March 20th, Saturday morning, I rolled over sleepily unwilling to rouse myself from the comfort of bed. I had planed to attend the Peace March in San Francisco that morning, marking the one-year anniversary of the US invasion of Iraq, making clear my resistance to policies of preemptive action. Now that the time had come to act, I really didn’t feel like going. My friends Caroline and Andre had asked me to go hiking that afternoon – promises of single unattached women sparking my interest. It would be easier to lie in bed, do some reading and go hiking in the afternoon – why bother with the trek up to the city.I had never attended a public demonstration before, and I didn’t know what to expect. I recalled television news reports over the years, brief images and sound bites of angry people filling the streets. I felt strongly that our countries actions in Iraq were not just, but wasn’t sure I wanted to express my opinion in this way. The previous day I heard a radio report that the city was going to be a mad house due to the demonstrations, the announcer warned people to stay away.
I hadn’t planned to meet anyone at the march, so I was free to blow it off without letting anyone else down. I roused myself out of bed and wondered into the living room of Andre and Caroline’s house to check my email. My van was in the shop for repairs and I was staying with them for a few days while it was being fixed. I booted up my laptop and logged on.
One of the messages was from the Dennis Kucinich presidential campaign – I had voted for Dennis in the California primary. I agreed with his message and plans, happy that a candidate was taking an idealistic approach. I tried to stay in touch with the campaign through their email list; they usually sent so many that I never read them all, but I read this one.
One year ago today, despite objections voiced by millions around the globe in the largest one-day protest in world history, the United States and Great Britain launched a pre-emptive war against Iraq claiming that it was necessary to protect the world from the imminent threat of Weapons of Mass Destruction – a claim later proven to be false. During the past year, 571 American soldiers have been killed in Iraq, and more than 3200 wounded. The number of Iraqi deaths is even greater, with estimates ranging from 8,000 to 10,000.
It went on, urging people to attend the various protests around the country making their voice heard. I had not attended those protests a year ago, as I was in southern Thailand at the time. I had thought seriously of backtracking to Bangkok to attend the nearest protest, but had decided it was too far out of my way. My desire to attend the march in Bangkok and the one now in San Francisco grew out of my political views, but also my guilt for not attending one of the early SF demonstrations in January 2002.
At the time, my opposition to the war was still growing, I was unable to justify preemptive action given the evidence that was presented. I had signed a petition, but had not taken the time to attended the protests. I was busy getting ready to go on my South East Asia trip and it didn’t register high enough on my radar.
Now a year into the war with Iraq, thousands of people were dead, and the evidence for war was weaker now then when it began. I knew that my attendance at those original protests would not have made any difference in the outcome, but I wondered how many other people were in a similar mind at the time. If all of those people had acted, could we have made a difference?
Reading that email and its call to support the marches, I decided to attend. I owed it to myself; I owed it to all the other people that had been working to oppose the action for the past year. I didn’t know how many people would show up, or if it would make a difference, but at least I was being honest with my feelings and presenting my truth to the world. I got ready, drove to the nearest BART station, and took the train into the Mission District of San Francisco. The scene that awaited me, was not what I had expected.
I exited the 24th Street BART station and walked to Deloris Park. Tens of thousands of people had gathered for the event. It was a sunny spring day in San Francisco, and people were dressed in shorts and t-shirts, applying suntan lotion to winter skin and pulling baseball caps down over their eyes shielding them from the brilliance of the late-morning sun.
Prepared for a rowdy scene, I was surprised to find an upbeat happy atmosphere. A group of drummers cranked out a hypnotic rhythm while people looked on swaying to the beat. People were smiling as they talked animatedly in small groups. A man stood on the corner collecting signatures for several ballot measured for the next election – I took the time to read them and sign the ones I agreed with. I wondered where all the angry people were the media had promised?
Many people carried signs amplifying their voice for others to hear. End the Occupation of Iraq read one. No war on Iraq – No war on the world – Not in Our Name read another. Bush Lied Thousands Died.
I didn’t have a sign. I had wanted to make one but hadn’t found the time. Yet another thing to feel guilty about. When a man asked me to carry an extra sign, I gladly accepted. End the 911 Cover-up it said. I felt happy to be amongst such like-minded people, proud to live in the San Francisco Bay Area where the liberal and progressive community had such a strong voice.
The crowds filtered out of the park walking down the middle of the street on route to the Civic Center. Everyone was orderly and well behaved – the many Police Officers along the route looked bored as they watched the people move through the streets. I raised my sign over my head, as a marching band to my right struck up an upbeat tune. This felt more like a party then a civic demonstration. I saw a girl in her twenties with long blond hair wearing a pink t-shirt that read Lick Bush in 2004. I laughed, enjoying the festive atmosphere decidedly happy that I had come.
Attending the march was a small gesture, but a step in the right direction. It was easily to live in silent concern about political issues, and another entirely to stand up and make your voice heard. In my past, politics were something I rarely gave much thought to. My life was in perpetual motion, I never stopped to consider my opinions more or less taking the time to make a statement.
Not working over the last 18 months had changed that. Ending the cycle of complacent disassociation, I’ve had time to stop and form my own opinions. I’ve signed petitions, called my representative and senators on issues I wanted to influence, and now have attended a demonstration. I’m thankful for the new awareness that I have found.
I can see now the power of these events – they make a statement to the community, the government, the world, and to other people. Reminding those people who take the time to make their voice heard that we are not alone.
I will leave you with a poem handed to me by a young woman as I walked through the streets of San Francisco during the Peace March.
Inevitable as transit
submerges itself under the ground
is this death?
Et Gloria mundi –
must it come to this?
Children broken as glass shatters
the unapproachable sunset
writing itself only once one last time
into the sky?
Our single hearts
breaking themselves
along the paths of the future
the flowering, the fading
fused; the moment, the memory
merged; the dawn broken forever,
and the paintbrush of day outshone.
Go tell the wind which way to blow
to keep the burning clouds far from our shores,
go build a wall as tall as the moon
to keep the carrion birds from blackening the sky
– Author Unknown