agreed there will be no shooting before midnight tomorrow,” he announced. “But sentries are to remain on duty, and the rest of you, stay alert.”

We could make out groups of two or three men starting out of trenches and coming toward us. Then some of us did. In minutes there were over a hundred soldiers and officers on each side, shaking hands with men we’d been trying to kill just hours earlier!

Before long, a bonfire was built, and we mingled. Only a couple of our men knew German, but more of the Germans knew English. I asked why.

”Because many have worked in England!” one said. “Before all this, I was a waiter at the Hotel Cecil. Perhaps I waited on your table!”

”Perhaps you did!” I said, laughing.

He had a girlfriend in London, and the war interrupted their plans for marriage. Then he asked if I’d send her a postcard for him. I promised I would.

Even those who could not converse could still exchange gifts — our cigarettes for their cigars, our tea for their coffee, our corned beef for their sausage.

Newspapers, too, changed hands, and the Germans howled with laughter at ours. They assured us they were about to win. We told them that was nonsense. One of them said, “You believe your newspapers and we’ll believe ours.”

Clearly they are lied to, but after meeting these men, I wonder how truthful our own newspapers are. These are not the “savage barbarians” we’ve read about. They are men with homes and families, hopes and fears, principles and love of country. In other words, men like ourselves. Why are we led to believe otherwise?

A few more songs were traded around the fire, and all joined in for — I am not lying to you — “Auld Lang Syne.” Then we parted with promises to meet again tomorrow.

And so, dear sister, has there ever been such a Christmas Eve in all history? And what does it all mean, this impossible befriending of enemies? For the fighting here, of course, it means regrettably little. Decent fellows those soldiers may be, but they follow orders and we do the same.

Still, one cannot help imagine what would happen if the spirit shown here caught on. Disputes must always arise. But what if our leaders offered well-wishes instead of warnings? Songs in place of slurs? Presents in place of reprisals? Would not all war end at once?

All nations say they want peace. Yet on this Christmas morning, I wonder if we want it quite enough.

Your loving brother, Tom