war stories

There were a few moments after the planes hit the world trade center when we were permitted to indulge our collective shock and grief. Then the sad songs got abruptly switched off, and we were asked to turn our energies toward the dropping of bombs on people who were very much like us, only poorer. I figured that there would be a lot of people around me who would rise up and say, "No, absolutely not; we don't see the sense in multiplying 3000 deaths by several thousand more. "

I wrote an e-mail in those pre-blog days and I sent it to everyone I know. I don't have it anymore. The subject heading was "We are not a vengeful people." I suggested that the blood of more fathers, mothers, sons and daughters would not heal our deep wounds. My father wrote back and called me an appeaser. A friend who had grown up in Germany wrote back and compared the upcoming war to the fight against Nazism. I waited to hear from friends in the academic community where I live so that we could pool our resources and decide on the most effective response. When I got tired of the silence, I decided that maybe people here were just waiting for someone to take the lead. (There were community people organizing, but didn't know it and I couldn't find them. They were not connected to the university. )

So I organized a protest. I had heard that this is how you stop a war. I invited everyone I knew. No one came, so I went and stood on a corner alone with my sign. I don't remember what the sign said anymore. Something non-violent. Something anti-war and pro-peace. Nothing nasty or personal about anybody. I did not feel self-righteous about it and I don't now, only lonely. I knew that one person on a corner in a college town could not stop a war, and I knew that I was standing out there for myself, so that I would not lose my mind and so that I could tell my daughter that when the war came I was on the street saying no.

I stood on the corner every week for a year, usually with company. After the first week a few friends came when they could to stand with me. One friend brought her new baby until it got too cold; another person wasn't sure if she was against the war or not, but she was in favor of me and so she stood out there, unbelievably, out of friendship.

One day, perhaps our third time standing out there, an old grey jeep came around the corner and a red-faced young man stuck his head out the window. He looked panicked and fearful. There was a small child on the seat next to him. He screamed at us and shoved his middle finger in the air, "Fuck you! Fuck you! Don't you think they want to nuke us?! Don't you think they want to get a nuke and nuke us?! How many more people do you want to die?" I was paralyzed and struck dumb, which was a good thing, in retrospect. He was waiting for an answer, breathing very fast and turning redder. I stared at him. My friend, F. looked at him from across her baby's stroller and said quietly, " Zero people. We don't want any more people to die. "

He sped off shaking his head and we stood there feeling a little more vulnerable on our corner.

We were back the next week and so was the jeep. This time, he slowed down, his face fuming, and he grabbed the hand of the little boy in the passenger seat. He forced the small fingers of that child into the "fuck you" sign and pushed his little hand up against the window. I felt sick to my stomach and continued to feel sick all week thinking about that little boy.

As the weeks went by, the protest evoloved. New people with new agendas discovered us. I learned about Israeli and Palestinian history. I met long time activists. The signs changed. F. and I prayed for the man in the jeep, mostly as a way to manage our fear. December came and it got too cold for F. and her baby to be outside with us anymore. My other friends were no longer able to come either, but new people filled in, and the man in the jeep continued to drive by every week. After awhile he stopped giving us the bird and we just waved an acknowledgement at each other. Sometimes he smiled at me, for whatever reason. There were weeks when he did not show and then I missed him.

We had been standing out there every week for a few months when he drove by right on schedule and got stuck at a long light. I ran over to the jeep, my big sign flapping in the wind and slowing me down. He rolled down the window. I didn't know what I was going to say. I pointed at the little boy. "I have a daughter about his age. So we have that in common." He nodded. He started talking fast like he had imagined this conversation ahead of time. " I think you're really naïve, that's all. I wish the world could be the way you think it is, I really do, but it's not. I just think you're really naïve." I didn't have anything to say to that. I don't argue with people at protests. I shrugged and said. "Well, I'm glad to see you every week." "Oh," he smiled expansively at me like we were sitting together in the sunshine at a little league game, "my son and I enjoy it. "

I don't know what the moral is. I was a peace activist for two years. I am ashamed that I am not one now. At some point I realized that we couldn't stop the war in Afghanistan, but I thought that if a lot of us worked really hard, we could stop them from dropping bombs on a city full of children in Iraq.

I'm just really naïve, and I wish the world could be the way I think it is. I really do.