Ponderings

My first experience of public demonstrations was in 1984 at the ripe old age of 21. I had traveled to Minneapolis to register my dissent with Honeywell’s profitable manufacture and sale of “cluster bombs”; bombs designed for maximum human destruction, with children often the victims. The Honeywell protest was an annual gathering of peaceniks from Minnesota and Wisconsin coinciding with the Honeywell stockholders meeting. Committed and righteous as only a youth can be I even remained on the sidewalk, daisy in hand, when the officers told us to move. I had my first ride to the police station, was fingerprinted and booked.

Moving though the experience was for the protestor, I was disheartened to learn several years later that Honeywell had finally caved to public pressure and sold off it’s weapon making division. Effectively this meant the same weapons would be made by a lesser-known enterprise for which protests would rankle fewer stockholders. Our success really wasn’t.

Meanwhile I married, accepted a call to parish ministry, and became a mom. My forms of dissent became edgy sermons, rants around the house, and an occasional diatribe on the computer. And to be totally candid, I don’t much care for crowds at this point in my life.

But I found myself inexplicably spending the afternoon trying to arrange travel to Washington DC for January 27.

Opposed to this war but desiring to take the high road, I have not participated in public dissent since the fighting began. I keep trying unsuccessfully to believe that those who started this unceasing violence have a practical plan that will stop the bloodshed. While I don’t personally believe that violence can ever lead to just peace, many people for whom I have deep respect have explain that perhaps an escalation of troops, a bigger wave of violence, can finally quell the hatred. Maybe so, but I’m remain deeply troubled by the prospect of an escalation in this endless war.

I learned about the gathering in DC on January 27th at church last Sunday. One of our parishioners is planning to go and put up a big sign to invite others. This gathering in the shadow of the Lincoln Memorial is a call to protest the escalation of this war. I love my church and I love the enthusiasm of this man and I love his sign. It is comforting to know that even when I am timid, other prophets step forward to speak. I was definitely moved, but not yet to action.

Then on an otherwise innocuous drive across the river on Wednesday, I was confronted with the real cost of this warring madness. On my way to the Shrine of our Lady of the Snows I followed the road map from mapquest. Unbeknownst to me the most direct route (chosen by the mapquest brain) is the road less traveled. It is not the faster route. It is, however, the route that drops you directly into the heart of East St. Louis, a heart in need of transplant.

Having finally found Illinois Route 15 (a couple of scenic detours later), I found myself face to face with what can only be called a war zone. Although I noticed no homeless wanderers and no unsupervised children about whom to fret, I soon realized that there was no one on the streets at midday. Never have I experienced such utter desolation. The tears that flowed welled from a place not only of sadness but also of shame. This kind of desolation is the kind of communal sin that makes Sodom look like Disneyland. Although my initial inclination was to consider my own charitable shortfalls (doubtless a few less trips to Starbucks would yield more food for the pantry!) all of our Starbucks coffees together will not fill the gaping hole I was facing.

The real cost of our war making in Iraq now has a face. We have already spent more than $359,385,225,155 - 359 billion dollars - to send weapons and soldiers halfway around the world in the name of safety while right next door the public schools are infested with rats and the fire department depends on charity. The industrial barons have moved on with their assets and left their mess behind for those forced to remain. The so-called War on Terror is a sham when people are afraid to step outside of their homes. The security we crave in our homeland can only begin from within.

Maybe a trip to DC is impractical, but silence is no longer an affordable option. In addition to sponsoring others who are traveling to DC, our local Instead of War Coalition invites us to gather at the corner of Grand and Arsenal from 11:30am-12:30noon on January 27th (while our sisters and brothers gather on the National Mall). I’ll be there. Will you join me?