REFLECTIONS ON A PROTEST

What more can the peace movement do to end this war?
By Leigh Davis

The morning of the protest began early, with excitement and anticipation of “the big turning point” event -- the January 27th march on Washington to stop the war. I’d sort of lost count of the number of trips to D.C. and other large protests I’d been to since before the war even began. Each time, afterwards, we’d focus on the conflict between the numbers quoted by antiwar groups and those put out by the news.

We like to think we count.

Most times, I’ve driven down with others and spent the weekend. This time, we’d decided to “do the bus thing” and were on one of four full buses carrying Central Jersey Coalition Against Endless War members. We’d never had this many buses before. The sense was, this is going to be huge, an outpouring of outrage! Whatever we thought we’d accomplished in the past -- like being called one of the “two superpowers” after the February 15, 2003 protest in cities throughout the world -- this time, we wouldn’t be ignored.

We were not a “focus group.”

We brought four plastic tubs -- one for each bus -- with buttons, bumper stickers, poetry books, DVDs, and other antiwar “merchandise” that we could use to fundraise on the trip down. Our bus, which was really the Communication Workers of America (CWA) bus with extra seats to accommodate our overflow, had a supply of political videos -- including The Ground Truth, Iraq for Sale, The Corporation, and Stories from Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib -- to help pass the time and educate during a roundtrip ride on which we’d spend more time than we’d actually spend in D.C.

We were very organized.

The CWA bus got to drive right into downtown D.C. and park at CWA headquarters just blocks from the Mall, where the rally and march would kickoff. Union members in their red CWA painters’ caps with "No Peace, No Justice" printed on the tops, converged and marched enthusiastically down 3rd St. NW, chanting in the unnaturally warm January air under sunny skies, and we joined up with them, shouting and chanting.

We were psyched and revved.

What can we say about this protest that hasn’t been said about past protests? Lots of folks showed up. We argued among ourselves about how many were there, some of us comparing it negatively to a previous January demo in D.C. where people were packed together on the Mall trying to keep warm in the frigid air and the lines for the port-o-johns were ridiculous even as we exited our buses.

Others were saying, “No, there could be 250,000 people here.” The organizers, United for Peace and Justice (UFPJ), counted half a million. According to the Home News Tribune, which did a story on our group’s trip, although the D.C. police “no longer give official estimates,” they “privately” said that the number “was smaller than” the 100,000 that UFPJ “hoped for.” Am I the only person who has a problem with this? Shouldn’t we ask the reporter exactly who, or at least what level of police representative, gave the “private” estimate? What’s the purpose of this?

The New York Times said that “tens of thousands” protested and put “thousands” in a caption under a photo. That would be par for the course as they have a track record of undercounting antiwar protests, sometimes by factors of ten. In the case of the October 2002 protest, I recall thinking a reporter had called in his report from a Starbucks somewhere other than Washington, D.C.

We were expecting something different.

The usual suspects spoke at the rally, including celebrities like Sean Penn, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins, and Jesse Jackson, and a “new” face, Jane Fonda, who said she’d kept quiet all this time so the antiwar movement wouldn’t be hindered by the specter of Hanoi Jane, but that the time for silence had passed. We were impressed. Well, some of us were.

The more “unusual” speakers included Congressmembers, such as Maxine Waters and John Conyers, who made it clear by their presence at the event that some things really weren’t off the table.

We were hopeful.

Coalition member and poet Sam Friedman captured the feeling in the last stanza of a post-protest poem:

“the mass of marchers smiled in friendship mode
as they hoped the hope that this time
the fairy tales would have a happy ending,
that the politicians really mean to deliver.”

The usual tables of the Communist Party USA, Revolutionary Community Party, International Socialists, Young Socialists, International Young Socialists, and folks who eke out a living selling “peace and justice” merchandise, joined by such relative newcomers as Code Pink, ANSWER, and 9/11 Truth, lined the Mall. The Radical Cheerleaders cheered radically. The huggers walked around hugging people. It felt like a fair.

Some of us felt confused.

Where was the outrage? And why weren’t there more people? It looked like every other protest -- in New York or in Washington -- that I’d been to in the past five years. Not small and shabby. But not huge and angry. More like ... a day to meet up with like-minded folks and get a fix of feeling like we’re part of something. Which is not a terrible thing.

But the numbers haven’t increased in four years. Which is pretty much what you can say about many weekly vigils. Each week, there is a core of people who have been there from the beginning, and occasionally someone new will show up, but the numbers remain pretty stable, fluctuating to some degree when “something” happens, for instance, when Moveon.org calls for a vigil in response to something the president says.

If the number of people who oppose the war has doubled in the last couple of years, to a high of 70 percent, why haven’t the numbers at demonstrations paralleled them? And what number would be “the tipping point?” Some seem to think it’s a million. Hence, the million-something marches that followed the Million Man March -- million mom, million worker -- none actually reaching a million, the magic number.

If 70 percent of us oppose the war, that represents more than a hundred million. Isn’t that enough? This is the ultimate in magical thinking. How many “voted for change” in the last election, the one that was called a “mandate on the war?”

As a matter of course, activists who hold weekly vigils throughout the state report significant numbers of people who drive by, beep their horns, and wave or flash the peace sign. Over the course of almost four years, one could imagine this adds up to thousands of people registering their opposition to the war. Not to disparage the show of support, but what do these folks do after they drive by the various protests? Do they feel they’ve done their part to end the war by waving and beeping?

“People think if they disagree with the war, it will just end,” says Coalition member Bruno Oriti.

But then again, how does “beep-and-wave activism” differ from standing on a corner every week with the same signs? Or from some of the things the “Ten Things You Can Do to End the War” leaflet the Coalition hands out suggests, like writing letters to the editor and talking to coworkers and friends? Or from showing up in Washington for a protest, for that matter? What is it that will make the difference?

This is the question that plagues peace activists, particularly at a time when the current administration, hand in hand with multinational corporations, appears to be forging ahead with an agenda of slash and burn, not to mention torture and bomb -- all lobbying, letters to the editor, and protests be damned.

A few months ago, Thomas Linzey, founder of the Community Environmental Legal Defense Fund, spoke to the Bioneers conference in San Rafael, California, about the same question facing environmentalists. He had come to the realization that as hard as the environmental movement had been working over the years, environmental problems had gotten worse by the day. Having encountered an essay by Derrick Jensen in Orion magazine called “Beyond Hope,” Linzey advocated giving up hope.

We heard a lot of people at the January 27th protest talk about hope -- hope that the newly elected Democratic Congress would listen to us and act to prevent the escalation of the war; hope that enough people had shown up to make a difference.

Jensen and Linzey argue that hope actually works against action, and giving up hope ultimately makes you more effective because “it doesn’t kill you,” and you just begin “doing whatever it takes to solve those problems yourself.”

Jensen continues:

“Something even better happens than it not killing you, which is that in some sense it does kill you. You die. And there's a wonderful thing about being dead, which is that they -- those in power -- cannot really touch you anymore. Not through promises, not through threats, not through violence itself ... You come to realize that when hope died, the you who died with the hope was not you, but was the you who depended on those who exploit you, the you who believed that those who exploit you will somehow stop on their own, the you who believed in the mythologies propagated by those who exploit you in order to facilitate that exploitation.

When you give up hope, you turn from fear.”

This is not easy. When we think of that kind of courage, we think of people like the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. We might say to ourselves, “Now there was someone who turned from fear.” And yet, we tend to avoid thinking of ourselves in that way.

In his 1975 book, The Night Is Dark and I’m Far From Home, which has been inexplicably out of print for way too long, writer Jonathan Kozol identified the forces that convince us that we cannot step into shoes such as King’s: Our education system has taught us to see ourselves as powerless and to locate agency for change outside of us. In someone else. So we keep looking for leaders to lead us, to step into King’s void, and continue to be disappointed when the people who say, “Vote for me!” don’t live up to who we imagine they should be.

Recently, I again saw the spoken word artist Pandora Scooter perform her poem, “Ascendant,” which she wrote specially for a 2005 celebration of King’s birthday. She says:

“…What we continue to miss
how we disrespect
Dr. King’s work –
is in thinking the runner’s baton
he offered each time he spoke
was for someone else…”

I’m beginning to hear, still faintly, rumblings about “direct action” and “civil disobedience” from various corners of the peace movement. There is talk of getting more creative “on a grassroots level.” These are the sounds of lost hope and turning from fear.