What will they say about us in 50 years?
"The locals had to know what was going on in there!"
I can't put a number on the many times I have heard this said in regard to the Polish people who lived near the worst of the worst of the concentration camps established by Nazi Germany. My suspicions and those of very well informed individuals who have meticulously researched the topic leads me to believe the very same sort of thing will be said about Americans, southern Arizonans to be specific, who now live parallel, consciously blindered, lives around Fort Huachuca.
Is it fair. Probably not. Most don't know. The dumbing down of America has distanced most of our citizens from critical thinking skills once taught in one room schools houses. Our working conditions/hours - among the worst in the "Developed World" keep most folks too tired and too busy to have time to contemplate issues in any depth. But those of us who have slipped through the cracks somehow have no excuse for allowing these attrocities -- albeit at a different networked level -- to be orchestrated from our backyards.
Uber-conservative fundamentalist Christians may not like to have monies go toward reproductive technologies that ultimately liberate women from the tyranny of biological accident -- well Uber-progressive inclusionist Gaiasts (Gaia-ists?) are just as adamant about refusing to allow genocide and radioactive poisoning of our earth and people. But Gaia isn't theological. It is cutting edge understanding of our worlds delicate balance. We have to stop allowing ignorance to be marketed and exported from the U.S. Words are far more powerful than bullets. That is why the words that come out of Fort Huachuca must be stopped.
"Fort Sneezy," some call it as the name spills out, "Waa-chew-kah" in same often mispronouned fashion that the noble saguaros that define the northern Sonoran Desert landscape that surrounds the Fort and its surrounding city of Sierra Vista. Sierra Vista is an Army town. The people there know what goes on inside the fences of the U.S. Army intelligence training post. They just don't like to think about it.
Read this article:
Priests Claim Torture; Arizona Army Post Says No and start thinking Tucson.
We have no excuse to feign ignorance.
The people in Tucson do know. I don't have permission to use her name, so I won't, but I can tell you about the swell of compassion that filled me when I heard a retired woman say in a local church gathering that she does all she can, but that she just cannot risk any political protest that could end up in arrest -- again. Her 6 months in a Federal Prison for protesting at the School of the Americas (renamed WHINSAC in an attempt to say that SOA has been closed) torture training was nothing she can stand to endure again.
I'm not going to compare my experience to hers, that would be ludicrous. My experience is milk sop compared to what she has known and survived. But the techniques that were used to attempt to silence her for her actions at Fort Benning, Georgia in and the techniques that are used to intimidate locals activists in Tucson are of the same ilk and probably carried out by folks responding to the same orders. See: Build Peace: It's Starting To Get Personal the blog post where I discuss the attacts on peaceful demonstrators by thugs who lauch their assaults from the private property that shields the local Armry recruiters from protests. Only Freepers and Republicans can protest or demonstrate on this private property. (Why is the Army allowed to hide behind private property restrictions, anyway? But that is best left for discussion in another post.)
SOA protesters are routinely arrested and jailed or imprisoned in an attempt to silence them. And some voices are more quiet after release, but the voice of their stories continue to loudly and clearly announce to an ever growing group of listeners.
Arrests of peaceful protestors in Tucson are getting to be fairly common place, but the voices will not stop. Reporting will continue through independent media and citizen journalism.
Peaceful marchers shot with "pepper" bullets.
Journalist arested on U of A campus.
Tucson Grannies among scores of "Grannies" across the nation arrested for attempt to enlist.
Christian Peacemakers Arrested
8 arrested in Tucson at Raytheon
To help you understand some of the overall climate in Arizona, we've been taught to turn our heads away from unpleasant governmental abuses for quite some time. This recent incident is a good summary.
"Here is another example of censorship. Louise Benally, Navajo, is resisting forced relocation on Navajo lands at Big Mountain, Ariz., where Peabody Coal attorneys orchestrated the so-called Navajo-Hopi Land Dispute. Louise compared the Long Walk and imprisonment at Bosque Redondo, N.M., in the 1860s to the war in Iraq and the U.S. treatment of women and children in Iraq. The article was censored. Louise's ancestors were among those who witnessed the rapes, murders and starvation of Navajos on the Long Walk and during imprisonment at Fort Sumner."
Okay, that is all I can write for now. Can't even proof this. I wish I had more time to make a smoother presentation and be a bit less in your face, but I am caring for my invalid 92 year old mother 24/7 -- and this even though I'm one of those folks accused of having no "family values." Yeah. Right.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Roll Call article on The Pink House: CODEPINK: On the Hill to Stay
CODEPINK: On the Hill to Stay
By Bree Hocking
Roll Call Staff
May 16, 2007
CODEPINK has staged anti-war demonstrations at the offices of Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) and Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton (D-N.Y.), disrupted committee hearings, chanted songs in Capitol Hill hallways and unfurled banners in the Hart Building.
But if some Members of Congress were hoping this female-led group would eventually go away, they'll be sorely disappointed.
Earlier this spring, after spotting a listing on Craigslist.org , CODEPINK signed a one-year lease on a row house near Union Station — giving the colorful group a semipermanent base of operation within walking distance of its intended audience.
"I hope [Members] are shaking in their boots," says 60-year-old Ann Wright, a retired U.S. Army colonel and diplomat, who resigned her post at the U.S. Embassy in Mongolia in protest against the war. Wright, who is now a full-time activist, frequently stays at the house when she's in Washington, D.C.
Aside from a CODEPINK bumper sticker on the front entrance and a feminine doormat out front, there isn't much to distinguish the rather nondescript brick walk-up at 712 Fifth St. NE from its neighbors. A lone green sign in the yard reads: "Impeach Him."
Inside, however, lies a veritable pink wonderland. Living room walls are papered in anti-war and anti-President Bush signs that have been used at protests. There's a communal computer for blogging and a TV nearly continuously turned to CNN or C-SPAN. A pink straw hat is perched on a lampshade. Pink feather boas hang from a row of hallway hooks. There's a board listing contact information for the current occupants of the House and a map with pushpins showing where they hail from. Another board lists potential targeted news conferences, briefings and hearings for each day. A bookshelf is stocked with copies of the Constitution.
About 60 women — ranging from elementary-school-age to grandmothers — have slept in the five-bedroom, four-level house for stays that average about a week. There's an online application for admission to the house, which is typically reserved for "core organizers," says Barnard College graduate Rae Abileah, 24, CODEPINK's local groups coordinator.
"It's like a sorority house but better," says Dana Balicki, a bright-eyed, 26-year-old who grew up in the San Fernando Valley and has been working for CODEPINK since getting involved "right before" the 2004 Republican National Convention.
And like a sorority, there's a house mother. Desiree Fairooz, a 50-year-old former librarian and schoolteacher who left behind her family in Arlington, Texas, to join the cause, is "our mama," Balicki says.
CODEPINK doesn't like the word "rules," Fairooz says, although there are a few house guidelines that include respecting yourself and embracing the "feminist/womanist principles" of "anti-racism" and "cooperation."
That's all good in theory, but how do roughly 20 women share two and a half bathrooms — yes, there are pink shower curtains — peaceably? Just fine, asserts Fairooz, noting that a 15-minute limit in the bathroom is suggested.
Food comes in part from donations — a local activist who collects bread for the needy also helps supply CODEPINKers. "We've been needy lately," Fairooz explains. There also are periodic runs to Costco, and everybody who stays at the house pays $5 per day into a general grocery fund. Given the short stays, the kitchen cupboards' contents are labeled for easy usage. Chores are a shared responsibility. A pink sign tacked to the dishwasher warns that the current load is "dirty."
CODEPINK co-founder Jodie Evans says the group — which emerged in the months leading up to the U.S. invasion of Iraq and whose name is a spoof on the Department of Homeland Security's color-coded threat level system — was inspired to lease the house after a group of CODEPINK activists had briefly rented a house on the Hill and found the "community" they shared there "nurturing." Having an official house, Evans adds, allows the group "to work closer together" and to respond "more quickly" to events around Washington. The $2,200-a-month rent is paid through member donations.
And the coolest room in the house? That's the basement "peace room," says 8-year-old Autumnrain Symphony, who arrived last week with her mom, Deidra Lynch, to take part in Mother's Day peace activities. "It's my favorite place," the bespectacled fourth-grader confides, before breaking out into a rendition of a protest song to the tune of "God Bless America." In the "peace room," Autumnrain says she can escape the other "crowded" rooms and play dress-up with the various costumes and props the group keeps for its demonstrations.
The costume choices are plentiful, notes Fairooz. For instance, she says, if CODEPINKers were headed to an event with embattled Attorney General Alberto Gonzales, they might "go as pink police" to show they wanted "to arrest him." There also are pink scrubs hanging from ceiling pipes — which are useful when offering prescriptions to lawmakers "to make America well," she says — and even a pink sequined "I Miss America" gown. In other parts of the room, pink tulle is wrapped around the ceiling pipes. A pink curtain attached to the ceiling doubles as a screen for movie nights. There also are stockpiles of paint and brushes for making signs.
It's in the "peace room" that nightly strategy sessions are held to discuss which Members and hearings to target the following day.
Being a female-dominated group, it's not surprising that tips on dressing also come up. "If you went to Gonzales and were wearing torture clothing, you would be appropriately dressed for the Judiciary" hearing later that day, Medea Benjamin, a CODEPINK co-founder, tells the assembled group Monday night. Abileah even models their new pink tunics, the fabric for which was donated by Danny DeVito's wife, Rhea Perlman.
So far, neighbors haven't minded the activity at the house, these women say One family brought a card with a $200 donation that represented part of its tax refund for the year. Another local woman painted scenes of Capitol Hill houses, which now adorn the walls of the house.
While the occasional man who stays at the house is generally relegated to the basement, several men have helped outfit the digs. One drove from Indianapolis to build the women bunk beds. Another bought them a rickshaw-style, pedaled cart, kept out back behind the house, to carry those who have trouble walking.
When the activists return in the evening after a day of "actions," the house serves as a place to regroup and network. Given the flow of people who drift in and out, a relatively low-key vibe dominates. In the tiny backyard — which features pink impatiens and geraniums — a male Army nurse who recently returned from service in Iraq hangs out with a cowboy hat-wearing Vietnam War-era veteran from Texas who sports a ponytail. Both men took part in an anti-war march earlier that day. Inside the house, Midge Potts, a self- described "transgender activist" who lives as a woman though she was born a man and who ran against then-House Majority Whip Roy Blunt (R-Mo.) in his GOP primary last summer, is on her cell phone organizing people to pick up those who were arrested while protesting that day. In an upstairs bedroom, women count the money they've collected to help bail out those who were arrested.
At the end of the day, lights-out times vary, says Evans, who works out of one of CODEPINK's California offices but stays at the house when in D.C. "We don't have to have rules. You have respect. You figure it out."
And anyhow, at least for the moment, the occupants appear to be mainly an early-rising crew. A few minutes before 8 a.m. Tuesday, several women pile into a car to head over to the National Press Club, where Gonzales is scheduled to headline a breakfast.
Just then, Lori Perdue, 38, stumbles into the kitchen yawning. "We were doing jail support till 5:30 a.m.," says the poet, mother of two and former Air Force radio broadcaster, who was inspired to join CODEPINK by Cindy Sheehan's anti-war activism.
Elizabeth Barger, a 71-year-old woman with long gray braids who lives on a cooperative farm in Tennessee, offers to make Perdue some eggs so she can get ready to take Barger to the Hill to look for Sen. Lamar Alexander (R-Tenn.). Barger has been through this before. She remembers marching against the Vietnam War and in earlier anti-violence protests in the 1970s, but this is worse, she believes. "We know better" now, she says.
So will CODEPINK renew its lease when it comes up next March?
Evans hopes the group doesn't have to.
"When that's up we hope the soldiers are home from Iraq," she says
Apply to join us at the CODEPINK House in DC today! Come for the actions or join a weeklong training. Full details: http://www.codepinkalert.org/article.php?list=type&type=302
Application:
http://www.codepinkalert.org/modinput4.php?modin=74
By Bree Hocking
Roll Call Staff
May 16, 2007
CODEPINK has staged anti-war demonstrations at the offices of Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) and Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton (D-N.Y.), disrupted committee hearings, chanted songs in Capitol Hill hallways and unfurled banners in the Hart Building.
But if some Members of Congress were hoping this female-led group would eventually go away, they'll be sorely disappointed.
Earlier this spring, after spotting a listing on Craigslist.org , CODEPINK signed a one-year lease on a row house near Union Station — giving the colorful group a semipermanent base of operation within walking distance of its intended audience.
"I hope [Members] are shaking in their boots," says 60-year-old Ann Wright, a retired U.S. Army colonel and diplomat, who resigned her post at the U.S. Embassy in Mongolia in protest against the war. Wright, who is now a full-time activist, frequently stays at the house when she's in Washington, D.C.
Aside from a CODEPINK bumper sticker on the front entrance and a feminine doormat out front, there isn't much to distinguish the rather nondescript brick walk-up at 712 Fifth St. NE from its neighbors. A lone green sign in the yard reads: "Impeach Him."
Inside, however, lies a veritable pink wonderland. Living room walls are papered in anti-war and anti-President Bush signs that have been used at protests. There's a communal computer for blogging and a TV nearly continuously turned to CNN or C-SPAN. A pink straw hat is perched on a lampshade. Pink feather boas hang from a row of hallway hooks. There's a board listing contact information for the current occupants of the House and a map with pushpins showing where they hail from. Another board lists potential targeted news conferences, briefings and hearings for each day. A bookshelf is stocked with copies of the Constitution.
About 60 women — ranging from elementary-school-age to grandmothers — have slept in the five-bedroom, four-level house for stays that average about a week. There's an online application for admission to the house, which is typically reserved for "core organizers," says Barnard College graduate Rae Abileah, 24, CODEPINK's local groups coordinator.
"It's like a sorority house but better," says Dana Balicki, a bright-eyed, 26-year-old who grew up in the San Fernando Valley and has been working for CODEPINK since getting involved "right before" the 2004 Republican National Convention.
And like a sorority, there's a house mother. Desiree Fairooz, a 50-year-old former librarian and schoolteacher who left behind her family in Arlington, Texas, to join the cause, is "our mama," Balicki says.
CODEPINK doesn't like the word "rules," Fairooz says, although there are a few house guidelines that include respecting yourself and embracing the "feminist/womanist principles" of "anti-racism" and "cooperation."
That's all good in theory, but how do roughly 20 women share two and a half bathrooms — yes, there are pink shower curtains — peaceably? Just fine, asserts Fairooz, noting that a 15-minute limit in the bathroom is suggested.
Food comes in part from donations — a local activist who collects bread for the needy also helps supply CODEPINKers. "We've been needy lately," Fairooz explains. There also are periodic runs to Costco, and everybody who stays at the house pays $5 per day into a general grocery fund. Given the short stays, the kitchen cupboards' contents are labeled for easy usage. Chores are a shared responsibility. A pink sign tacked to the dishwasher warns that the current load is "dirty."
CODEPINK co-founder Jodie Evans says the group — which emerged in the months leading up to the U.S. invasion of Iraq and whose name is a spoof on the Department of Homeland Security's color-coded threat level system — was inspired to lease the house after a group of CODEPINK activists had briefly rented a house on the Hill and found the "community" they shared there "nurturing." Having an official house, Evans adds, allows the group "to work closer together" and to respond "more quickly" to events around Washington. The $2,200-a-month rent is paid through member donations.
And the coolest room in the house? That's the basement "peace room," says 8-year-old Autumnrain Symphony, who arrived last week with her mom, Deidra Lynch, to take part in Mother's Day peace activities. "It's my favorite place," the bespectacled fourth-grader confides, before breaking out into a rendition of a protest song to the tune of "God Bless America." In the "peace room," Autumnrain says she can escape the other "crowded" rooms and play dress-up with the various costumes and props the group keeps for its demonstrations.
The costume choices are plentiful, notes Fairooz. For instance, she says, if CODEPINKers were headed to an event with embattled Attorney General Alberto Gonzales, they might "go as pink police" to show they wanted "to arrest him." There also are pink scrubs hanging from ceiling pipes — which are useful when offering prescriptions to lawmakers "to make America well," she says — and even a pink sequined "I Miss America" gown. In other parts of the room, pink tulle is wrapped around the ceiling pipes. A pink curtain attached to the ceiling doubles as a screen for movie nights. There also are stockpiles of paint and brushes for making signs.
It's in the "peace room" that nightly strategy sessions are held to discuss which Members and hearings to target the following day.
Being a female-dominated group, it's not surprising that tips on dressing also come up. "If you went to Gonzales and were wearing torture clothing, you would be appropriately dressed for the Judiciary" hearing later that day, Medea Benjamin, a CODEPINK co-founder, tells the assembled group Monday night. Abileah even models their new pink tunics, the fabric for which was donated by Danny DeVito's wife, Rhea Perlman.
So far, neighbors haven't minded the activity at the house, these women say One family brought a card with a $200 donation that represented part of its tax refund for the year. Another local woman painted scenes of Capitol Hill houses, which now adorn the walls of the house.
While the occasional man who stays at the house is generally relegated to the basement, several men have helped outfit the digs. One drove from Indianapolis to build the women bunk beds. Another bought them a rickshaw-style, pedaled cart, kept out back behind the house, to carry those who have trouble walking.
When the activists return in the evening after a day of "actions," the house serves as a place to regroup and network. Given the flow of people who drift in and out, a relatively low-key vibe dominates. In the tiny backyard — which features pink impatiens and geraniums — a male Army nurse who recently returned from service in Iraq hangs out with a cowboy hat-wearing Vietnam War-era veteran from Texas who sports a ponytail. Both men took part in an anti-war march earlier that day. Inside the house, Midge Potts, a self- described "transgender activist" who lives as a woman though she was born a man and who ran against then-House Majority Whip Roy Blunt (R-Mo.) in his GOP primary last summer, is on her cell phone organizing people to pick up those who were arrested while protesting that day. In an upstairs bedroom, women count the money they've collected to help bail out those who were arrested.
At the end of the day, lights-out times vary, says Evans, who works out of one of CODEPINK's California offices but stays at the house when in D.C. "We don't have to have rules. You have respect. You figure it out."
And anyhow, at least for the moment, the occupants appear to be mainly an early-rising crew. A few minutes before 8 a.m. Tuesday, several women pile into a car to head over to the National Press Club, where Gonzales is scheduled to headline a breakfast.
Just then, Lori Perdue, 38, stumbles into the kitchen yawning. "We were doing jail support till 5:30 a.m.," says the poet, mother of two and former Air Force radio broadcaster, who was inspired to join CODEPINK by Cindy Sheehan's anti-war activism.
Elizabeth Barger, a 71-year-old woman with long gray braids who lives on a cooperative farm in Tennessee, offers to make Perdue some eggs so she can get ready to take Barger to the Hill to look for Sen. Lamar Alexander (R-Tenn.). Barger has been through this before. She remembers marching against the Vietnam War and in earlier anti-violence protests in the 1970s, but this is worse, she believes. "We know better" now, she says.
So will CODEPINK renew its lease when it comes up next March?
Evans hopes the group doesn't have to.
"When that's up we hope the soldiers are home from Iraq," she says
Apply to join us at the CODEPINK House in DC today! Come for the actions or join a weeklong training. Full details: http://www.codepinkalert.org/article.php?list=type&type=302
Application:
http://www.codepinkalert.org/modinput4.php?modin=74
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The Battle Her of the Republic
As you may know, Julia Ward Howe wrote the Battle Hymn of the Republic as well as making the proclamation for a Mother's Day where women might get together to take counsel from each other so that we might have our sons (& daughters) no longer kill each other that we all now know simply as Mother's Day.
Here is a reworked version of the Battle Hymn of the Republic that is followed Julia Ward Howe's original Mother's Day Proclamation.
The Battle Her of the Republic
Originally written as The Battle Hymn of the Republic by Julia Ward Howe
Rewritten by Beth Osnes
Mine eyes have seen the need
for love and giving to grow strong
I have seen our hungry children
turned away for far too long
Mother‚s when will we assert what
we find right and we find wrong
Our truth has lost its way
Mine eyes have seen our virtues
blinded to us by our greed
We have bought and sold and scavenged
way beyond our real need
Now the poorest just grow poorer
while the richest just succeed
Our truth must find its way
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Sing loud our truth today!
(Refrain)
Not a gal standing before you
wants a war to solve our strife
We have seen the waste and bloodshed
from the workings of the knife
When vengeance is our path
then only hatred will be rife
Our truth can find its way
From our hands to corporations
Governments been bought and sold
We see the power transferred and
Can’t say we’ve not been told
But now its time for people over profit
People! Young and old!
Our truth will find its way
(Refrain)
I see a new tomorrow where the
seeds of hope grow strong
Where our voices sing out loud and
guide the struggle hard and long
But our joy will be the bounty of
well kids who all belong
Our truth is here to stay
Imagine food, health, safety for
our children one and all
Education, dignity in winter,
summer, spring and fall
Rise up you sleeping giant, Motherhood!
You’ve heard your call
Sing loud our truth today!
(Refrain ˆ 2 times!)
Here is a reworked version of the Battle Hymn of the Republic that is followed Julia Ward Howe's original Mother's Day Proclamation.
The Battle Her of the Republic
Originally written as The Battle Hymn of the Republic by Julia Ward Howe
Rewritten by Beth Osnes
Mine eyes have seen the need
for love and giving to grow strong
I have seen our hungry children
turned away for far too long
Mother‚s when will we assert what
we find right and we find wrong
Our truth has lost its way
Mine eyes have seen our virtues
blinded to us by our greed
We have bought and sold and scavenged
way beyond our real need
Now the poorest just grow poorer
while the richest just succeed
Our truth must find its way
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Sing loud our truth today!
(Refrain)
Not a gal standing before you
wants a war to solve our strife
We have seen the waste and bloodshed
from the workings of the knife
When vengeance is our path
then only hatred will be rife
Our truth can find its way
From our hands to corporations
Governments been bought and sold
We see the power transferred and
Can’t say we’ve not been told
But now its time for people over profit
People! Young and old!
Our truth will find its way
(Refrain)
I see a new tomorrow where the
seeds of hope grow strong
Where our voices sing out loud and
guide the struggle hard and long
But our joy will be the bounty of
well kids who all belong
Our truth is here to stay
Imagine food, health, safety for
our children one and all
Education, dignity in winter,
summer, spring and fall
Rise up you sleeping giant, Motherhood!
You’ve heard your call
Sing loud our truth today!
(Refrain ˆ 2 times!)
|
CODEPINK in Senate Hearings -- CODEPINK in the Heartland
See what it is like with CODEPINK at a hearing. This is very much like my experience when I was in hearings in Jan -Feb of this year -- except the police appear to not be arresting or tossing out quite as readily as they were when we were first there.
Lest we forget, these are just normal women. Liz from Phoenix. Lori from Indianapolis. Sue and Nina from NW Indiana. The current peace movement has spread into and grown deep roots in the heartland. The peace movement has always been in Indiana due to the presence of significant religious peace-oriented communities, and now is no different. Fort Wayne has peaceful activists from North Manchster, Indiana being arrested in Lugar's office. Hammond has activists outside Bayh's office being arrested for reading the names of the Indiana War dead.
These photos are from the Hammond action outside Bayh's office.
We are not going away. We're just Jane Six Pack and we we're taking our country back.
Lest we forget, these are just normal women. Liz from Phoenix. Lori from Indianapolis. Sue and Nina from NW Indiana. The current peace movement has spread into and grown deep roots in the heartland. The peace movement has always been in Indiana due to the presence of significant religious peace-oriented communities, and now is no different. Fort Wayne has peaceful activists from North Manchster, Indiana being arrested in Lugar's office. Hammond has activists outside Bayh's office being arrested for reading the names of the Indiana War dead.
These photos are from the Hammond action outside Bayh's office.
We are not going away. We're just Jane Six Pack and we we're taking our country back.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
These Senators KNEW!!
These senators knew the true story per Iraq before we went to war -- I hope every single one of their offices are flooded with calls expressing outrage and asking for impeachment of Bush and Cheney -- and asking for an apology from all committee members.
Or better yet -- get your fannies to their offices and demand accountablility as pink friends in Indiana will be doing tomorrow at Bayh's office. Bayh, Feinstein, Rockefeller, Edwards are very special cases as they are Democrats who voted in committee with the Republicans to go to war despite knowing that the case for war is a lie.
This reprinted from The News Hole for educational/informational purposes only.
Where Were You People
When We Needed You?
Posted: Friday, April 27, 2007 12:15 PM by Countdown
Some of what we're working on for tonight...
Former CIA Director George J. Tenet has a new book out, so apparently he's in the clear now to begin telling us some of the truth about how the administration got us into the Iraq war. In the book, titled “At the Center of the Storm,” Tenet says “There was never a serious debate that I know of within the administration about the imminence of the Iraqi threat,” nor, “was there ever a significant discussion” about the possibility of containing Iraq without an invasion.
Tenet complains in the book, and in an upcoming 60 Minutes interview, that the administration misused and twisted his "slam dunk" comment about the evidence of WMD in Iraq to justify the invasion, then later to deflect blame to Tenet and the CIA when the weapons were not found.
It didn't stop him from later accepting the Presidential Medal of Freedom (above), though he says in the book, he was "not at all sure he wanted to accept" it.
But he did.
On the TODAY show, White House lawyer Dan Bartlett was the designated hatchet man sent out to discredit yet another adminstration official with a dangerous book. Bartlett said, "I am a bit confused by that because we have never indicated the president made the sole decision based on that 'slam dunk' comment."
But in fact, they did "indicate that." Vice President Dick Cheney on Meet The Press September 10, 2006, told Tim Russert"
"when George Tenet sat in the Oval Office and the president of the United States asked him directly, he said, 'George, how good is the case against Saddam on weapons of mass destruction?' the director of the CIA said, 'It’s a slam dunk, Mr. President, it’s a slam dunk.' That was the intelligence that was provided to us at the time, and based upon which we made a choice."Much more on this tonight, along with the amazing statement of Democratic Senator Richard Durbin, who said this week that he knew the American people were being lied to in the run-up to the Iraq war, but kept quiet about it, because due to his position on the Senate Intelligence Committee, he was sworn to secrecy.
The White House has always said that the Congress voted to go to war based on the same intelligence the president had, but Durbin says that is simply not true.
"The information we had in the Intelligence Committee was not the same information being given to the American people. I couldn't believe it," Durbin said Wednesday.
"I was angry about it. (But) frankly, I couldn't do much about it because, in the Intelligence Committee, we are sworn to secrecy. We can't walk outside the door and say the statement made yesterday by the White House is in direct contradiction to classified information that is being given to this Congress."
Something could have been done. Something should have been done. And while the failures of these two men pale in comarison to those of the administration that used them, we find it difficult to celebrate the forthrightness of Tenet and Durbin, who both suddenly found candor four and a half years too late.
Adding... this is the rest of the membersip of the Senate Intelligence Committee at the time, each of whom - according to Durbin - would have known that the American people were being lied to (includes how they voted on the Iraq war resolution)
Democrats Republicans
 | Bob Graham, Florida Chairman (Nay) | | Richard C. Shelby, Alabama Vice Chairman (Yea) |
| Carl Levin, Michigan (Nay) | | Jon Kyl, Arizona (Yea) |
| John D. Rockefeller IV , West Virginia (Yea) | | James M. Inhofe, Oklahoma (Yea) |
| Dianne Feinstein, California (Yea) | | Orrin G. Hatch, Utah (Yea) |
| Ron Wyden, Oregon (Nay) | | Pat Roberts , Kansas (Yea) |
| Richard Durbin, Illinois (Nay) | | Mike DeWine, Ohio (Yea) |
| Evan Bayh, Indiana (Yea) | | Fred Thompson, Tennessee (Yea) |
| John Edwards, North Carolina (Yea) | | Richard G. Lugar, Indiana (Yea) |
| Barbara A. Mikulski, Maryland (Nay) |
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Media finally covering women's voices against war.
I am so proud of the pink women! Finally the message we carry is being heard beyond our own non-amplified voices.
I am including an email I received this morning.
Peacemakers,
As debate continues to heat up over Iraq, CODEPINK's message is more and more in the news! Liz from Arizona's photo came out in ROLL CALL in the PINK POLICE outfit and this morning she is being interviewed on FOX. Dana (NY) will be on CNN tonite and Medea continues to do many radio and tv interviews both national and international.
We all need to be so brave!
Des in DC
So many women doing what needs to be done. Like always, it is up to us. If we want it done we have to do it. Des is from Texas, Liz from AZ and Dana from New York. When women initiated movements arise the populace should listen -- listening is difficult when voices are silenced. It is heartening that the movement has grown to a size that can no longer be ignored by national media. Listening is easier for large groups when there is amplification. This gives me some cause for hope.
I am including an email I received this morning.
Peacemakers,
As debate continues to heat up over Iraq, CODEPINK's message is more and more in the news! Liz from Arizona's photo came out in ROLL CALL in the PINK POLICE outfit and this morning she is being interviewed on FOX. Dana (NY) will be on CNN tonite and Medea continues to do many radio and tv interviews both national and international.
We all need to be so brave!
Des in DC
So many women doing what needs to be done. Like always, it is up to us. If we want it done we have to do it. Des is from Texas, Liz from AZ and Dana from New York. When women initiated movements arise the populace should listen -- listening is difficult when voices are silenced. It is heartening that the movement has grown to a size that can no longer be ignored by national media. Listening is easier for large groups when there is amplification. This gives me some cause for hope.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
And MORE of Liz in Arundhati Roy's documentation of CP in DC
13 April 2007: You Snooze, You Lose
I am often nostalgic for my childhood sleeping habits, which were as close to nonexistent as I could manage in the face of stern parental supervision. How I could never sleep and never run out of energy continues to puzzle me to this day, when almost nothing beats a good night's sleep—given the choice between sleep and sex, I'd have to have a written guarantee of the quality of the latter.
Today, however, I regret my passion for the pillow. After the mental, psychological and emotional stress—rewarding, but also taxing—of yesterday's assault on the senate, followed by our up-late debrief and wind down, I was ready for a big sleep. When Melissa told Desiree and Liz about the 4th Annual National Catholic Prayer Breakfast (the Hilton, 1919 Connecticut Ave NW) Friday morning—with Pres Dubya as the keynote speaker—my response was less than enthusiastic.
"What time?" I asked skeptically.
"8 am," grinned Liz, who never sleeps.
"Er, that's probably a 'no'," I shuddered.
So when I waked to the elephants tromping above and below, and glanced at my watch—7:30 am—I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow, sighing in the comfort of the bed and with relief to hear the front door bang shut, leaving behind … blessed silence.
An hour later, however, I could no longer sleep. The house was quiet, the bed warm, and I comfortable and unaccountably content. It occurred to me that perhaps my depression was lifting for the first time in years, and that's why I didn't feel the need to hide from the world as long as possible. At this cheery thought, I rose and went downstairs for coffee (thoughtfully left hot and ready by Desiree) and had just enough time to settle into a chair and boot up my computer before a crash bang at the door and the entrance of a triumphant Desiree and Liz.
"I got in!" Desiree was gleeful. "I called him war criminal!"
Liz carried huge 4x3 blow ups of photos of Iraqi war victims, framed in pink, with "Honk for Peace" on the back. She grinned. "Excellent feedback on the street," she assured me.
I was bummed to have missed it, especially after the stories they told. Liz, totally Pinked Out, stayed outside to confront foot and car traffic; Desiree actually got into the ballroom. Here are their stories as told to (and envied by) me.
Both (together or interrupting each other): We got up at about 5:45 [this is after going to bed at 2—what kind of adrenaline do these women have?]. Liz dressed in the Pink Police Uniform, consisting of a pink button down with "Pink Police" in black letters on the back, over a pink T-shirt with "Impeach Bush" on the front; Des wore a navy business suit. We took the Metro to Dupont Circle and walked to the front of the Hilton, where we split up, Liz outside with Desiree attempting to infiltrate the event.
Liz: Where I stood on the sidewalk, the police came right up to me and said "You can't be here, please go across the street."
I told them, "I always stand here, but out of respect for you I will cross the street." I stood in the median with "Honk for Peace" and these blown up photos of Iraqi victims of war, bloody, holding dead children—very powerful. I set up the pics around a light pole so they were visible from every angle.
I was there for about 45 minutes. People walked past with coffee on way to and from work. They were locals and visitors—the feedback was excellent, people came over to thank me. Some of them asked, "What's going on, who's there?" I answered, "The Commander in Thief and liar is in there." A few people took pictures, one tourist lady from Texas. Police watched closely but didn't harass me.
I shouted, "Support our troops—bring them home" and "Stop funding for war." Being in the median was actually better as more people could see me.
I got a lot of honks—from cabs, bus drivers, people in Mercedes. A few "one fingered salutes". I'm sure the president drove right by me …
Des came out after some time and we joined forces. It was just the two of us; that's all it takes for a successful action. One person can make a huge difference
Desiree: We carried these big signs, hiked up to the Hilton, then split when we got there—Liz was obviously Code Pink and I wasn't.
I walked through the lobby determined to get in—it was the same location as AFL-CIO conference a couple of weeks ago that we tried to get into, so I was familiar with the layout. I checked the electronic marquis to see where breakfast was, then went around corner, down the stairs, and saw the registration table.
There was no one around, so I set the posters down and went to registration desk. The lady couldn't find my registration. I told her I had registered online with Christine Grabosky. She asked for my receipt. I said, "Oh, there's a cost?" She said yes, $60, and offered to sell me a ticket right there. I thought for about 2 seconds, then said OK, and pulled out debit card.
I proceeded down hall, where I called Liz to come get the posters— we passed covertly and I whispered out of corner of mouth, "They're behind the bench"
At the entrance to the big ballroom were 12 Capitol Police with wands and metal detectors. I thought Oh shit, I've got all this Pink stuff in my bag. They opened it up and found all the Code Pink buttons and pink police uniforms. One officer looked down and stifled a smile. "What have you got planned today?" he asked in a conspiratorial tone.
"Oh," I said, feigning surprise, "I'm not going to use that."
He shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, you can't bring that stuff in here," he told me—so I called Liz to come pick up that bag too. By the time I got back, they were disassembling the detectors and stuff. I went downstairs to big ballroom with tables and about 1000 people. I was the only person at Table 12, 2 tables away from Press.
After five minutes, the woman who sold me ticket—probably alerted by the police—came over and asked me to leave. "I made a mistake," she said, "I shouldn't have sold you that ticket."
"Well, I paid my $60 and I have every right to be here. I'm a Catholic and I'm not leaving." About 7 different people came to encourage me to leave. I told them, "I purchased a ticket and I'm going to stand on the table and scream discrimination." We'd just finished Pledge of Allegiance and it was quiet. I was speaking a little louder than normal, and everyone started looking at me, including the media. They left me alone, but a woman with an earpiece came and sat at the table with me.
I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "You know, if you didn't have war criminals as your invited guests, you wouldn't have these problems."
Bush started speaking—he made some joke about it being the Friday after Lent which meant that Catholics could eat their bacon with a clear conscience. I didn't see any bacon—on my table there was nothing but muffins and some juice. Bush said he was sorry that Laura wasn't there because she represents his family better than he does. His remarks were brief, only about 10 mins, and it wasn't until he was wrapping up that I realized it was almost over.
I pulled out my copy of the constitution and the press started taking pictures of me. I stood up and shouted "War criminal" and walked in front of the press, saying what a shame to have a war criminal speaking. "Thou shalt not kill."
Security came to escort me out, but I walked faster than they did—nobody did anything to me—and I merged with press traffic who were speeding out to be ready for Bush's exit. The line led past a line of black SUVs with their windows down and what looked like machine guns pointing at me—I asked them if they were proud to serve a war criminal.
I dashed out, grabbed a poster from Liz and ran back to where a pair of nuns were coming out. I held up the photo of a mother weeping into her veil, holding her bloody child. "Sisters, sisters, how could you have breakfast with a war criminal?" I shouted. I was only four feet in front of them and saw their shocked, "deer in the headlights" look. In retrospect, I think I scared them and feel a little bit bad.
There was a family coming out of hotel—I showed it to them and said "This is your president's shock and awe." The grandmother took pictures, then said, "You disgust me."
"What's disgusting is this, ma'am," I told her, then went to join Liz.
POSTSCRIPT: Back at the house, Desire went to www.catholicprayerbreakfast.com and had a look at the Security Memo, which included:
· There will be NO physical tickets this year. We will have a master list with names available at the door.
· If you purchased a table and have not submitted your list of table guests – you must inform each of your guests regarding the table number.
· If we do not have your guests [sic] name on our master list they will be allowed entrance ONLY IF they know their table assignment.
· If guests do not know their table assignment and they are not on our master list, they will be denied entrance to the breakfast. All table guest lists must be submitted no later than Wednesday, April 11 at 5:00 pm.
· Due to security concerns related to a Presidential event, and with the possibility of chilly weather, we offer the following very important instructions:
· • Please arrive by 6:00 am to allow ample time to get through security.
· • Please DO NOT bring any bags, backpacks, or packages to the event. Cameras and small purses are permitted.
· • You MUST bring Government issued photo identification.
· • Business or dressy attire is required. Those not properly attired will not be granted admittance and a full refund will be provided.
Said Des: If I had read this the night before, I probably never would've tried to get in. It all goes to show that spontaneity and intuition take you a long way at chipping away at the war machine—it's not as difficult to get to them as you might think.
"We be many and they be few." —Arundhati Roy
I am often nostalgic for my childhood sleeping habits, which were as close to nonexistent as I could manage in the face of stern parental supervision. How I could never sleep and never run out of energy continues to puzzle me to this day, when almost nothing beats a good night's sleep—given the choice between sleep and sex, I'd have to have a written guarantee of the quality of the latter.
Today, however, I regret my passion for the pillow. After the mental, psychological and emotional stress—rewarding, but also taxing—of yesterday's assault on the senate, followed by our up-late debrief and wind down, I was ready for a big sleep. When Melissa told Desiree and Liz about the 4th Annual National Catholic Prayer Breakfast (the Hilton, 1919 Connecticut Ave NW) Friday morning—with Pres Dubya as the keynote speaker—my response was less than enthusiastic.
"What time?" I asked skeptically.
"8 am," grinned Liz, who never sleeps.
"Er, that's probably a 'no'," I shuddered.
So when I waked to the elephants tromping above and below, and glanced at my watch—7:30 am—I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow, sighing in the comfort of the bed and with relief to hear the front door bang shut, leaving behind … blessed silence.
An hour later, however, I could no longer sleep. The house was quiet, the bed warm, and I comfortable and unaccountably content. It occurred to me that perhaps my depression was lifting for the first time in years, and that's why I didn't feel the need to hide from the world as long as possible. At this cheery thought, I rose and went downstairs for coffee (thoughtfully left hot and ready by Desiree) and had just enough time to settle into a chair and boot up my computer before a crash bang at the door and the entrance of a triumphant Desiree and Liz.
"I got in!" Desiree was gleeful. "I called him war criminal!"
Liz carried huge 4x3 blow ups of photos of Iraqi war victims, framed in pink, with "Honk for Peace" on the back. She grinned. "Excellent feedback on the street," she assured me.
I was bummed to have missed it, especially after the stories they told. Liz, totally Pinked Out, stayed outside to confront foot and car traffic; Desiree actually got into the ballroom. Here are their stories as told to (and envied by) me.
Both (together or interrupting each other): We got up at about 5:45 [this is after going to bed at 2—what kind of adrenaline do these women have?]. Liz dressed in the Pink Police Uniform, consisting of a pink button down with "Pink Police" in black letters on the back, over a pink T-shirt with "Impeach Bush" on the front; Des wore a navy business suit. We took the Metro to Dupont Circle and walked to the front of the Hilton, where we split up, Liz outside with Desiree attempting to infiltrate the event.
Liz: Where I stood on the sidewalk, the police came right up to me and said "You can't be here, please go across the street."
I told them, "I always stand here, but out of respect for you I will cross the street." I stood in the median with "Honk for Peace" and these blown up photos of Iraqi victims of war, bloody, holding dead children—very powerful. I set up the pics around a light pole so they were visible from every angle.
I was there for about 45 minutes. People walked past with coffee on way to and from work. They were locals and visitors—the feedback was excellent, people came over to thank me. Some of them asked, "What's going on, who's there?" I answered, "The Commander in Thief and liar is in there." A few people took pictures, one tourist lady from Texas. Police watched closely but didn't harass me.
I shouted, "Support our troops—bring them home" and "Stop funding for war." Being in the median was actually better as more people could see me.
I got a lot of honks—from cabs, bus drivers, people in Mercedes. A few "one fingered salutes". I'm sure the president drove right by me …
Des came out after some time and we joined forces. It was just the two of us; that's all it takes for a successful action. One person can make a huge difference
Desiree: We carried these big signs, hiked up to the Hilton, then split when we got there—Liz was obviously Code Pink and I wasn't.
I walked through the lobby determined to get in—it was the same location as AFL-CIO conference a couple of weeks ago that we tried to get into, so I was familiar with the layout. I checked the electronic marquis to see where breakfast was, then went around corner, down the stairs, and saw the registration table.
There was no one around, so I set the posters down and went to registration desk. The lady couldn't find my registration. I told her I had registered online with Christine Grabosky. She asked for my receipt. I said, "Oh, there's a cost?" She said yes, $60, and offered to sell me a ticket right there. I thought for about 2 seconds, then said OK, and pulled out debit card.
I proceeded down hall, where I called Liz to come get the posters— we passed covertly and I whispered out of corner of mouth, "They're behind the bench"
At the entrance to the big ballroom were 12 Capitol Police with wands and metal detectors. I thought Oh shit, I've got all this Pink stuff in my bag. They opened it up and found all the Code Pink buttons and pink police uniforms. One officer looked down and stifled a smile. "What have you got planned today?" he asked in a conspiratorial tone.
"Oh," I said, feigning surprise, "I'm not going to use that."
He shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, you can't bring that stuff in here," he told me—so I called Liz to come pick up that bag too. By the time I got back, they were disassembling the detectors and stuff. I went downstairs to big ballroom with tables and about 1000 people. I was the only person at Table 12, 2 tables away from Press.
After five minutes, the woman who sold me ticket—probably alerted by the police—came over and asked me to leave. "I made a mistake," she said, "I shouldn't have sold you that ticket."
"Well, I paid my $60 and I have every right to be here. I'm a Catholic and I'm not leaving." About 7 different people came to encourage me to leave. I told them, "I purchased a ticket and I'm going to stand on the table and scream discrimination." We'd just finished Pledge of Allegiance and it was quiet. I was speaking a little louder than normal, and everyone started looking at me, including the media. They left me alone, but a woman with an earpiece came and sat at the table with me.
I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "You know, if you didn't have war criminals as your invited guests, you wouldn't have these problems."
Bush started speaking—he made some joke about it being the Friday after Lent which meant that Catholics could eat their bacon with a clear conscience. I didn't see any bacon—on my table there was nothing but muffins and some juice. Bush said he was sorry that Laura wasn't there because she represents his family better than he does. His remarks were brief, only about 10 mins, and it wasn't until he was wrapping up that I realized it was almost over.
I pulled out my copy of the constitution and the press started taking pictures of me. I stood up and shouted "War criminal" and walked in front of the press, saying what a shame to have a war criminal speaking. "Thou shalt not kill."
Security came to escort me out, but I walked faster than they did—nobody did anything to me—and I merged with press traffic who were speeding out to be ready for Bush's exit. The line led past a line of black SUVs with their windows down and what looked like machine guns pointing at me—I asked them if they were proud to serve a war criminal.
I dashed out, grabbed a poster from Liz and ran back to where a pair of nuns were coming out. I held up the photo of a mother weeping into her veil, holding her bloody child. "Sisters, sisters, how could you have breakfast with a war criminal?" I shouted. I was only four feet in front of them and saw their shocked, "deer in the headlights" look. In retrospect, I think I scared them and feel a little bit bad.
There was a family coming out of hotel—I showed it to them and said "This is your president's shock and awe." The grandmother took pictures, then said, "You disgust me."
"What's disgusting is this, ma'am," I told her, then went to join Liz.
POSTSCRIPT: Back at the house, Desire went to www.catholicprayerbreakfast.com and had a look at the Security Memo, which included:
· There will be NO physical tickets this year. We will have a master list with names available at the door.
· If you purchased a table and have not submitted your list of table guests – you must inform each of your guests regarding the table number.
· If we do not have your guests [sic] name on our master list they will be allowed entrance ONLY IF they know their table assignment.
· If guests do not know their table assignment and they are not on our master list, they will be denied entrance to the breakfast. All table guest lists must be submitted no later than Wednesday, April 11 at 5:00 pm.
· Due to security concerns related to a Presidential event, and with the possibility of chilly weather, we offer the following very important instructions:
· • Please arrive by 6:00 am to allow ample time to get through security.
· • Please DO NOT bring any bags, backpacks, or packages to the event. Cameras and small purses are permitted.
· • You MUST bring Government issued photo identification.
· • Business or dressy attire is required. Those not properly attired will not be granted admittance and a full refund will be provided.
Said Des: If I had read this the night before, I probably never would've tried to get in. It all goes to show that spontaneity and intuition take you a long way at chipping away at the war machine—it's not as difficult to get to them as you might think.
"We be many and they be few." —Arundhati Roy
Arundhati Roy mentions Liz too!
From and email forwarded to me:
"12 April 2007
Yesterday I drove up from my Mom's house in Tidewater Virginia to Washington to work with Code Pink for Peace. I've lived outside the US for the majority of the last 15 years, watching from afar; for the last five years (since Sept 11), I've been angry, depressed, stressed, anxious, and sad. My energy level dropped, I found it hard to get out of bed mornings, and my only passion came from ranting in chatrooms about how the US was fucking up the world and why weren't lazy, complacent US people doing something about that war criminal, election thief, George Bush.
After 2 months of living back in the US and dealing with the everyday issues of unaffordable health care, transportation, work and job search issues, being underpaid at the parttime job I have—not to mention bored out of my mind—I began to understand/remember why US folks have such a hard time being politically engaged and active. Their lives and minds are so full of trivia, stress, and things that make them afraid, informing themselves about the US's role in Iraq and the world is just too much stress to add to an already overloaded plate. My uncle has mesothelioma from 10 years in the Newport News shipyard; he had a lung removed and now he and his family are debate the pros and cons of debilitating chemotherapy. Other relatives have children and grandchildren with money, childcare, health and psychological issues. Both Mom and Dad (divorced) are constantly stressed about the cost of living—although they own their houses, their incomes are so modest that they have constant money worries about maintaining their houses, insurance, cars, etc. Both are also getting older, and because they live in a rural area with no public transit, I don't know how they will maintain their independence when they're too old to drive and can't get out to buy groceries and go to the doctor and other places they need to go.
So by the time Jodie called and asked me to come up and work with Code Pink on this action, I was about halfway to the level of angst and complacency that has affected so many people in this country. Getting stuck on I95 50 miles outside of Washington for four hours because of an accident did nothing to create a sense of optimism and hope. By the time I got to Falls Church it was 8:30 pm. Having been in the car since 2:30, I decided to treat myself to a frappicino at Starbucks and ask directions into Washington.
The guy behind the counter asked me how my day was and, too tired and discouraged even to rant, I gave him a brief synopsis in a flat, emotionless voice. "Oh, that sucks," he said sympathetically. "No, it's on me," he added, when I pulled out my money. "After a day like that, you deserve something nice."
That was the beginning of a complete change in my outlook. Even though it took me another two hours to get to 712 5 th St NE—in the dark, and unfamiliar with the bridge system into DC, I took the "scenic tour" through National Airport, up the George Washington Parkway; I then got a fairly thorough, if repetitive tour, of the entire NORTHWEST section of DC, before finding the alley behind the Code Pink house. As I pulled into the parking space, Desiree (who had been ringing my mobile phone and checking on my progress regularly) rang again to tell me, "We were getting worried." She stepped out the back door, pulled me inside, and I was immediately enveloped in the warm PINKNESS of the house and the movement that these extraordinary women have created.
Desiree, Liz and Janine watched the day's CSPAN report on a National Guard and Reserve Appropriations subcommittee meeting, which they had attended. The three women laughed gleefully at their two-fingered peace signs dancing roguishly above the shoulders of various members of the military who, unaware of their adornments, reported their findings with serious faces and authoritative voices. "Look, bunny ears" … "they look like earrings" … "there I am … no, there you are" the Pinkers shrieked with delight. They praised the effectiveness of Senator Patty Murray's insightful questions, shouted in frustration at another senator's repetitive rhetoric while they cut, punched, wrote and ribboned props for the next day's action. After a delicious bowl of lentils and cup of fruit and yogurt that Desiree had saved for me from dinner (no, Mom, I didn't eat my greens L ), I joined their work.
We cut out tiny stick-on versions of the now-famous Code Pink "Don't Buy Bush's War" ( www.codepinkalert.org) banner that adorns the living room wall. If you haven't seen it, figures of a skull, tank and warplane spill from a shopping cart, shooting out flames, careening across a shocking pink landscape in front of the Capitol Building. The cartoon shapes in the cart and the hot, garish colors could be fun, even playful and childlike, if not for the menacing black and grey figures of doom and destruction. It is, instead, confronting.
After cutting out the stickers, we wrote the names of senators on the supplemental war funding committee on the back, along with the statistics from their state about the war: Dead, wounded, and financial cost to each state (sources, www.ips-dc.org and www.icasualties.org ). I was shocked at the 294 dead from Texas, and 341 from California—numbers that had risen by as much as 50 since October 2006. We then punched a hole in each sticker and attached, with pink ribbon, tiny green toy soldiers. Our message? War is not a game, US soldiers are not toys—stop playing power games with them and bring the troops home NOW.
You have to realize that I had never met any of these women before, yet I felt instant sisterhood. All around my age (that is, not young—but how not young I do not feel obligated to reveal here), they were obviously committed, passionate—and informed. This was new for me, having spent so many years outside the US, and the last 2 months in a town and around family who thought Ronald Reagan was the salvation of this country. We stayed up til 1:30 (sans drugs or alcohol), cutting, punching, tying ribbons and talking.
"We can sleep in tomorrow," Liz commented as we climbed the stairs to our rooms.
"Yeah?" I said. "How late?" expecting an 11 o'clock wake up call.
"Oh, Gael's not coming til at least 9."
At 7:30 am, I waked to the sounds of obvious activity above and below me (the house has 3 floors and a basement which had, in the night, flooded). In the chaos of landlady, calls to plumbers, arrival of Gael and Melissa, I grabbed and hoarded a cup of coffee in the quietest part of the house I could find. And even that unpeaceful peace was shattered when someone turned on the TV, people began issuing directions and suggestions in authoritative tones, and mobile phones began to ring. I was reminded of my days back in the 80s, when I was an organizer with NYPIRG at SUNY Stonybrook. Every morning at 8 am, as I struggled to organize my day in the basement office of the student union, the group next door would open their doors and crank the stereo as high as it went, blasting Guns 'n' Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle." My first morning at the Code Pink house was like that, only without the testosterone.
By 10:45, dressed in as much pink as our bodies could carry, we jumped the white Subaru belonging to Gael (who, unPC as it may be, smokes. Hooray for foibles in our heroes) and headed to the senate offices. In the car, we practiced Desiree's song, "Take us out of this war game" (sung to the tune of "Take me out to the ball game") and double checked the cards with fact sheets about the human and financial costs of the war. I frankly, had no idea what we would be doing. I'd been to dozens of marches and rallies in Washington and my homes; had organized events and participated in guerilla theatre; staged fundraisers and coordinated letter-writing campaigns. I knew about delegation visits, but I'd never been on one.
Apparently, Code Pink's eye-catching regalia has a reputation in the hallowed halls of the senate. People smiled and spoke, or grimaced and avoided eye-contact, depending on their reception to our message. Our first visit was to Senator Carl Levin, a fervent supporter of our peace message. His chief of staff was receptive, apologetic, defensive, and resigned, in that order. "You're preaching to the converted!" he insisted to Gael's unrelenting demands that the senator push harder for NO MORE funding, and bringing the troops home this year. I watched with astonishment as Gael and Liz pressured chiefs of staff, legislative directors, and various aids with our message—without once crossing the boundaries of mutual respect and appreciation.
Even in staunch pro-military, fund-the-troops, up-the-surge Senator McCain's office, where we got into a heated debate with his active-duty intern, we parted with handshakes and thanks for our opposing perspectives. In the morning meetings, our warm receptions were probably t influenced by our coalition with three Iraqi Veterans Against the War members. One of them, Jeff Millard, argued several senior senator staffers into corners Clarence Darrow would've been hard pressed to get out of. In addition to being polite, articulate and passionate, Millard used specifics of his tours of Iraq and his treatment from VA hospitals to drive home points few could argue with. He spoke of casualty numbers who were names and friends to him; of troop awareness of the futility of the operation more than two years ago; of how March's troop surge in Iraq had resulted in more US than Iraqi security forces deaths for the first month since the war began; of the year-long waiting list for his knee surgery from a VA hospital and the fact that, because it is an active duty, not VA hospital, the Walter Reed scandal has no bearing on his care and that of his veteran friends. As anyone familiar with Ron Kovac's story knows, returning war veterans—young men and now women who have risked life and often lost limbs in service to their country—have, since Vietnam, been shamefully neglected by that very country on returning home.
Later in the day, in order to reach all of our senate targets, we split into two groups. Desiree and I were not as successful in meeting with high-level staff in the—mostly republican—offices that we visited. Low-level aides' and receptionists' responses ranged from disinterested smirks to sympathetic but not particularly helpful. Following the example of my more experienced colleagues, however, we smiled and tried to connect on a personal level, asking about Mississippi's continued recovery from Katrina and complimenting the rustic, authentic Tennessee décor of Senator Lamar Alexander's office.
The highlight of my day, however, was our visit to the office of Senator Patty Murray. The legendary "Mom in tennis shoes" turned her senator's snide remark all those years ago into impetus to run against and replace him as senator from Washington. Desiree and I grinned in surprise as a senior aide appeared and asked us to sit and talk with him. He listened attentively to our concerns, answered our questions, and gave us assurances that Senator Murray would continue as much as possible to push for troop withdrawal— and appropriate confirmation of soldiers' fitness for duty before returning them to combat, one of her pet issues.
We caught up with Melissa, Liz, Janine, Jeff and Joan (whom I'd spoken to on the phone but not yet met) for several final triumphant meetings with legislative directors and senior aides in the offices of Senators Lautenberg, Kohl and Domenici. Even after 5 pm, each gave us a warm reception and sincere hearing of our issues.
Exhausted but elated, we headed back to the Code Pink house in the misty falling dusk, where Desiree whipped up excellent enchiladas with salad and rice, and we discussed personal issues—my former life in Australia, Melissa's upcoming road trip to New York, and family. Now I sit in the living room under that brave, confronting banner, full of optimism. I am still worried—when will the troops come home? What will happen when they leave Iraq? When will Jeff get his knee surgery? What about all the thousands of young men and women who, because of modern medicine, survived this war when they wouldn't have survived earlier ones, but with devastating injuries that will need care for the rest of their lives? What about the impending environmental crisis? Will the Democrats find the courage to stand up to Bush? Will the US people find the hope to force our government to our will, rather than the other way around?
But one thing I know: Code Pink will continue to speak truth to power, to push the hesitant, encourage the weak, and cheer on the righteous in government to a more accountable, just, and, in the end, democratic society. They've given me the impetus and the optimism to become one of them—because they have restored the thing I didn't know I'd lost until I got it back today: Hope.
"Remember, we be many and they be few. … Not only is another world possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing."
—Arundhati Roy "
"12 April 2007
Yesterday I drove up from my Mom's house in Tidewater Virginia to Washington to work with Code Pink for Peace. I've lived outside the US for the majority of the last 15 years, watching from afar; for the last five years (since Sept 11), I've been angry, depressed, stressed, anxious, and sad. My energy level dropped, I found it hard to get out of bed mornings, and my only passion came from ranting in chatrooms about how the US was fucking up the world and why weren't lazy, complacent US people doing something about that war criminal, election thief, George Bush.
After 2 months of living back in the US and dealing with the everyday issues of unaffordable health care, transportation, work and job search issues, being underpaid at the parttime job I have—not to mention bored out of my mind—I began to understand/remember why US folks have such a hard time being politically engaged and active. Their lives and minds are so full of trivia, stress, and things that make them afraid, informing themselves about the US's role in Iraq and the world is just too much stress to add to an already overloaded plate. My uncle has mesothelioma from 10 years in the Newport News shipyard; he had a lung removed and now he and his family are debate the pros and cons of debilitating chemotherapy. Other relatives have children and grandchildren with money, childcare, health and psychological issues. Both Mom and Dad (divorced) are constantly stressed about the cost of living—although they own their houses, their incomes are so modest that they have constant money worries about maintaining their houses, insurance, cars, etc. Both are also getting older, and because they live in a rural area with no public transit, I don't know how they will maintain their independence when they're too old to drive and can't get out to buy groceries and go to the doctor and other places they need to go.
So by the time Jodie called and asked me to come up and work with Code Pink on this action, I was about halfway to the level of angst and complacency that has affected so many people in this country. Getting stuck on I95 50 miles outside of Washington for four hours because of an accident did nothing to create a sense of optimism and hope. By the time I got to Falls Church it was 8:30 pm. Having been in the car since 2:30, I decided to treat myself to a frappicino at Starbucks and ask directions into Washington.
The guy behind the counter asked me how my day was and, too tired and discouraged even to rant, I gave him a brief synopsis in a flat, emotionless voice. "Oh, that sucks," he said sympathetically. "No, it's on me," he added, when I pulled out my money. "After a day like that, you deserve something nice."
That was the beginning of a complete change in my outlook. Even though it took me another two hours to get to 712 5 th St NE—in the dark, and unfamiliar with the bridge system into DC, I took the "scenic tour" through National Airport, up the George Washington Parkway; I then got a fairly thorough, if repetitive tour, of the entire NORTHWEST section of DC, before finding the alley behind the Code Pink house. As I pulled into the parking space, Desiree (who had been ringing my mobile phone and checking on my progress regularly) rang again to tell me, "We were getting worried." She stepped out the back door, pulled me inside, and I was immediately enveloped in the warm PINKNESS of the house and the movement that these extraordinary women have created.
Desiree, Liz and Janine watched the day's CSPAN report on a National Guard and Reserve Appropriations subcommittee meeting, which they had attended. The three women laughed gleefully at their two-fingered peace signs dancing roguishly above the shoulders of various members of the military who, unaware of their adornments, reported their findings with serious faces and authoritative voices. "Look, bunny ears" … "they look like earrings" … "there I am … no, there you are" the Pinkers shrieked with delight. They praised the effectiveness of Senator Patty Murray's insightful questions, shouted in frustration at another senator's repetitive rhetoric while they cut, punched, wrote and ribboned props for the next day's action. After a delicious bowl of lentils and cup of fruit and yogurt that Desiree had saved for me from dinner (no, Mom, I didn't eat my greens L ), I joined their work.
We cut out tiny stick-on versions of the now-famous Code Pink "Don't Buy Bush's War" ( www.codepinkalert.org) banner that adorns the living room wall. If you haven't seen it, figures of a skull, tank and warplane spill from a shopping cart, shooting out flames, careening across a shocking pink landscape in front of the Capitol Building. The cartoon shapes in the cart and the hot, garish colors could be fun, even playful and childlike, if not for the menacing black and grey figures of doom and destruction. It is, instead, confronting.
After cutting out the stickers, we wrote the names of senators on the supplemental war funding committee on the back, along with the statistics from their state about the war: Dead, wounded, and financial cost to each state (sources, www.ips-dc.org and www.icasualties.org ). I was shocked at the 294 dead from Texas, and 341 from California—numbers that had risen by as much as 50 since October 2006. We then punched a hole in each sticker and attached, with pink ribbon, tiny green toy soldiers. Our message? War is not a game, US soldiers are not toys—stop playing power games with them and bring the troops home NOW.
You have to realize that I had never met any of these women before, yet I felt instant sisterhood. All around my age (that is, not young—but how not young I do not feel obligated to reveal here), they were obviously committed, passionate—and informed. This was new for me, having spent so many years outside the US, and the last 2 months in a town and around family who thought Ronald Reagan was the salvation of this country. We stayed up til 1:30 (sans drugs or alcohol), cutting, punching, tying ribbons and talking.
"We can sleep in tomorrow," Liz commented as we climbed the stairs to our rooms.
"Yeah?" I said. "How late?" expecting an 11 o'clock wake up call.
"Oh, Gael's not coming til at least 9."
At 7:30 am, I waked to the sounds of obvious activity above and below me (the house has 3 floors and a basement which had, in the night, flooded). In the chaos of landlady, calls to plumbers, arrival of Gael and Melissa, I grabbed and hoarded a cup of coffee in the quietest part of the house I could find. And even that unpeaceful peace was shattered when someone turned on the TV, people began issuing directions and suggestions in authoritative tones, and mobile phones began to ring. I was reminded of my days back in the 80s, when I was an organizer with NYPIRG at SUNY Stonybrook. Every morning at 8 am, as I struggled to organize my day in the basement office of the student union, the group next door would open their doors and crank the stereo as high as it went, blasting Guns 'n' Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle." My first morning at the Code Pink house was like that, only without the testosterone.
By 10:45, dressed in as much pink as our bodies could carry, we jumped the white Subaru belonging to Gael (who, unPC as it may be, smokes. Hooray for foibles in our heroes) and headed to the senate offices. In the car, we practiced Desiree's song, "Take us out of this war game" (sung to the tune of "Take me out to the ball game") and double checked the cards with fact sheets about the human and financial costs of the war. I frankly, had no idea what we would be doing. I'd been to dozens of marches and rallies in Washington and my homes; had organized events and participated in guerilla theatre; staged fundraisers and coordinated letter-writing campaigns. I knew about delegation visits, but I'd never been on one.
Apparently, Code Pink's eye-catching regalia has a reputation in the hallowed halls of the senate. People smiled and spoke, or grimaced and avoided eye-contact, depending on their reception to our message. Our first visit was to Senator Carl Levin, a fervent supporter of our peace message. His chief of staff was receptive, apologetic, defensive, and resigned, in that order. "You're preaching to the converted!" he insisted to Gael's unrelenting demands that the senator push harder for NO MORE funding, and bringing the troops home this year. I watched with astonishment as Gael and Liz pressured chiefs of staff, legislative directors, and various aids with our message—without once crossing the boundaries of mutual respect and appreciation.
Even in staunch pro-military, fund-the-troops, up-the-surge Senator McCain's office, where we got into a heated debate with his active-duty intern, we parted with handshakes and thanks for our opposing perspectives. In the morning meetings, our warm receptions were probably t influenced by our coalition with three Iraqi Veterans Against the War members. One of them, Jeff Millard, argued several senior senator staffers into corners Clarence Darrow would've been hard pressed to get out of. In addition to being polite, articulate and passionate, Millard used specifics of his tours of Iraq and his treatment from VA hospitals to drive home points few could argue with. He spoke of casualty numbers who were names and friends to him; of troop awareness of the futility of the operation more than two years ago; of how March's troop surge in Iraq had resulted in more US than Iraqi security forces deaths for the first month since the war began; of the year-long waiting list for his knee surgery from a VA hospital and the fact that, because it is an active duty, not VA hospital, the Walter Reed scandal has no bearing on his care and that of his veteran friends. As anyone familiar with Ron Kovac's story knows, returning war veterans—young men and now women who have risked life and often lost limbs in service to their country—have, since Vietnam, been shamefully neglected by that very country on returning home.
Later in the day, in order to reach all of our senate targets, we split into two groups. Desiree and I were not as successful in meeting with high-level staff in the—mostly republican—offices that we visited. Low-level aides' and receptionists' responses ranged from disinterested smirks to sympathetic but not particularly helpful. Following the example of my more experienced colleagues, however, we smiled and tried to connect on a personal level, asking about Mississippi's continued recovery from Katrina and complimenting the rustic, authentic Tennessee décor of Senator Lamar Alexander's office.
The highlight of my day, however, was our visit to the office of Senator Patty Murray. The legendary "Mom in tennis shoes" turned her senator's snide remark all those years ago into impetus to run against and replace him as senator from Washington. Desiree and I grinned in surprise as a senior aide appeared and asked us to sit and talk with him. He listened attentively to our concerns, answered our questions, and gave us assurances that Senator Murray would continue as much as possible to push for troop withdrawal— and appropriate confirmation of soldiers' fitness for duty before returning them to combat, one of her pet issues.
We caught up with Melissa, Liz, Janine, Jeff and Joan (whom I'd spoken to on the phone but not yet met) for several final triumphant meetings with legislative directors and senior aides in the offices of Senators Lautenberg, Kohl and Domenici. Even after 5 pm, each gave us a warm reception and sincere hearing of our issues.
Exhausted but elated, we headed back to the Code Pink house in the misty falling dusk, where Desiree whipped up excellent enchiladas with salad and rice, and we discussed personal issues—my former life in Australia, Melissa's upcoming road trip to New York, and family. Now I sit in the living room under that brave, confronting banner, full of optimism. I am still worried—when will the troops come home? What will happen when they leave Iraq? When will Jeff get his knee surgery? What about all the thousands of young men and women who, because of modern medicine, survived this war when they wouldn't have survived earlier ones, but with devastating injuries that will need care for the rest of their lives? What about the impending environmental crisis? Will the Democrats find the courage to stand up to Bush? Will the US people find the hope to force our government to our will, rather than the other way around?
But one thing I know: Code Pink will continue to speak truth to power, to push the hesitant, encourage the weak, and cheer on the righteous in government to a more accountable, just, and, in the end, democratic society. They've given me the impetus and the optimism to become one of them—because they have restored the thing I didn't know I'd lost until I got it back today: Hope.
"Remember, we be many and they be few. … Not only is another world possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing."
—Arundhati Roy "
"Liz from Arizona"
Women from all over the country are leading the way to peace. There is an absolutely incorrigible part of myself that wishes I could be more active now that our efforts are getting noticed, but like women during the entire history of the human race we have to juggle extremely complex requirements of family and community life. These demands never allow for easy, guilt free choices.
At the moment I cannot be in D.C. leading and maintaining the charge to peace. Thank heavens Liz is there speaking clearly to anyone and everyone she possibly can speak to.
I was so proud this morning when I clicked on a link to the article "Democrats break their promise to voters to end Iraq war" in The Final Call and read extensive quotes from "Liz from Arizona" in the piece.
I'm trying to remember the first time I met Liz. I can't. I can't imagine a CODEPINK in Arizona without her raucous give 'em hell attitude, her johnny-on-the-spot handshake and look 'em in the eye greeting that meets local precinct level politicos and John McCain with equally fierce determination, preparation, as well as sincerity and amazingly spontaneous sound bytes that distill and convey the essence of the issues that mean the most to the common person on the street. And somehow she manages to do this freshly each time with words that speak intimately and to the heart of the person she is with.
I remember Liz coming down to Tucson to support the Grannies after their arrest (that was thrown out) for attempting to enlist in the Army. I remember Liz handing out water and sunscreen the to children, the elderly, and everyone in between who stood in searing 114 degree heat to make a statement with their presence as the President and his convoy of black SUVs with rear gates thrown open and machines at the ready to mow us down as Bush was rushed from Air Force Base to securely gated community at the edge of Phoenix. I remember Liz looking totally bemused unbelieving as to her state of attire as she was fully decked out in a pink fairy godmother costume (complete with wand and crown) in order to give DNC members the balls to stand up for peace in order to grant the American people's wishes for the Democrats to sprout pink balls of courage and stand up to the war mongers. I could continue with stories of Liz's fierce determination to make a difference -- her "Breakfast with John" actions on thursday mornings in front of John McCain's office in Phoenix where she dons a hood and orange jumpsuit and lies prostate on the ground as another person enacts the torturer stance.
Never let it be said that one person cannot make a difference. In Arizona or Washington, D.C., Liz is making a difference because Liz is being heard.
At the moment I cannot be in D.C. leading and maintaining the charge to peace. Thank heavens Liz is there speaking clearly to anyone and everyone she possibly can speak to.
I was so proud this morning when I clicked on a link to the article "Democrats break their promise to voters to end Iraq war" in The Final Call and read extensive quotes from "Liz from Arizona" in the piece.
I'm trying to remember the first time I met Liz. I can't. I can't imagine a CODEPINK in Arizona without her raucous give 'em hell attitude, her johnny-on-the-spot handshake and look 'em in the eye greeting that meets local precinct level politicos and John McCain with equally fierce determination, preparation, as well as sincerity and amazingly spontaneous sound bytes that distill and convey the essence of the issues that mean the most to the common person on the street. And somehow she manages to do this freshly each time with words that speak intimately and to the heart of the person she is with.
I remember Liz coming down to Tucson to support the Grannies after their arrest (that was thrown out) for attempting to enlist in the Army. I remember Liz handing out water and sunscreen the to children, the elderly, and everyone in between who stood in searing 114 degree heat to make a statement with their presence as the President and his convoy of black SUVs with rear gates thrown open and machines at the ready to mow us down as Bush was rushed from Air Force Base to securely gated community at the edge of Phoenix. I remember Liz looking totally bemused unbelieving as to her state of attire as she was fully decked out in a pink fairy godmother costume (complete with wand and crown) in order to give DNC members the balls to stand up for peace in order to grant the American people's wishes for the Democrats to sprout pink balls of courage and stand up to the war mongers. I could continue with stories of Liz's fierce determination to make a difference -- her "Breakfast with John" actions on thursday mornings in front of John McCain's office in Phoenix where she dons a hood and orange jumpsuit and lies prostate on the ground as another person enacts the torturer stance.
Never let it be said that one person cannot make a difference. In Arizona or Washington, D.C., Liz is making a difference because Liz is being heard.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
A brief history of the attacks on peace advocates at the recruiting center.
I've just posted the Press Release from the May 1st Coalition. Maybe the attacks on out of staters, Vermont kids, will draw some balanced attention that has been withheld in the attacks on local residents that for the past two years have been routinely occuring at public peace gatherings such as the recruitment center protests, now in their fifth year, on Speedway Boulevard in front of the recruitment center. I will be updating this entry throughout the day today with snippets of info and links to blog entries about the history that I know of per protests and the long list of attempts to have the Tucson Police protect the peace folk's right to freedom of speech. For those of you who can't wait for my summary, my entries on this subject begin in June of 2006.
Assaults on Peace Advocates Continue in Tucson
PEACE DEMONSTRATORS ASSAULTED IN FRONT OF RECRUITMENT CENTER
From our allies at the May 1st Coalition-- please distribute widely.
March 22, 2007
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Yesterday, Wednesday, March 21st, a group of young people representing the May 1st Coalition participated in the weekly pro-peace demonstration in front of the Recruitment Center on Speedway. They arrived at the site at 6:10 A.M. and unfurled a banner that read, “No War in Iraq and No War on the Border”. When the pro-war people arrived, they immediately displayed high levels of hostility and aggressiveness.
Wesley Creigh, supervisor of four teenage interns from Vermont, was hit in the head by a sign wielded by a belligerent pro-war person. Ms. Creigh said, “I deplore this infringement on my First Amendment rights to protest both the war in Iraq and the militarization of the border. If I want to hold a sign expressing my point of view, I have the right not to have it not obstructed in any way, let alone in such a belligerent and aggressive manner as is commonly experienced by peace advocates during the Wednesday morning demonstrations”.
Ms. Creigh has pressed charges of assault against her assailant and is appalled by the incident and also by the stalking that followed when the young people left the Recruitment Center.
The May 1st Coalition is in possession of a video showing the high level of hostility and anger displayed by the pro-war demonstrators.
For further information, call: Nancy Gallen at 829-7107 or 770-1373
From our allies at the May 1st Coalition-- please distribute widely.
March 22, 2007
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Yesterday, Wednesday, March 21st, a group of young people representing the May 1st Coalition participated in the weekly pro-peace demonstration in front of the Recruitment Center on Speedway. They arrived at the site at 6:10 A.M. and unfurled a banner that read, “No War in Iraq and No War on the Border”. When the pro-war people arrived, they immediately displayed high levels of hostility and aggressiveness.
Wesley Creigh, supervisor of four teenage interns from Vermont, was hit in the head by a sign wielded by a belligerent pro-war person. Ms. Creigh said, “I deplore this infringement on my First Amendment rights to protest both the war in Iraq and the militarization of the border. If I want to hold a sign expressing my point of view, I have the right not to have it not obstructed in any way, let alone in such a belligerent and aggressive manner as is commonly experienced by peace advocates during the Wednesday morning demonstrations”.
Ms. Creigh has pressed charges of assault against her assailant and is appalled by the incident and also by the stalking that followed when the young people left the Recruitment Center.
The May 1st Coalition is in possession of a video showing the high level of hostility and anger displayed by the pro-war demonstrators.
For further information, call: Nancy Gallen at 829-7107 or 770-1373
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Peace-a-lu-jah!!!
You HAVE to see this video of Reverand Billy and the Stop Shopping Choir (in PINK of course) ridding the Capitol of war demons yesterday!
Can you give me a Peace-a-lu-jah!!!
Don't buy Bush's war!
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Iraq Veterans Against the War Patrol Capitol
Repost of article because the IVAW and their mock prisoners want the word out:
Far From Iraq, A Demonstration Of a War Zone
Far From Iraq, A Demonstration Of a War Zone
By David Montgomery
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, March 20, 2007; C01
There's a lot of weirdness every day in the capital city, but this one pushed the envelope: 13 Iraq war veterans in full desert camo going on "patrol" from Union Station to Arlington National Cemetery. They carried imaginary assault rifles, barked commands, roughly "detained" suspected hostiles with flex cuffs and hoods -- and generally shocked, frightened and delighted tourists and office workers.
"How does occupation feel, D.C.?!" shouted Geoff Millard, head of the local chapter of Iraq Veterans Against the War, who previously served on a brigadier general's staff in Tikrit.
They cut a swath across downtown, taking imaginary sniper fire and casualties on the grounds of the Capitol and the Washington Monument, scouting the White House, performing mock arrests at the foot of the Capitol steps and a vehicle search on the Mall. At the Capitol, the veterans almost got detained themselves by civilian peace officers with real guns. The vets brought their act to a military recruiting station on L Street NW and concluded with a memorial ceremony in the cemetery.
The 12 men and one woman included one veteran of Afghanistan, and they represented the Army, Marines and Navy. They were young, intense, disillusioned. Home from the war, on yesterday's fourth anniversary of the Iraq invasion, they wanted to bring the war home to Washington.
They called it Operation First Casualty -- citing the adage that truth is the first casualty of war. The premise of their guerrilla-theater incursion was that, for all the yellow ribbons and "support the troops" sloganeering, life goes on at home pretty much oblivious to what it's like for American soldiers and Iraqi civilians.
"When I got home, the hardest thing for me was realizing the war does not exist here," said Aaron Hughes of Chicago, who was a sergeant in a transportation unit that convoyed troops and supplies in and out of Iraq from Kuwait.
The gonzo lost patrol stayed earnestly in character for much of the day, which meant creeping down the arcade outside Union Station in formation at about 8:15 a.m. "Danger area ahead," warned patrol leader Garett Reppenhagen, a former Army sniper with the 1st Infantry Division.
They held their left arms out straight, like gun barrels, and gripped imaginary triggers with their right hands. He signaled for his men to sprint two by two through the arcade, past the Thunder Grill, to the Metro entrance.
Outside the Metro station were about eight civilians with white T-shirts over their winter clothes. In real life, they are antiwar activists. On this day they played suspects and bystanders in a war zone patrolled by an edgy occupying army.
Shouts and curses, shoving and arm-twisting, from Reppenhagen and his men: "Don't move!" "Get down on the ground!" "Do I have to shoot you, or are you going to stay still?"
The soldiers twisted on the cuffs and adjusted the hoods, then ordered, "Get 'em out of here!"
In two frantic minutes the scene was over; the civilians moved on to the next location outside CNN and Fox News, and the soldiers continued their patrol.
"Way off the hook," said a man on his way to work.
This is the way it is on patrol, the vets said. You can't take chances, which means you can't treat people like human beings.
Motorists halted for the strangely alert, cautious, crouching column. Men and women in the workaday uniforms of trench coats and business suits got tangled in the advance. While explanatory fliers were handed out, not everybody got the message.
"I don't know what they're doing, but they're in everybody's way," said Janet Ruck, a career counselor in Washington. Upon hearing an explanation, she said, "So they were intentionally getting in people's way. I don't think that people have lost touch or forgotten [about the war]. I don't think this is the way to get people to connect."
"At first I was scared," said Maria Rave, a restaurant owner from Maine who saw the platoon reenact visions of a sniper attack, near the Smithsonian Castle.
"We weren't sure what they were doing, but it's kind of cool," said Glenn Gebhart, an IT consultant from Rochester, N.Y. "We're all in favor of the message," said his friend Chris Santillo, a martial arts teacher from Alexandria.
All day, an alien context was being imposed on familiar streets and tourist zones. The new frames of reference made for little epiphanies. For example, through the eyes of a soldier, potentially hostile cities all look alike. The soldier reduces every feature to threats or places of shelter.
"Watch the windows," called Reppenhagen.
The windows? That's Goodies Deli.
"We got a long danger area!"
No, those are the steps and promenades to Upper Senate Park, adjacent to the Capitol. The soldiers took cover behind the marble.
"I feel like Forrest Gump, desert style," said Mark Lachance of Philadelphia, formerly a scout in the 1st Infantry, now zigzagging up to the Capitol.
U.S. Capitol Police officers held the patrol on the grass briefly, mulling its lack of a permit, then let the vets go. A mounted Park Police officer approached the patrol. "Do you guys have any weapons?" she asked.
They are all members of Iraq Veterans Against the War, a group that claims about 400 members nationwide and calls for immediate U.S. withdrawal. "We are the troops," said Kelly Dougherty, co-founder of the group. "Supporting the troops means not sending us into a war based on lies."
After lunch by the Washington Monument -- five of these antiwar vets are vegetarians -- it was back on patrol. The day ended at Arlington Cemetery. They saluted the fallen, remembered dead friends.
Then they removed their uniform shirts, a symbolic leave-taking from the war and from the roles they had taken up once more. Many had found it troubling, acting like soldiers again.
"I definitely feel it," Reppenhagen said. "We don't want to act like soldiers. We felt we had to for today to help express the honesty of the war. But we want to revert back to being veterans and civilians."
watch video here
Woo HOO! Jeanne Moos highlights CODEPINK
It would be nice to get coverage for the antiwar perspective without having to resort to antics.... but we will do WHATEVER it takes to keep the public informed!
Do check out Jeanne Moos coverage of Midge in the Plame Hearing. I also love the Rabbit Ear coverage when Gael could see the monitor and was directing Toby's peace sign/rabbit ear placement -- also like the great clip of Sam taking her elbow back from a cop.
Do check out Jeanne Moos coverage of Midge in the Plame Hearing. I also love the Rabbit Ear coverage when Gael could see the monitor and was directing Toby's peace sign/rabbit ear placement -- also like the great clip of Sam taking her elbow back from a cop.
D.C. climate shifts from disagreeable to downright hostile
No time for much other than links. The following description of the weekend march and efforts by police and military to keep people from joining the march follows. After that thre are some links about harassment and arrest on Capitol Hill.
Tens of Thousands March on the Pentagon and Call for Impeachment
The March on the Pentagon took place the day after a severe winter snow and sleet storm suddenly hit northeastern states that prevented many buses from traveling, 700 fights from taking off, and thousands of cars from reaching the March. Motorists were advised throughout New England and the Mid-Atlantic region to stay off the road. The large turnout at the demonstration was all the more significant given the hardships people had to endure to participate in the activity. People marched to the Pentagon and stayed as long as they could braving 20 mile-an-hour winds and a windchill factor into the teens.
end of article by impeachbush.org
Capitol Police were doing similarly illegal police actions on the Hill during recent arrests of Ann Wright and Gael Murphy. Conyers needs to censure and fine these guys for way overstepping their bounds. Show your outrage. http://www.commondreams.org/news2007/0320-02.htm
And of course we can't forget the secret service thugs who are protecting Hillary from opposing voices. Geesh, no wonder the Hillary/Apple mashup made by non-Obama folks is getting so much play.
More later.
Tens of Thousands March on the Pentagon and Call for Impeachment
The March on the Pentagon, March 17, 2007
Congratulations to everyone who made it through the snow and freezing rain to get to Washington and join together in the tens of thousands and March on the Pentagon marking the beginning of the fifth year of the war against Iraq. The Impeachment message was broadcast loud and clear and reached a national and worldwide audience!
The Demonstration Stikes A Nerve
Disgraced Tom Delay went on television Sunday morning and complained on Meet the Press that "we shouldn't have had what we had yesterday...in Washington, D.C." with people calling for "impeaching the commander in chief." Much as Tom Delay would probably like to see the First Amendment removed from the Bill of Rights, the stark reality that he and the White House faced was a huge outpouring of people from across the United States calling for the Impeachment of Bush, Cheney and other high officials. Feeling the heat from mass demonstrations around the country, Bush was forced to go on national television Monday and "plead for patience" from the people of the United States.
Led by a contingent of Iraq war veterans, active-duty service-members, Gold Star families, and veterans from other past and present wars, the demonstration received a large amount of media coverage. CNN featured the demonstration, which the report described as a march of tens of thousands, in its rotation Saturday and Sunday. There were hundreds of articles in US newspapers and world wide, and photographs featuring thousands of impeachment signs including, "Guilty of War Crimes, ImpeachBush.org." The major French newspaper, Le Monde, ran a significant article under the headline, "More than 50,000 People Protest Against the War in Iraq," about the March on the Pentagon and wrote that the protestors were calling for the impeachment of Bush for war crimes. The rally was broadcast live on C-span and Al-Jazeera. Ramsey Clark; Cindy Sheehan; Cynthia McKinney; Jonathan Hutto and Liam Madden, co-founders of Appeal for Redress; Iraq Veterans Against the War; Salt Lake City Mayor Rocky Anderson; constitutional rights attorney Mara Verheyden-Hilliard, and others spoke. You can view the rally by going to http://www.cspan.org/ and clicking on the March 17 anti-war rally under the video section. Ramsey Clark's speech is available on YouTube by clicking on this link.
The March on the Pentagon was not a solitary action but one of more than 1,000 protests that are taking place in the U.S. between March 17 and March 20. ImpeachBush.org played a major role in co-sponsoring the March on the Pentagon as well as the Los Angeles demonstration that drew 50,000 and the San Francisco demonstration of 40,000 that filled 15 blocks of Market Street, a six-lane avenue. Impeachment supporters have been out at rallies around the country all week.
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A great thank you is owed to the committed volunteers who endured a torrential downpour of freezing rain though Friday night to help set up the assembly and rally sites. People stayed overnight with the equipment and then began working again at 5:00 am in complete darkness. The assembly area had become a lake on March 16 and filled with mud by the time the march stepped off. The windchill in the early hours was not far above zero. At the rally site the large tents, including the Impeachment Tent, and canopies blew down. Volunteers continued to work long hours after the rally ended to take-down, pack, clean the entire area and unload trucks. The anti-war movement and impeachment movement are growing both numerically and in their organizational capabilities and the tireless work of volunteers forms the core of this success.
Pentagon Prevents People from Joining the Rally
The Pentagon and Virginia State Police, many clad in riot gear, wearing gas masks and wielding batons, blocked people coming from the subway/metro who wanted to attend the demonstration. They also blocked buses from accessing the Pentagon in contravention of the agreements reached in the permit. This required people to walk nearly two miles to get to their buses following the rally.
Many people who came to the rally after it had begun - some who had seen the huge march at a distance as it crossed over the Memorial Bridge across the roadways and wanted to then join the activity - were blocked by the Pentagon and the police from entering the rally site through a maze of misdirection, road closures and threats of arrest at multiple different locations. March organizers worked to get people in and they and their attorneys went to the site of sudden police confrontations and shutdowns, but many people were still unable to get in including the hip-hop artist Immortal Technique who was scheduled to perform.
Ramsey Clark on Impeachment and the War
As Ramsey Clark stated at the Pentagon rally, the effort to Impeach Bush has immediate and long term consequences. The Bush regime is rotting from within. Growing scandals are an indicator. The public revulsion to the endless lies about Iraq has set the stage even more so. Impeachment can and must become a reality and we can do it with your continued support.
Ramsey Clark challenged all of us when he spoke at the Pentagon: "We¹ve got work to do. If you thought about what will happen in the next 22 months if we don't act now, there will be a big buildup of U.S. troops in Iraq. That's what the surge is about. It's a permanent surge."
end of article by impeachbush.org
Capitol Police were doing similarly illegal police actions on the Hill during recent arrests of Ann Wright and Gael Murphy. Conyers needs to censure and fine these guys for way overstepping their bounds. Show your outrage. http://www.commondreams.org/news2007/0320-02.htm
And of course we can't forget the secret service thugs who are protecting Hillary from opposing voices. Geesh, no wonder the Hillary/Apple mashup made by non-Obama folks is getting so much play.
More later.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Condi-ludicrous
This morning’s Washington Post had two front page items that we pink women discussed in depth. One Pelosi’s middle of the road “I’ll vote the funding with conditions….” That incensed a couple of our ranks and from which another drew comfort. Pink women are as diverse as any other group of women is likely to be. I personally believe Pelosi is being too reasonable, too conciliatory and too middle of road. Our leaders must lead. No we do not need retribution for the Republican exclusion of Democratic Concerns, but neither do we have to bend over backwards to appease a group that allowed our very democratic foundations to be eroded to a point where they may never be built up again to the stature of a great and respected nation.
The divisions this administration has wrought in the fires of rabid dispensationalism are deep. We see them every time we have to go past special security where you can see the rabid nature of some of the officers. (And do pardon me as I cannot always tell the difference between those who report to the Sgt at Arms and those who report to the Capitol Police.) This morning at a public appropriations subcommittee hearing in the House with Representative Lowey presiding, the four women from the pink house who arrived to hear Condoleeza Rice’s testimony in HR2359 were initially misdirected upon trying to enter the room, to wait in a line for another hearing down the hall. When we said that that line was for another hearing due to start in a half an hour and that we had come to listen to the SS’s statements and answers, we were immediately confronted by a belligerent storm storm trooper type who began in a very agitated manner to order us into the line for the other hearning no matter what. I began to try to ask a question, “Sir, Sir, May I…..” several times before he finally stopped commanding us and telling us that he was in charge no matter what anyone else had said. Finally I was able to ask, “Sir, which line specifically do you want us in? Are you making one line for all the hearings on this floor and how long will we have to wait until we may be seated. I remained calm… somehow. This guy, Vargas, was someone who wanted to bash skulls. I understand the need to protect our leaders. But the people also need these public servants to protect the people’s rights to assemble and hear the discussions our Representatives have as they fulfill their elected duty to do the people’s business.
There were many, many open seats, but we were forced to sit away from the aisles. Once again our ever peaceful but determined Lori demanded the Secret Service person who was literally on top of her get his keys in his pocket out of her left arm and to just to chill. He barked back that he was just doing his job. She told him to do his job six inches away from her. We had to move back and forth until the secret service felt they’d put enough hoops out.
Back to the business of the hearing. I’m not going to go through all the questions and responses. Condoleeza’s responses were her usual empty non-speak. The Dems asked questions about the funds and about past problems with funds and allocations. Some were fairly hard hitting, some weren’t. Most of the Republicans side-stepped the real reason the sub committee had asked the SS to testify… and spoke in platitudes about AIDs prevention and treatment funding (they didn’t mention the refusal to adequately support family planning measures that also would help to control the spread of AIDs if the country happens to have a different interpretation about a woman’s choice to control her own body and what it has to endure than the fundamentalist dispensationalist uber-conservative purportedly Christian folks in and behind this U.S. administration happen to personally believe.)
How can one woman utter so many sounds that follow the structure of standard communication but transmit no information and convey no meaning? Eventually Lori (a spunky Air Force Veteran) stood in silent protest after a few more minutes I joined her. at the side of the room making sure I was blocking no one’s view nor the aisle. Stand in silent (almost silent anyway) protest. The Chair took no umbrage at our silent statement. Amazing that our silence conveyed more meaning than Condoleeza’s yip yapping. Anyway, before I stood I had been sitting in a “manly position” head thrown back and arms on the backs of the chairs next to mine, so as to make the words hastily written on my t-shirt this morning fully legible.
Anyone paying attention could see that the progressive committee members were glad we were there and that the middle of the roaders took some courage from our presence.
I try to give myself no more pats on the back than I actually need to keep going, but if I didn’t think we were having an impact I wouldn’t go marching around in pink lingerie with oversized jewelry and slogans jotted across my tits. I digress. It was heartening to hear certain questions asked and hear the words, “the American People” and have the speaker look at me when saying the words. I’m an easy tear producer when my country and the American’s people’s honor are mentioned. Call me a patriot or matriot, I really don’t care although I do like the matriotic warm alliterationthat is possible with the term, I was raised to love the ideas behind the words of our formation and initial governing documents. I have a fierce pride, a fierce belief in peace, and a fierce personal love for some of the folks who have enlisted, fought and died because of their belief in this greatness of America, my America. My America is not the land underneath my feet. That is mother earth. My America isn’t and never will be bounded by fences and imaginary borders that people die to cross. My America lives in the heart, it catches in the throats of mothers looking at pictures of the Faces of the Fallen, my America has been violated and her honor impaled by this administration but she is strong, supple, and pissed off and she is coming back.
After the gavel went down for the session end Lori spoke out, "I implore you, as a veteran, use the power of the purse to end this war." My America smiled.
The divisions this administration has wrought in the fires of rabid dispensationalism are deep. We see them every time we have to go past special security where you can see the rabid nature of some of the officers. (And do pardon me as I cannot always tell the difference between those who report to the Sgt at Arms and those who report to the Capitol Police.) This morning at a public appropriations subcommittee hearing in the House with Representative Lowey presiding, the four women from the pink house who arrived to hear Condoleeza Rice’s testimony in HR2359 were initially misdirected upon trying to enter the room, to wait in a line for another hearing down the hall. When we said that that line was for another hearing due to start in a half an hour and that we had come to listen to the SS’s statements and answers, we were immediately confronted by a belligerent storm storm trooper type who began in a very agitated manner to order us into the line for the other hearning no matter what. I began to try to ask a question, “Sir, Sir, May I…..” several times before he finally stopped commanding us and telling us that he was in charge no matter what anyone else had said. Finally I was able to ask, “Sir, which line specifically do you want us in? Are you making one line for all the hearings on this floor and how long will we have to wait until we may be seated. I remained calm… somehow. This guy, Vargas, was someone who wanted to bash skulls. I understand the need to protect our leaders. But the people also need these public servants to protect the people’s rights to assemble and hear the discussions our Representatives have as they fulfill their elected duty to do the people’s business.
There were many, many open seats, but we were forced to sit away from the aisles. Once again our ever peaceful but determined Lori demanded the Secret Service person who was literally on top of her get his keys in his pocket out of her left arm and to just to chill. He barked back that he was just doing his job. She told him to do his job six inches away from her. We had to move back and forth until the secret service felt they’d put enough hoops out.
Back to the business of the hearing. I’m not going to go through all the questions and responses. Condoleeza’s responses were her usual empty non-speak. The Dems asked questions about the funds and about past problems with funds and allocations. Some were fairly hard hitting, some weren’t. Most of the Republicans side-stepped the real reason the sub committee had asked the SS to testify… and spoke in platitudes about AIDs prevention and treatment funding (they didn’t mention the refusal to adequately support family planning measures that also would help to control the spread of AIDs if the country happens to have a different interpretation about a woman’s choice to control her own body and what it has to endure than the fundamentalist dispensationalist uber-conservative purportedly Christian folks in and behind this U.S. administration happen to personally believe.)
How can one woman utter so many sounds that follow the structure of standard communication but transmit no information and convey no meaning? Eventually Lori (a spunky Air Force Veteran) stood in silent protest after a few more minutes I joined her. at the side of the room making sure I was blocking no one’s view nor the aisle. Stand in silent (almost silent anyway) protest. The Chair took no umbrage at our silent statement. Amazing that our silence conveyed more meaning than Condoleeza’s yip yapping. Anyway, before I stood I had been sitting in a “manly position” head thrown back and arms on the backs of the chairs next to mine, so as to make the words hastily written on my t-shirt this morning fully legible.
Anyone paying attention could see that the progressive committee members were glad we were there and that the middle of the roaders took some courage from our presence.
I try to give myself no more pats on the back than I actually need to keep going, but if I didn’t think we were having an impact I wouldn’t go marching around in pink lingerie with oversized jewelry and slogans jotted across my tits. I digress. It was heartening to hear certain questions asked and hear the words, “the American People” and have the speaker look at me when saying the words. I’m an easy tear producer when my country and the American’s people’s honor are mentioned. Call me a patriot or matriot, I really don’t care although I do like the matriotic warm alliterationthat is possible with the term, I was raised to love the ideas behind the words of our formation and initial governing documents. I have a fierce pride, a fierce belief in peace, and a fierce personal love for some of the folks who have enlisted, fought and died because of their belief in this greatness of America, my America. My America is not the land underneath my feet. That is mother earth. My America isn’t and never will be bounded by fences and imaginary borders that people die to cross. My America lives in the heart, it catches in the throats of mothers looking at pictures of the Faces of the Fallen, my America has been violated and her honor impaled by this administration but she is strong, supple, and pissed off and she is coming back.
After the gavel went down for the session end Lori spoke out, "I implore you, as a veteran, use the power of the purse to end this war." My America smiled.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Broken-hearted Valentines
Our beautiful action that I spent most of yesterday planning disappeared just like that – POOF – into the ether. Washington closed many of its doors, or they just never opened them today due to “inclement weather.” Here within the ever so rugged and testosterone filled Beltway, inclement must be designated as anything over a half an inch of snow. So Feith, who we lovingly refer to as an LSS, will get off easy this week because the class of his that we had so carefully scoped out an action to occur simultaneously with the free hugs happening in another building on the Georgetown campus and his course had to be cancelled when the campus closed. The Pink students we had coordinated and planned with were so psyched. Maybe they will carry on in their own way and get that war criminal removed from the campus and stripped of his status as a Visiting Professor.
Anyway, that was yesterday, the first thing that happened today as we gathered in the atrium of the Hart Bldg. was to have a female police officer come up to us, as we wished her happy Valentines Day, she responded by saying that there would be no warnings before arrests today because they were short staffed. Huh? Apparently the rights we have and can act upon as well as express are determined by the number of police available to tail us. Most of these cops are okay guys (or gals) but the ever changing “what are we enforcing today” bit gets old. We are threatened with arrest before we have even gathered together to greet those of us who arriving from somewhere other than the Pink House.
We consider ourselves lobbyists – albeit unpaid ones— who are here to get the message of the peace community in the U.S. out to our elected officials. We effectively have no money to buy our way through the closed doors that separate most House and Senate inner sanctums from the waiting/reception rooms. The message we convey has to be transmitted in a memorable way with humor so we do not cry and so as to highlight absurdities and inconsistencies as we speak from our hearts with messages carefully researched and crafted through with both hemispheres of the brain communicating with each other.
Another day, another day of pink for peace-ness, and since it was Valentines Day we had donned our very finest pink clothing and accoutrements and trudged off toward Capitol Hill (Senate side) through slushy, icky snow to give as many Senators as we possibly could a personal “broken heart” valentine conveying our hearts’ conditions as long as this war and ever escalating death counts continue. We also told their Legislative Aids for Iraq, if we were allowed to speak with them, that we wanted them to read and support S121 and S448. When we had delivered that message we then presented the outer office staff with an oral recitation of an original CODEPINK poem.
Violets are blue
And roses are PINK
If you don’t stop funding this war
We will make a big stink.
We made it to lots of the biggies’ offices; I made sure to give my Senator, Kyl of AZ, a Broken Heart Valentine and joined in with Laurie as she conveyed the same message to Lugar Of course other states such as New Mexico, Colorado, Hawaii, Rhode Island, Florida, and California - to name just a few – were also visited.
After finding that every kitchen we might normally eat in in both House and Senate were closed or had gigantonormously long lines we finally managed to grab a bite at the Longworth Cafeteria. Lines were outrageous there too, but we braved them so we could refuel for an afternoon of hearings and gallery monitoring. Although we were stopped by photo op requests a few times. But these requests are so worth it; today we spoke with gentlemen working for Palestinian-Israeli reconciliation that is sensitive to the needs and rights of Palestine and these guys were Jews. Another group was composed of high school senior girls who all wanted to have their pic taken with CODEPINK. I gave out a couple of CODEPINK buttons to young women who promised to wear them with pride. These young women get it. Goddess, it is so good to see young women who are seeing us simply as women exercising our rights and participating. There are no black/white, on/off positions in the real world. Everything is process. We live in an analog world.
After a late lunch as my sisters in peace moved on to attending hearings on Veterans health care, I escaped to the Library of Congress to listen to Amish Hymns recorded by Lomax in the 1930s to get a flavor of the tunes that had been in a part of the world I’m writing some things about. I also ran across some tall stories collected by the WPA from the area where I grew up…. And sure enough I found some very tall tales recorded that were very similar to ones my father teased me with as a child. The one about the “Hoop Snakes” stands out most clearly.
I have to consciously remember to balance the torture and terror awareness and actions carried out to stop the atrocities happening in the world with a bit of humanity. I headed out for the LOC after reading each of the names and really looking at every photo of the Faces of the Fallen that were displayed outside one office. Many Senators and Representatives have put up these displays, but for some reason I was drawn in to one particular set today. It was all I could do to not break down sobbing in the hall. Fortunately a gentleman stopped me as I was exiting the building to talk to me about CODEPINK, the actions to which he’d taken his daughters, and how glad he was that we were here doing this. Turns out he is the Executive Director of the Alliance for Community Media. So we chatted about the importance of community media and how it brings diversity of viewpoints out on to the airwaves that we the people own anyway. We also touched on the valiant struggle Access Tucson has waged as corporatists try to kill it time and again. That was such a highlight of the day. Media. We have to be the media. We’ve forgotten that. The media is a tool of the people. We have to reclaim what is rightly ours. Corporations may have media outlets but we the people are the media and the fourth estate reports to us. Literally. Take ‘em to task and tell them to quit showing infotainment and start giving us real news that matters. If they did that, situations like our illegal and ill-conceived invasion and occupation of Iraq would not have happened.
Power to the Peaceful. Right on.
Anyway, that was yesterday, the first thing that happened today as we gathered in the atrium of the Hart Bldg. was to have a female police officer come up to us, as we wished her happy Valentines Day, she responded by saying that there would be no warnings before arrests today because they were short staffed. Huh? Apparently the rights we have and can act upon as well as express are determined by the number of police available to tail us. Most of these cops are okay guys (or gals) but the ever changing “what are we enforcing today” bit gets old. We are threatened with arrest before we have even gathered together to greet those of us who arriving from somewhere other than the Pink House.
We consider ourselves lobbyists – albeit unpaid ones— who are here to get the message of the peace community in the U.S. out to our elected officials. We effectively have no money to buy our way through the closed doors that separate most House and Senate inner sanctums from the waiting/reception rooms. The message we convey has to be transmitted in a memorable way with humor so we do not cry and so as to highlight absurdities and inconsistencies as we speak from our hearts with messages carefully researched and crafted through with both hemispheres of the brain communicating with each other.
Another day, another day of pink for peace-ness, and since it was Valentines Day we had donned our very finest pink clothing and accoutrements and trudged off toward Capitol Hill (Senate side) through slushy, icky snow to give as many Senators as we possibly could a personal “broken heart” valentine conveying our hearts’ conditions as long as this war and ever escalating death counts continue. We also told their Legislative Aids for Iraq, if we were allowed to speak with them, that we wanted them to read and support S121 and S448. When we had delivered that message we then presented the outer office staff with an oral recitation of an original CODEPINK poem.
Violets are blue
And roses are PINK
If you don’t stop funding this war
We will make a big stink.
We made it to lots of the biggies’ offices; I made sure to give my Senator, Kyl of AZ, a Broken Heart Valentine and joined in with Laurie as she conveyed the same message to Lugar Of course other states such as New Mexico, Colorado, Hawaii, Rhode Island, Florida, and California - to name just a few – were also visited.
After finding that every kitchen we might normally eat in in both House and Senate were closed or had gigantonormously long lines we finally managed to grab a bite at the Longworth Cafeteria. Lines were outrageous there too, but we braved them so we could refuel for an afternoon of hearings and gallery monitoring. Although we were stopped by photo op requests a few times. But these requests are so worth it; today we spoke with gentlemen working for Palestinian-Israeli reconciliation that is sensitive to the needs and rights of Palestine and these guys were Jews. Another group was composed of high school senior girls who all wanted to have their pic taken with CODEPINK. I gave out a couple of CODEPINK buttons to young women who promised to wear them with pride. These young women get it. Goddess, it is so good to see young women who are seeing us simply as women exercising our rights and participating. There are no black/white, on/off positions in the real world. Everything is process. We live in an analog world.
After a late lunch as my sisters in peace moved on to attending hearings on Veterans health care, I escaped to the Library of Congress to listen to Amish Hymns recorded by Lomax in the 1930s to get a flavor of the tunes that had been in a part of the world I’m writing some things about. I also ran across some tall stories collected by the WPA from the area where I grew up…. And sure enough I found some very tall tales recorded that were very similar to ones my father teased me with as a child. The one about the “Hoop Snakes” stands out most clearly.
I have to consciously remember to balance the torture and terror awareness and actions carried out to stop the atrocities happening in the world with a bit of humanity. I headed out for the LOC after reading each of the names and really looking at every photo of the Faces of the Fallen that were displayed outside one office. Many Senators and Representatives have put up these displays, but for some reason I was drawn in to one particular set today. It was all I could do to not break down sobbing in the hall. Fortunately a gentleman stopped me as I was exiting the building to talk to me about CODEPINK, the actions to which he’d taken his daughters, and how glad he was that we were here doing this. Turns out he is the Executive Director of the Alliance for Community Media. So we chatted about the importance of community media and how it brings diversity of viewpoints out on to the airwaves that we the people own anyway. We also touched on the valiant struggle Access Tucson has waged as corporatists try to kill it time and again. That was such a highlight of the day. Media. We have to be the media. We’ve forgotten that. The media is a tool of the people. We have to reclaim what is rightly ours. Corporations may have media outlets but we the people are the media and the fourth estate reports to us. Literally. Take ‘em to task and tell them to quit showing infotainment and start giving us real news that matters. If they did that, situations like our illegal and ill-conceived invasion and occupation of Iraq would not have happened.
Power to the Peaceful. Right on.
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