Tillamook School District board

It’s hard to find anything that everyone can agree on these days, but I think we can all agree that we love our kids and want them to be safe in school and get a good education.  I’m certain that our newly elected Tillamook School District Board members care about their kids as well, but they are making some deeply concerning decisions that every taxpayer and parent should be aware of.

To Your Health

My Facebook feed is full of grief right now.  Grief is permeating the very air right now.  Many people I know are dealing with severe illness and/or death of a loved one due to COVID.

One Hundred Thousand

This morning my blog, Peace Out Loud, reached 100,000 views.

Since my first post about Veteran’s Day on November 10, 2012, I’ve written 56 posts about many things.  There’s a poem or two and a letter to the President of the United States.  Some blogs were about global issues, some about national issues, some were about my own little hometown, and some were deeply personal about my family.  Well, they’ve all been deeply personal to me, as I only write about things I care deeply about.

My theme is peace, as I believe in creating peace within and spreading it beyond ourselves to the world around us.  

I never dreamed that my blog would be reaching this landmark, or that my posts would be read all over the world, but somehow this happened!  My posts have been read by people in Israel, Hong Kong, Russia, Ukraine, Indonesia, Germany, France, China, Sweden, Bulgaria, Brazil, Turkey, India, Canada, Poland, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, and of course my own home, the United States, as well as a few other places.  I am humbled that I’ve somehow connected with people I will never know, from around the globe, by the simple act of writing from the heart.

I’ve been working on some personal lessons lately, around asking for help and being willing to receive it.  I have spent my life trying not to be vulnerable; now I’m trying to change that.  I want to connect with others from a place of honesty and vulnerability, but at times I haven’t been honest with myself about how much I’ve needed others.  My blog has been a place where I’ve opened that door a tiny crack. 

I was talking with a friend today who said something important.  She said that as much as our society values individuality, we will struggle as long as we don’t realize that we are part of a larger collective, the human collective, and the collective of life on this planet.  People often fail to see the larger impact of their decisions on others, and sometimes don’t care.  We are doomed until we realize that we belong to each other.  This logic can apply to COVID precautions, climate change, stopping racial and other injustices, ending hunger, poverty, abuse, or any other suffering.  

We are all affected by these things, and many of us know it.  Things are shifting. 

I feel that writing is how I fit into that collective, and how I can live my best, most meaningful life.  Writing helps me to peel back the layers, but more importantly, I feel much more connected to others.  I plan to write more, and I hope to be an ambassador for kindness and justice.  That’s my tiny role.  What’s yours?

I want to thank everyone who’s taken the time to read my ramblings.  Maybe you’ve related on some level.  Hopefully you’ve felt a little less alone, a little more understood, and cared about.  I’m sure you’ll find things you disagree with, and that’s great too.  We don’t all have to be in lockstep philosophically or politically to acknowledge and celebrate our humanness or to have compassion and empathy for one another.

I am just very grateful to celebrate this milestone in my life, and to share it with you.

But for the Grace of God

The first time my mom attempted suicide, I was eight years old and my dad was at work.  My older brother and sister and I were home with her, when she announced that she had just taken “a whole bunch of pills.”  I remember the ambulance being called and my teenage brother getting her to drink mustard water to try to get her to vomit.  She was driven away in an ambulance to have her stomach pumped.  I've written about my mom before in a prior post a few years back, but something happened recently that has her fresh on my mind.

Honoring Jaime

Today is my birthday.  It’s supposed to be “my day,” but I’d like to share it with someone special.

I recently learned that I had a birthday twin.  Her name was Jaime Guttenberg.  If that name sounds familiar, it’s because she was in the news a few years ago.

Juneteenth

On Thursday, June 17, 2021, President Biden signed legislation which was overwhelmingly passed by the House and Senate, making Juneteenth a federal holiday.  Juneteenth commemorates the end of slavery by marking the day that enslaved people in Texas learned that they were free.  This was on June 19, 1865, two and a half years after Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation took effect.  For obvious reasons, word was slow to spread to people who were enslaved.  Texas was the last state in which the state government was still permitting slavery, in resistance to the federal law.  Juneteenth has been celebrated since 1866, and is also known as Jubilee Day, Emancipation Day,and Black Independence Day. 

Cemetery Clean Up

The Bay City Oddfellows Cemetery is a very special place to me.  As a kid, when things got rocky at home, I’d walk to the cemetery to sort my thoughts.  I spent hours there alone.  To some people this might seem odd, but for me it was a great thinking place.  One day some grazing deer were just a few feet from me and I sat quietly as we watched each other.  

Thank You

On Monday, September 8, the coastal weather was hot, dry, and windy.  We're accustomed to cold, wet, and windy, so this storm was a little different.  As I stood on the front steps enjoying the powerful gusts, I had no idea how different it was about to be.  I could hear the crackling of trees snapping not far away.  We lost power and started our usual drill of lighting candles and lamps.  

Whittling Souls

A work in progress, just like me.

When we want someone to hear something really important, we ask for silence.  It’s the time to look away from the phone, shut off the TV, remove the headphones, stop talking, and LISTEN.  It’s time to focus.  I feel very strongly that 2020 is calling upon each of us to do that right now.

To my conservative friends

I want to put out an appeal to my friends who are conservative. I know there are some among you who have felt worried about the state of things, who have heard conflicting things about Trump and don't know what to believe.

Christ, the Refugee

So here we are at Easter.  My mind is stuck on a conversation I had yesterday with a friend who is undocumented.  Tears spilled down her cheeks as she talked about losing everyone to come here with her husband and children.  Obviously someone doesn't do that unless the situation is dire.  Now her husband's father is on his death bed in Mexico, and they can't do what most of us take for granted: go home and say goodbye.

Five Years

February 15, 2018.  Five years.  FIVE YEARS.  It’s been five years today since the first arrest and I gained two small children.

I was by no means prepared mentally, emotionally, or physically.  I was anemic and sick, and devastated by the nightmare we were facing as a family.  I was terrified by the possibilities, and five years later, I still am.

Women's March and Silence

Today, January 21, 2017, is the historic Women's March, which started in Washington, D.C. and has spread across this nation and even to other countries.

In our tiny rural community over 200 people showed up for today's march.  Quite mind-blowing in a county in which Trump got more votes. 

Whose Life Matters?

Imagine for a moment that someone is bulldozing the graves of YOUR family.  In addition, they are doing it to build a giant oil pipeline under your property, and your only source of drinking water.  Then do a little research on ongoing oil leaks and spills and the effect on drinking water and human health.  How would you feel about that?  Would you put your body on the line to make it stop?

For Cooper

Today, I got bad news.  After a series of other setbacks, my car has given up the ghost and needs a new engine.  Since my job was ended due to funding back in October, I didn’t need this.  In addition, my tax refund this year was spent catching up on bills and making repairs to my house that were critical.  It was draining to get this latest news, and I have been in full pity party mode all day.

Dear Mr. President

This is a letter I am sending to President Barack Obama.

Dear Mr. President,

I know I speak for not only myself, but for many other Oregonians, when I offer a deep, heartfelt apology for the way you were treated when you visited our state.  As as native-born Oregonian, I'm embarrassed and ashamed by one of the most unpatriotic things I have ever witnessed.

Tillamook for Love!

Ah, small town life.  I live in a town where, if your house catches fire, a loved one dies, or you have a flood (which is common here), people will flock to your side with offers to help.  Maybe it's because our little community is geographically isolated.   We have the Pacific ocean on one side, and steep mountain passes and treacherous roads on all three other sides, which are prone to downed trees and landslides.  We have learned to take care of our own here, and we pride ourselves on it.  For several decades, our local high school has done a week-long charity drive that raises huge amounts and has received national attention.  I'm proud of our neighborly spirit and resilience.

We also have a darker side.  Our community, like so many other Oregon communities, was a Ku Klux Klan stronghold and a "Sundown Town," one that enacted a local ordinance requiring all black people to be out of town by sundown... or else.  It's been well-known that Tillamook isn't the safest place to be different, i.e. black, Hispanic, non-English speaking, LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender), Athiest, or other non-Christian, just to name a few.

Many intolerant attitudes remain, and I'm not so proud of that.  In 1996, a black student ended up leaving Tillamook after having hate speech scrawled across their locker and being otherwise harassed.  Other local high school students were outraged, and created a county-wide declaration and held a march in support of the student.  Still, things are slow to change.

For the last few years, I have been involved with the Rural Organizing Project, a statewide organizations that works in small rural communities to stand up for civil and human rights.  About two years ago, I began coordinating an LGBT and Allies monthly social, to bring people together to create a community where all felt safe.  It quickly became apparent to me that Tillamook is a very closeted community, still shrouded in fear and the kind of misinformation that supports oppression.  I have long dreamed of a gay-straight alliance being formed at our local high school.  We need to do far more than practice tolerance; we need to actively support all members of our community.  Every kid has a basic right to a safe educational atmosphere, free from harassment and bullying.  I have been on this soapbox for some time, and trying to find ways to build that support and create an active local voice for equality.  But it's hard when people don't feel safe being who they are.  

Something happened on Tuesday, May 19th, which was a game-changer in my sleepy little town, and it started with one teenage girl.  

For months, two local men have basically terrorized downtown Tillamook.  They are aspiring street preachers, whose method of preaching includes screaming abusive and hateful things at passers-by, yelling that people are going to hell, and calling young girls and women whores (like a teenager who had just left dance class with her parent).  People had tried to reason with them, only to be screamed at abusively.  Local businesses, who need all the business they can get in our depressed rural economy, have been none too happy at having potential customers driven away outside their doors.  It came to a point that people largely ignored them, out of disgust and embarrassment.  Until Tuesday.

They began their usual diatribe on the sidewalk, by the parking lot of an eye clinic and a dance studio full of children.  This time, their focus was on homosexuality.  They were yelling about gay sex, and one was holding a sign that read, "homo sex is a sin."  Makaila Ragan, a local high school junior, heard them outside her mother's place of work, and decided enough was enough.  With her mother's permission, Makaila made her own sign, which said, "I <3 Gays."  She bravely walked out to the sidewalk and stood silently next to the two men, holding her sign.  She endured being yelled at and verbally abused.  Her mother was also verbally abused.  Horrible, hateful things were said, but Makaila stood her ground and did not return hateful words.

Within minutes, she was joined by one of her friends from the high school, then another, then a crowd began to grow, and stood surrounding the two men, while holding signs about love and tolerance.  I heard about the protest at my office right after a few of her friends had shown up and got a picture:

Makaila and a few friends about 5pm.

The crowd eventually spilled across the street to take up two street corners, while others drove by honking and shouting their support.  Makaila and her friends vowed to stay on the corner until the two men left, and that's what they did.  She stood on the corner with her sign from 4pm to 10:30pm that night, until they left.  Here's a picture from  8:45pm:

 

In a small town like Tillamook, we like to joke that if you do something, everyone in the county will know by the end of the day.  While gossip can be annoying, in this case it was a blessing.  More than one pastor came down to the corner to lend support to the group.  Local business owners thanked them for doing something about what had become a big problem.  Parents and loved ones of LGBT people came down to express thanks and support.  A Facebook group (Tillamook for Love) was created that night, that now has over 3,000 members from all over the globe.  Local papers picked up the story about the petite, brave young woman who handled two bullies with class and wisdom.   Her story has now been told in several national publications, as well as international publications, such as London's Daily Globe.  

There have been follow up rallies, as well as planning meetings, by the cohesive and committed group of people who wish to change community norms.  Our rally on May 23rd had over 75 people, some who had traveled from other areas, and a pastor and followers from a local church.   Not everyone supports us, but more people do than we expected.  

It has created a heated conversation in our small town, mostly around the line between free speech and hate speech.   My focus is on two other issues: One is the difference one person can make, with a simple action.  The other is the fact that there are many more caring, open-minded, non-judgmental people in Tillamook than any of us previously realized.  And now we have found one another and will make things happen.  We know who our allies are, there is a multitude of us, we are organizing, and we aren't going to back down!

We aren't going to put up with abuse, especially when it targets one group of people, often children, who are picked on already.  We are going to be meeting, holding conversations, planning, coordinating, and backing each other up to speak out when we see hate in our community.  Visitors come to our town, to enjoy the gorgeous coastal scenery and try the famous Tillamook dairy products.  Instead of being greeted by two men screaming foul and vicious things "in the name of God," they will be met with tolerance and kindness.  And our kids (speaking of God, God bless 'em) are creating their own culture at the high school.  They are organizing, gathering together, and supporting each other.  We adults have a moral obligation to support them in creating a safe community.  We can all be deeply proud of these young people, who are completely committed to love and kindness, when it would be so easy to respond with anger and vitriol.

Statistics show that one in three teen suicides is an LGBT youth.  There's something wrong in our society when someone is bullied to death, or wishes to die because someone has made them feel so wrong about being who they are.  We want our kids to stop bullies, and apparently we have taught them well.  They have banded together to stop adult bullies in the streets of our town.  They have even formed what I like to call a response team to show up with signs, using the Facebook group to alert when the men are spotted.

A friend of mine referred to Makaila's actions as a "Rosa Parks moment." I guess my point in writing this is that these "Rosa Parks moments" don't happen in a vacuum.  Her friends showed up, the community showed up, in my native town where I would have been less surprised if folks had thrown tomatoes at her.   I grew up and went to high school here and saw the deeply ingrained racism and homophobia.  I know many people who left this town for those very reasons.  I can't be the only person giggling at the irony of Tillamook being hailed as a place of tolerance.  At the same time I'm giddy with the potential for change, and I can feel the change in the air.  

Of course a Rosa Parks moment, while beautiful, doesn't excuse us from maintaining action.  If anything, it's a call to action.  There will be resistance,  and tough choices.  One young friend of mine has lost his job for participating in Tillamook for Love, on his own time.  There is still intolerance, and a solid need to remain steadfast in our common mission, which is create a safer and more loving community.

Our youth are ready to take this on.  Are we ready to stand alongside them?

Each one of us has a circle of influence, whether it is our church, our friends, our workplace, online, or any other place we have a presence.  Come join the group, be part of the conversation, and part of positive change.  We have a responsibility to not let these young people down, as well as their children and grandchildren.  What a golden opportunity!   If it can happen in this little dairy town, it can happen anywhere.  Let's make it happen! 

Check out the Facebook group: Tillamook for Love!

Creating Future Peace

I guess the title of this post is what this blog is all about, but I'm referring specifically to race. I grew up in a very small, very white town. My upbringing was a little unusual for my area, because I actually knew Black people as a child. My mother was a Job Corp volunteer, teaching reading to the youth who lived in the barracks of what had formerly been a WWII Navy Base. I was about three at the time and most of these youth were Black. They were away from families, and homesick. Many of them had younger siblings, so when I tagged along with her, I was coddled and adored by these boys. I was their little mascot. I am very grateful to my mother, who believed in civil rights and taught me to as well. She was ahead of her time, and a bit of an anomaly in our backwards little town.

As I grew older, I didn't realize or pay much attention to the fact that there were almost no Black people in our town. I guess I just thought that mostly white populations were the norm. I noticed that many of our local rivers and other features had Native American names. I was vaguely curious about Chief Kilchis, a local chief, who had figured prominently in local history. I lived in what was called, “the Kilchis District,” and there was a small cemetery down the road from my house, where I liked to walk and think. I read the names on the gravestones, and tried to imagine people's stories. I was fascinated to find a gravestone that said, “granddaughter of Chief Kilchis.” I began to wonder why there were no Kilchis Indians. How could it be that there was a whole tribe of them? What happened? As an adult, I became more acutely aware of the racial disparity in my town, and I had heard rumors that we had once been a Ku Kux Klan stronghold. I wondered what other secrets Tillamook held.

I went to the local library and checked out books on local history. There were interesting stories about the Kilchis tribe, but nothing to indicate whatever happened to them. I talked to a local historian and friend, Gerry Hysmith, and she told me an interesting story. Warren Vaughn, a local pioneer, had been the only white man the natives had trusted or liked, apparently (and with good reason). The little cemetery down the road from me had been their sacred burial ground until the early 1900's, when it was taken over by white people. Early on, the Kilchis tribe had brought their complaints to Warren Vaughn about their burial area being desecrated and pillaged by white men. Warren Vaughn vowed to put a stop to it.

At that time, Bay City was a thriving port town, and the county seat. Ships would come in with a load of ballast to weigh down and stabilize them, mostly dirt, rocks, and the sort. Vaughn found a small twig that had been discarded in a load of ballast, and presented it to the natives as a peace offering, and declared it to be his promise to stop the pillaging of native graves. The twig was planted at the top of the cemetery hill, where it grew into a very imposing tree that overlooks the entire cemetery. The tree is pretty much dead, but it stands as a reminder.

About four years ago, I met a woman named Helen Hill, a local playwright, artist, historian, and general renaissance woman. As we chatted, I learned she had written a book called, “A Brief History of Fear and Intolerance in Tillamook County.” She offered me a copy of the book, and I went home and read it in one sitting.

In it, I learned about the Klan activity in Tillamook County. I learned that under that giant sacred tree in “my” little cemetery (where my parents are now buried), lie the children of Chief Kilchis in unmarked graves. I learned that Chief Kilchis died on a reservation in a different county. And I learned why there were no more Kilchis Indians in Tillamook County. Eugenics. The males in that tribe were systematically sterilized. Sterilization is such a handy little word... sounds like neat and clean, but it belies the deep ugliness of what was happening; a young native man would break an arm and be taken to Bay City hospital, where he would be treated, and sterilized. THAT'S what happened. The book answered my questions, but it broke my heart. I knew that the very land I “own” was native land, that my family was only the second white family to ever live on it. I grieved for what my unearned privilege had cost others. I vowed that eventually I would find a way to mark those graves, and I would do my part to ensure that everyone heard this truth. I called Helen and asked her if she had more copies of the book, because I needed to buy them... for my kids, for my friends, for anyone who cares at all about our community. Long story short, she gave me the printing rights to the book, and I have gifted it to many people.

Race has remained at the forefront of my consciousness, as I see the way that racism plays out in my community, from hearing people of Middle East descent, who bought a local convenience store chain, called, “ragheads,” to hearing racist and hateful remarks against Hispanic immigrants, to the fact that there remains very, very few Black people in Tillamook.

A few months ago, I was contacted by a woman from the Rural Organizing Project (www.rop.org) named Sam Hamlin. We met over lunch, and discussed concerns about the sharp rise in racially-based hate crimes in Oregon, along with an alarming increase in White Supremacist activities and presence in the state. The ROP had planned what they referred to as an “emergency response” to this disturbing situation.

A professor from Portland State University, Dr. Walidah Imarisha, had offered to tour rural Oregon, where these groups like to do their dirty work, and present on Black History...not only a history of oppression and struggle, but of resilient, thriving communities of color that had survived against overwhelming odds and contributed a great deal to Oregon. Thanks to ROP, Oregon Humanities, the Tillamook Co. Pioneer Museum, the Women's Resource Center, and Bay City Arts Center, we were able to bring her to Tillamook County. The presentation was called, “Why Aren't There More Black People in Oregon? A Hidden History.”

I had only received 39 RSVPs for the event we set up on September 9^th, so I was a little nervous, but over 60 people turned up that evening to participate in the presentation. It was electrifying to see that many people who are investing in addressing this issue; maybe I hadn't given Tillamook enough credit!

Dr. Imarisha used a timeline of Black History in Oregon to shed light on things that most people didn't know. Horrifying and sad things. She asked how many people in the room had grown up and attended Oregon schools, and many hands went up. She then asked how many people had learned of this history, and I don't believe I saw a single hand. She did a fine job of illustrating that this is everyone's history, not just Black history, and it's important for us all to know it.

Many people take pride in knowing that Oregon was founded as an anti-slavery state, without realizing that it was not anti-slavery out of concern for civil rights. It was because slavery would bring Black people to Oregon and they weren't wanted here. Oregon was intended to be a “white homeland.” I learned about the 1844 Lash Law, and many other egregious and hateful practices in what I was always taught was a progressive, open-minded state. I was sad and ashamed.

Helen Hill was there, along with another local hero, retired Justice of the Peace Neal Lemery. When a member of the crowd asked the presenter to show “proof” that Tillamook was a Sundown Town (in which local laws prevent persons of color from being there after sundown), Neal turned around and said that, until 1982, it was still written into local ordinance. What he didn't mention is that he was instrumental in having it removed from the books, against resistance and personal backlash. He had finished law school and come back to his hometown to practice, only to be disheartened, but ready to do something about it. Helen didn't mention her book, but others did, along with a play she had done about the KKK.

We broke into small groups and discussed what we would like to do to move forward to make our community a more welcoming and safe place to live, for everyone. This was never intended to be a one-time conversation, so we collected contact information from those interested in follow-up. I have recently obtained the notes from that meeting, and I am working with the ROP to set up our next event, where we will have the opportunity to plan ways to make this happen.

Here is a link to the PowerPoint created by Dr. Imarisha for this event. It is available on YouTube, with or without commentary. I'm attaching the version with commentary, in case you were not fortunate enough to hear her in person.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fo2RVOunsZ8

Anyone who is interested in joining this very important conversation is welcome. If interested, please contact me at 503-842-8294, x. 209, or email me at romy@tcwrc.net. You can live anywhere in the world and start these conversations. Ending racism is a pretty tall order, but we have to start somewhere right?

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world; indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

Margaret Mead

Holiday Peace

Ever play with one of those Chinese finger traps?  You stick your fingers in and they are stuck.  The harder you pull, the more stuck you are.  This is how I am feeling during this holiday season, and I know I’m not alone.  There seems to be a huge sense of expectation built up this time of year, to make this the “best one ever,” like life is some kind of Hallmark movie.  Worse yet, there is almost a sense of societal obligation to be cheery.  After all, who wants to be accused of being a scrooge? 

For a variety of reasons, there are several people who won’t be coming to Christmas in my family this year.  Some are no longer with us, some are in a life struggle that is taking precedence over family and holidays, and some have changed their religious views to no longer include Christmas, or the family get-togethers that have accompanied it.  For me, this time of year has always been about family, and the sights and sounds of Christmas this year have a hollow feel to them.  As a matter of fact, I have mostly avoided any shopping that is not absolutely necessary, in order to avoid the dreaded Christmas music, which makes me cranky or depressed, depending on the tune.

I’m not saying any of this for sympathy, or attention; my problems are miniscule compared to some people's.  I’m saying it because it’s my truth, and it’s been weighing on my mind.  So much is beyond our control, not only during this time of the year, but all throughout the year; yet there’s this undeniable pressure to “make” it a great holiday.  Sometimes you just can’t.  It is what it is.  Call me Scrooge, but I feel resentment at that expectation, because it minimizes people’s reality.  There are many times in life that we are walking with privilege and are unaware.  One form of privilege is getting to be with your family and being happy.  Right now, I have several friends going through divorce, several friends grieving a death, a friend dealing with major legal issues with her son, and another friend whose little grandson is at the brink of death from cancer.  Why do we have this pressure to “fake it” when things are not well, just because it’s the holiday season?

A couple of weeks ago, a man I know killed himself.  I don’t know why, and it seemed to come as a surprise to everyone who knew him.  I don’t know what pressures he faced, or what kept him from talking to someone and asking for help, but I don’t think our society is very good at encouraging that.  That expectation to “be tough” isn’t always very helpful.  I’m not blaming society for his death, just wondering what role this might have played.

The only way to get out of a Chinese finger trap is to relax, and push both ends of the trap toward the center.  Reduce pressure, find a place of balance, whether that’s in the center or wherever, because it’s different for everyone.  Stop pulling against the pressure.  And recognize that in the long run, we can attach meaning to a day but it’s still just a day.  We can find new ways to honor our lives, every day.

My friend Deb always ascribed to the Platinum Rule, which is to treat others as they wish to be treated.  I won’t assume that everyone celebrates Christmas and has a Hallmark life (or wants either).  I just think we are all here doing the best we can, in each moment, and that seems more than enough to expect.

Peace is a loaded term.  And for me, I am seeking peace this holiday season by providing joy and comfort where I can, to myself and others.  Staying out of the ways of others when I am feeling grumpy, because it’s not my intention to be a wet blanket.  Looking for the positive in people and situations.  And perhaps most importantly, not feeling guilt if I don’t choose to partake in the Santa hat-wearing, jingle-belling, fake cheer I’m “supposed” to feel.  It's a great opportunity to boil the season down to what is really, truly important.  I’m a little busy this year missing some people, and I’m going to concentrate on loving the people I can. 

If you are reading this, my wish for you is peace of mind and heart, comfort, and love.  If you are sad or struggling, know that you are not alone.  And it’s okay to be sad, because sometimes life is sad, it just is.  There’s nothing wrong with you if you don’t feel “cheery,” or if you do.  Regardless of who or where you are, I wish you peace.

Organizing for Peace

What were you doing in 1992?  I was going through a divorce, and on welfare, with three small kids.  I was living in the small rural town where I grew up, and unbeknownst to me, a movement was being born right under my nose.

That year, a group called Oregon Citizen’s Alliance, headed by extreme conservative and homophobe Lon Mabon, proposed a measure designed to deny civil rights to lesbians and gays in Oregon, and all hell broke loose.  Measure 9 said all governments in the state should not support homosexuality - or "pedophilia, sadism or masochism" - in any way and that they "must assist in setting a standard for Oregon's youth which recognizes that these behaviors are abnormal, wrong, unnatural and perverse and they are to be discouraged and avoided."  (The group had already succeeded in 1988 in repealing former Governor Neil Goldschmidt’s executive order banning discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation in state government, via Measure 8.  The 1988 measure also prohibited protection for lesbian and gay workers from job discrimination.  In 1992, the Oregon Supreme Court overturned it, declaring it unconstitutional.)

Although their rallying cry was “no special rights,” Measure 9 was really about no rights whatsoever, not even the right to live and exist in our society.  This created arguably one of the most hotly contested elections in Oregon history.  More people voted in this election than in the presidential election.

At kitchen tables across Oregon, groups were coming together to talk about LGBT rights, and they were starting to organize.  In larger urban areas, it was easier to find like-minded people, but in the small, rural areas of the state pockets of awareness were forming.  Small, isolated towns were forming human dignity groups in response to this attack on our fellow citizens.  I had a “No on 9” sign in the front window of my house, much to the annoyance of my next door neighbor, a very conservative Christian, whose lawn was peppered with “Yes on 9” signs. 

  

Meanwhile, a small group was traveling across Oregon, from kitchen table to kitchen table, connecting ideas and people.  The Rural Organizing Project was born.  By connecting like-minded people who had been geographically isolated from one another, local human dignity groups, under the statewide umbrella of the Rural Organizing Project, banded together and soundly defeated Measure 9.  Many younger people in Oregon have never even heard of the OCA, or Lon Mabon, but those of us who remember will do whatever we must to prevent the hostile takeover of state law and government by hate groups.  Perhaps we should thank Lon Mabon, the creepy little bigot for kicking a hornet’s nest of fair-minded activists. 

In 1993, the Rural Organizing Project held a Rural Caucus and Strategy Session, bringing together human and civil rights activists from all across the state, and the permanent organization was formed.  On June 8, 2013, the 20^th annual ROP Rural Caucus and Strategy Session was held in Woodburn, and for the first time, I was able to attend.  I was honored and humbled to be in the company of people who had spent decades defending the rights of others.  This year’s was the largest ever, with over 160 people in attendance.

I firmly believe that in the absence of justice there is no peace, and there is no peace activism that does not include the responsibility for social justice.  I came away from the caucus believing more firmly than ever before that, while peace rallies are great, every single one of us can be a peace activist every single day.  We all have our niche in which we can create peace through social justice. 

Some of the issues discussed: preventing corporate takeover, treatment of the homeless, LGBT rights, immigration reform, the drones program (and of course war), privatization of public services, fair housing, marriage equality, Guantanamo Bay, self-sufficient living, economic justice, creating welcoming communities, poverty and hunger, youth leadership.

I left with a packet full of information on a variety of issues, feeling empowered and happy.  You don’t have to sign every petition, attend every rally, or march every march to be an activist.  But if you can find something, one thing, that matters to you… that’s where it begins. Everyone who was there had their passion.  I had the privilege of hearing so many voices, and it was overwhelming, but in a good way.

I am hoping, over the next few blog posts, to highlight a few of the efforts taking place, some of the partnerships that are being formed, and maybe some stories of how they got started.  But for now, I’ll simply share the overriding values identified by the Rural Organizing Project… democracy, human dignity, justice, and solidarity… and encourage you to go to their website and learn more:

www.rop.org.

In closing, I will share my all-time favorite story about my dad.  When I was growing up, my dad was not known for his open-minded spirit. He used to remind me of the character Archie Bunker off the TV show All in the Family.  At about age 68, he quit drinking and I saw his demeanor become kinder.  At age 72, he went completely and irreversibly blind from macular degeneration.  In 1992, at the height of the OCA debacle, he was 76 years old and eating lunch with my mom at the local senior meal site.  The discussion turned to politics, and inevitably to Measure 9.  My brave dad, in spite of his blindness, in spite of his awareness that since World War II, he had lived in an extremely conservative community, STOOD UP, and spoke out loudly and boldly to his peers AGAINST Measure 9.  My dad, who I had once compared to Archie Bunker, took one small action that will forever define him in my book as an activist.  I have never been so proud as I was of him when I heard about it from my mom.  He didn't define himself as an activist, but he believed in fairness.

My dad would have turned 98 yesterday.  He passed away in 1994.  For the past 19 years, I have tried to live in a way that would make him proud, but most of all, to be as brave and outspoken about my truth as he was that day.  That one moment changed my perception of him forever, and sometimes all we need is one moment to speak out for justice to create peace.