Conscious Choice: A Vigil for Peace

January 2003

A Vigil for Peace

One Woman's Experience

by Nina Utne

I am just home from Washington, D.C., a week after the November launch of the Women’s Peace Vigil and Fast that was initiated by CodePink, UnReasonable Women for the Earth and United for Peace, and I wanted to give you all a (highly subjective) report: Before I went, one of my sons, mortified by his mother’s eccentricity, said "Mom, you’re not planning to talk to the press, are you?" And my husband asked," You’re not planning to sleep in Lafayette Park, are you?" Of course not, I said to both of them, because I had no intention of doing either thing.

When I got to D.C., I discovered that the vigil was to commence with a rally and press conference in front of the White House, and I was slated to make a brief statement, along with Medea Benjamin and Diane Wilson and several others. The launch was a success — decent turnout, although in the pouring rain — with a picture and article in The Washington Post the next day.

Then we went to the park across the street to take up residence for what, I discovered, was intended to be a 24-hour vigil (some of us were going to sleep in Lafayette Park!) that will last until March 8th, International Women’s Day when there will be a march. It turns out that there are all sorts of convoluted and contradictory regulations in the park, with little to no clarity on exactly what the rules are, and a wide range of enforcement — all of which, in my opinion, are clearly intended to restrict any expression of free speech in the vicinity of the White House.

Inside the Workings of a Vigil

So, the first night we erected a tent, had to collapse it at the insistence of one officer, and then were tacitly ignored when we erected it again for the rest of the night. Three of us slept undisturbed through the night in a downpour. Shortly after 6:00 am, as we emerged groggy and unkempt, a dapper reporter from FOX appeared to do an interview. The three of us did a quick rock, paper, scissors and it was thereby determined that I would be the one interviewed. After that, I thought, perhaps it would be best not to call home for a while.

But there wasn’t really any time to call anyway because we were inventing it as we went. Making it all the more interesting, a number of us had embarked on fasts of varying lengths. Diane, the fast queen, had come from Texas to embark on a 40-day fast; Nancy, who had come from Utah, and I had committed to seven-day fasts and a few others were doing short fasts. The first two-to-three days of a fast are considered to be the hardest. Fortunately, we were preoccupied with simultaneously setting up the office, connecting with local groups and individuals, and trying to keep a CodePink for Peace presence in the park — in what turned out to be cold, windy, rainy, miserable weather.

It became quickly apparent that we were stretched very thin as we laid the infrastructure. Yet it also became quickly apparent that there was something in the message of women making a commitment and speaking up that struck a profoundly responsive chord. There was the Carmelite sister who came to pray, a monk who came to chant, a squadron of radical cheerleaders, a theater group, a group of drummers, many women who had read about the vigil in the paper — and many supportive men. There was also a stream of reporters and photographers — CNN radio, Dateline, Newsweek, Voice of America and many more.

Activists in Shocking Pink

Meanwhile, we negotiated, and pleaded and obfuscated with Secret Service agents and police from different agencies who overlooked our tent the second night, as we shuffled bodies between sleeping in the tent, on the office floor and in beds at a, hmm, rather eccentric hotel with vacant-eyed people smoking in the lobby and stains everywhere that didn’t bear thinking about. But we were doing what we were doing voluntarily, which couldn’t be said for the countless homeless people we saw everywhere. By the third night, the jig was up and we had to take down the tent for good. According to the regulations, the only way we could stay in the park overnight was if we slept sitting up on benches. So we retrenched and decided to limit our hours in the park.

As we became fixtures in the shocking pink — and highly visible — fleece jackets someone had found cheap, we got to know some of the other regulars. These included the peace "vigilers" who had been there for 20 years and who brought us tarps when it poured, the homeless people who offered a lot of good conversation and advice on dealing with the elements, and people who lived or worked nearby and brought thermoses of hot water and offered places to shower or stay.

By Wednesday, when we had our first organizing meeting, 20 people showed up with an amazing array of gifts and talents. We all inspired each other with a sense of possibility. But still the number of bodies to take shifts in the park and do outreach in other parts of the city was scant, and there was no spare energy yet for the kinds of improvisational actions we had envisioned.

The Homeless as a Backdrop

I think for all of us there were moments of doubt and despair that we had taken on an overwhelmingly daunting task. For me, a lot of hope came in calls and e-mails from all over the country — people praying and fasting in support and undertaking all sorts of other actions. Most of all, and quite unexpectedly, I was moved by our contacts with homeless people. I had decided to go to D.C. out of a desire to deepen my sense of compassion and commitment. The difficulties we were encountering were so small compared with the realities around us.

One night, I walked a volunteer to the subway and on the way saw the figure of a blanket-covered homeless man next to a rat who scuttled away at our approach. Nearby was the semicircular entrance to a department store, windows filled with elegant merchandise, with about 15 sleeping forms radiating neatly out like the spokes of a wheel. When we walked back the rat had returned to the first sleeping figure. And those sleeping figures were everywhere — except in view of the White House. One of our most intrepid volunteers, who works with homeless people told me that 40 percent of the homeless men are veterans, and nowhere do they figure in all this pseudo- patriotic warmongering.

One morning, I walked by the Veterans Administration building — big, imposing and shut tight for the weekend. I could see lots of forbidding security signs inside. Across the street was a clutch of homeless men around the back of a station wagon where someone was dispensing clothes and food. At one end of the building was a subway entrance with a number of men gathered by its warmth and shelter. On the front of the building in several places was this quote from Abraham Lincoln, "To care for him who has borne the brunt of battle and for his widow and his orphan."

Being UnReasonable

Meanwhile, miraculously, the office got up and running, a database is being set up, schedules for volunteers were starting to emerge — and we were blessed by a balmy and beautiful weekend. When Nancy and I went out to the park to break our fast together after sundown (with sauerkraut and hardboiled eggs — recommended by seasoned vision fasters), we found a party going on — benches decked with splashy pink fabric, balloons, a big CodePink banner and an ever changing crowd of people singing and laughing.

One of our homeless angels had just been by to drop off a stack of blankets and hats and gloves and a big bag of muffins and bananas. A family arrived — the children carrying a sign that said "UnReasonable kids for Peace" and their father with one that said, "I love UnReasonable Women." There were drummers and passersby and new reinforcements of UnReasonable women from out of town, and a palpable feeling of magic and momentum. When Nancy and I went to sit at a bench for our fast-breaking moment, a fawn-like homeless man appeared and the three of us sat together to eat (he declined the sauerkraut).

To paraphrase Emma Goldman, the only revolution worth having is one that includes dancing. So after we ate, we danced to the drums (even with some choreographed moves — I’m definitely going to be in a girl group in my next life), and sang facing the White House until it was time for me to leave.

If you have read this far, I thank you and I leave you with this: It is time for us to wake up from the stupor of our comfortable lives. The principles our country was founded on are worth fighting for and there is something about this initiative, fragile and embryonic though it is, that gives me profound hope. This week gave me the conviction that we can create a revolution that starts with the heart and includes dancing. May CodePink break out everywhere!

Nina Utne is chair of Utne Reader magazine, and a co-founder of Headwaters Community Fund and City of Lakes Waldorf School. This article originally appeared on www.utne.com. Reprinted with permission.

Be Part of the Action:

* Hold a vigil in your community in a public place. Contact Women’s Vigil D.C. Office, 202-393-5016 for a $25 starter kit with buttons, flyers, fact sheets, and petitions.

* Organize in your community to get women to come to the D.C. Women’s Peace March on International Women’s Day, March 8, 2003. While this action is initiated by women, men are also welcome!

* Come and join the vigil in Washington, D.C., for as much time as you can — an hour, a day, a week, a month. You can fast or not fast as you wish.

* Use the color pink for your materials and clothing, etc. Use your imagination to spread pink consciousness. Make the resistance visible to itself!

* Circulate the "Listen to the Women" petition the intention is to gather one million signatures by March 8th. You can download it from www.codepink4peace.org.

* Make a financial contribution to sustain this peace vigil and build the rally! Send your checks — large and small — to Women’s Vigil/Global Exchange, 733 15th Street NW, Suite 507, Washington, D.C. 20005.

For more information, contact:

Women’s Vigil D.C. Office, 202-393-5016

www.codepink4peace.org,
www.unreasonablewomen.org.

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