Showing posts with label organizing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label organizing. Show all posts

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.

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. 

Making America Great "Again"



Lately, I have seen a lot of talk about liberals and how we are ruining America, etc.  That’s probably a whole other post, what being a liberal means to me, but for right now, let’s talk about making America great.

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 9th, 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.


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

Let Freedom Ring!!



Wedding bells are ringing!  Since Oregon overturned the same sex marriage ban last month, two couples I know have set wedding plans.  Last Saturday, in a lovely intimate setting in a beautiful wooded garden area, my friends stood before friends and family and pledged their ongoing love and commitment.



These two women have been together for 27 years, so I had to stifle a giggle when the minister mentioned the enormous commitment it takes to enter into a marriage.  I’m pretty sure they’ve had some time to think it through.  The wedding was beautiful, with a sing-along, accompanied by guitar and recorder, and even a kazoo (you had to be there!).  Even some tinkling wind chimes in a nearby tree contributed as if on cue.  It was magical.

 

As I sat listening to their vows, watching their glowing faces, I thought of the struggles that people have had throughout American history with such issues, back to the time when only white, male, landowners were allowed to vote. 



The same people who would deny these two women the right to marry appear to have the same mindset (and arguments) as the group that opposed interracial marriage in this country back before the 1967 Supreme Court decision lifting that ban.  The same people who would be horrified at the idea of arranged marriages often seem to have no qualms about thinking that two consenting adults in this country can’t make their own decision about marrying one another. How stupid this same-sex marriage ban will look to future generations!  The “fabric of society” will not be compromised one tiny bit by same-sex marriage any more than it was by abolition of slavery, blacks and women voting, or interracial marriage.  I even feel silly pointing that out.  For some people, progress provokes great and unreasonable fear.



So these were my thoughts as I sat there, and I got a little irritated with myself for focusing out on this and not just enjoying this beautiful, historical moment.  Here I was, a part of something sacred, a moment to savor and celebrate!  Here was a reminder of all that is right in this world, and that’s why I feel that in some ways, the world is getting better, not worse as some would believe. 



It’s taken huge sacrifice, and many people have put jobs, reputations, even lives on the line for the right to marry who they want, and here I was watching this huge victory, in a way a culmination of all that struggle.  I’m honored to be a witness to this, and grateful for all the people who spoke out, knowing laws don’t change unless people MAKE them change.  The tipping point seems to take place when people run out of justifications for their bigotry.  It also makes a difference when it affects your neighbors, your friends, your family members, someone you care about.  The scales of justice have finally tipped in the right direction, and it’s a sweet, long-deserved victory.



What hurts one of us ultimately hurts us all, and I’m committed to helping to create a world where people aren’t being hurt.  It’s a tall order, but one step at a time, things are getting better.  By taking a stand, win or lose, we can embolden people to safely be themselves, knowing there are people who have their back.



My friends who married last Saturday have spent decades in the trenches, as activists for marriage equality.  Their victory is about even more than marriage equality; it’s about promotion of the idea of equal rights for all. 



So what’s next?  Well, the Senate passed the Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA) for the first time ever.  President Obama recently announced he’s moving ahead on an executive order that will ban anti-LGBT discrimination among federal contractors.  Now we need passage of ENDA in the House of Representatives to get it signed into law.

June is LGBT Pride Month.  For so many Oregonians, this particular June will be the sweetest one of all.  Let’s relish this moment in history and keep fighting the good fight!



Happy Pride Month!


Ukraine

I've noticed over the past few months that I have a larger group of readers in Ukraine than in the United States.  I found this fascinating, especially considering the size of Ukraine compared to the U.S., and the fact that I'm pretty certain I don't know anyone there.  I have a friend who wrote a blog, and had a large following in a particular country.  When he asked some of his readers in that country why they read his blog, they stated that they were learning English that way.

I like to think that, regardless of my logic or ideas, my English skills, grammar, and punctuation are pretty good, so that would not bother me one bit.  It's a weird feeling to think about how somewhere, complete strangers from the other side of the planet are reading my blog.  I never get any feedback from them, but I'd really like feedback right now.

If you are in the Ukraine and reading this post, I would love to hear more about what is really happening in your country.  To say the least, American media is deceptive.  My understanding is that the President of Ukraine, who is now in hiding, basically broke promises to the Ukrainian people, and cast his alliances in opposition to the will of the people.  Then when peaceful protesters marched, they were gunned down.  This of course, is a very over-simplified explanation of the situation.

To be honest, I could probably learn more from news sources, but I don't necessarily trust them.  I view this as an opportunity to hear directly from the people impacted the most: the people of Ukraine.  I would love to hear your comments about how you perceive the situation (whether you choose to comment on this post, or email me directly at carverromy@gmail.com).  With your permission, I'd like to share your comments without identifying you.  I also share my blog on my Facebook page.  

I am frustrated that so much of what is going on in the world is being spun by my country's corporate media, to the point that the truth is unrecognizable, and I'd like to hear from you.  For that matter, wherever you are, I'd like to hear from you.  I'd like to hear about your viewpoints from whatever corner of the world you inhabit.

You all know a little about me and my viewpoints if you read my blog.  I'd like to hear about you.  I am inspired by populations that stand up and take back power from the despots and the tyrants.  Your name may or may not end up in the history books, but only you can know the struggles you have endured, and you are the REAL game changers.  The real changes in power throughout history have not taken place because of political leaders.  The changes have happened when everyday people got fed up, stood up, spoke out, and made a difference.  This takes an unbelievable amount of courage for the masses to put their lives on the line, join hands, and gather together in the name of justice.

God bless the people of Ukraine.  May you be granted justice and peace, which go hand in hand.  May the will of the people be heard, may bloodshed end, and may you come out stronger as a people through your sacrifice and struggle. 

If there is something you would like to say to the rest of us out there, I would love to hear from you.  Thank you for taking the time to read my blog.

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 20th 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:


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.

The Empire Strikes Back (Against the Defenseless)

I remember as a kid being asked, “If you could push a button for a million dollars, but someone in China would die, would you do it?”   I had to really think about that.  There is no way I would consider actually “killing” someone, but pushing a button, and never having to see that person’s face, witness his pain, or know his story as a fellow human being might be different.  When my friends and I pondered that question, I thought about that person having a family, and a life.  What if someone could push a button and do that to me?  So if they didn’t have the right to do that to me, how could I do it, even to a stranger?  Some of my friends had different opinions, saying, “Who cares?  You’d never know the person.  Maybe they were dying anyway… besides, it’s a million dollars!” 

I didn’t have the words to articulate what I know now: that every living, breathing human deserves to live.  That pushing a button to kill someone on the other side of the world is still killing.  And that brings me to drones.

Our warmonger-owned media would love for us to adopt the thinking that some anonymous human on the other side of the world doesn’t matter.  But that is operating from the false assumption that we are not interconnected, and that killing is okay if you don’t have to watch the person die.  A tidy, sanitized death that we don’t have to witness... except we don’t get the million dollars; the warmongers do.

They would like us to believe that the people being killed are “terrorists,” because somehow the fact that they have been thus labelled justifies their murder.  But what makes a terrorist?  For the sake of the drone program, any male over 18 years of age in the strike zone is a terrorist.  So if our government deems you deserving of death via remote control, and your 18-year-old son is home at the time, he is now considered a terrorist too.  Comes in pretty handy when they are counting “civilian” deaths.  Conveniently, this 18 year old is no longer counted as a civilian.  It has nothing to do with terrorist activity, or even knowledge of terrorist activity; it’s all about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Drones have only an 80% accuracy rate.  If that doesn’t sound so bad, think about how comfortable you would be if the drone was pointed at your next door neighbor.  You are no longer a person if the drone hits your home and kills your family; you are now “collateral damage.”  Every instance of collateral damage means a funeral, means orphans, means people burying their babies, and the trauma of a community dealing with a murder.  In this case, the murderer is not being held accountable.  And for those people who allude to the sanctity of life while protesting abortion, please know that fetuses die in our unethical wars too.

We have a great deal of invisible privilege living here in the U.S., because we don’t have to live in a war zone.  Nobody deserves to wonder if they are going to be killed in a car bombing that day, to be constantly vigilant, to wonder if soldiers are going to kick down their door and drag away their father, or brother, or son to be “interrogated,” yet that is the reality in the countries we are invading and occupying.  This is what we create.  Yet somehow, we call them the terrorists.  The same people who say they don't trust the government don't seem to question the government when it deems a random person across the world as a terrorist.  That is the luxury of living in America.

More people have been upset about the drone program targeting American citizens, but I am upset about the drone program targeting anybody!  Who are we to play God?  If you want to murder someone, at least have the guts to do it to his face, not shoot a missile from the other side of the planet and take out his family and friends.  What kind of cowardice have we produced, and who are these inventors of death, who make their living finding increasingly cold-hearted ways to take the lives of others, while removing themselves conveniently from the situation?

Brandon Bryant, a former drone pilot, now suffers from PTSD.  He quit the drone program, after witnessing the death of a child as the result of a drone he fired.  And that was just a vague camera image in infrared.  He did not have to hear the screams, or see the fear and pain in the child’s face, or witness the grief of the families of the dead.  Nevertheless, the knowledge of his own role in this moral outrage has ruined his life.  As aggressors, we also pay the price of this senseless killing, and it is a blight on our social conscience.  As Howard Zinn would say, “There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”  And make no mistake, these are innocent people, even the ones labelled as terrorists.  Isn’t it supposed to be “innocent until proven guilty?”  Have they been brought to trial, have they had a chance to defend themselves, or is this the New American Way… judge, jury, and executioner?  

The Obama administration admitted yesterday that four U.S. Citizens had been killed by drones, one of whom was specifically targeted.  While not excusing the one who was targeted, were the other three an accident?  Why are we doing this?  Today, the President promises to CURTAIL the drone program.  A new classified policy guidance signed by Pres. Obama will sharply curtail the instances when unmanned aircraft can be used to attack in places that are not overt war zones: countries like Pakistan, Yemen and Somalia.  That is not enough.  Every human being on this planet deserves to not be murdered, and a drone murder is still murder.  This must be discontinued.  This is not a video game; it’s human life.  Would it bring you comfort if you were cradling the body of your dead child to be told we had “curtailed” drone attacks?

If you agree with me that this is irresponsible and inhumane, please click on the links below, which will take you to petitions.  Feel free to add your own links if you are aware of other petitions.  As a conscientious American, I cannot defend the drone program in any form.

To ask for further scaling back of drone operations, via Codepink:

To ask for the suspension of the Customs and Border Protection domestic drone surveillance program:

A change.org petition asking for the suspension of drone strikes on suspected terrorists:
https://www.change.org/petitions/no-more-drone-strikes

Here is the link to information about the book, "Drone Warfare: Killing by Remote Control" by Medea Benjamin:
http://www.codepinkalert.org//article.php?id=6064

Choosing a Tribe

It all started with Howard Zinn.  A few years ago, I stumbled across a book entitled, “A Power Governments Cannot Suppress,” by a man named Howard Zinn.  The title sounded enticing, so I did something out of character and bought it without having opened it.

The book sat idle for a few weeks as I tried to find time to read it.  I discovered it was a selection of essays, making it easier to read in bits and pieces.  I started reading a chapter each night at bedtime and was quickly hooked. 

Zinn wrote with passion, and articulated concepts I had often felt swirling wordlessly around inside me; his words were a call to action.  I felt like I saw his soul, and admired his steely resolve of integrity, combined with genuine warmth and compassion.  I found myself dog-earing pages, and underlining and starring section after section of his words.  I had found a hero.

My “do-gooder” nature over the years has earned me some good-natured ribbing and the nickname of “Mrs. Justice” from my kids, but Howard Zinn understood.  His words validated my need for “do-gooding,” but also struck a deeper chord, because Zinn was a historian extraordinaire.  He gave a voice to those historically voiceless, and I realized that they are us, and all of us depend on all of us to do something.  Anything and everything makes a difference.  As Zinn illustrated in story after story, common people like you and me were the ones who changed the world, not leaders and politicians.  Not only do we have the right to be do-gooders; we have a responsibility.  I should probably mention here that I really hated history class, and skipped school at every opportunity to avoid it; now history had come alive.

About four days into my nightly Zinn-reading routine, I had a powerful and vivid dream.  I was part of an ancient and powerful nomadic tribe, living in a plains area.  Another smaller, peaceful tribe lived nearby, and I had become friends with a little boy from that tribe, about eight years old (I’m not sure of my age or gender in this dream; I guess it wasn’t relevant).  For some time, my tribe had been tormenting this other tribe, and I watched in unspeakable horror as adults from my own tribe beat this boy brutally, then drowned him in a stream, laughing raucously.  I knew in that moment that I was leaving my tribe, to live with the smaller, weaker tribe.  I also knew the decision would result in my death, but I was at peace with that; it was better than being one of the killers, and I would die standing with MY people.

I woke in tears.  I didn’t see the outcome of the dream and didn’t need to.  I had chosen my tribe.

After that night, I began standing peace vigil, and reading and learning all I could about creating peace… writings by politicians, faith leaders, former soldiers, people living in war zones, and ordinary folks like Peace Pilgrim.  I try to be mindful every day about standing on the side of peace, and not letting down my tribe. 

I’ll leave it to you to think about who my tribe is, but if you stand for peace, I will stand with you.  I know that Howard Zinn would too.

"The trouble is that once you see it, you can't unsee it. And once you've seen it, keeping quiet, saying nothing, becomes as political an act as speaking out. There's no innocence. Either way, you're accountable."  Arundhati Roy

Bread and Peace

My tiny rural town has a thrift bakery that has been there for decades.  Within walking distance are three low-income apartment complexes.  Historically, our economy has relied on four industries: dairy farming, fishing, logging, and tourism.  The local dairy industry has been largely dominated by a handful of local pioneer families, the fishing and logging industries have fallen into decline, and the tourism industry has consisted mostly of minimum-wage hospitality jobs, many of which are seasonal.  




This paints a bleak picture for our local economy, and underscores the need for a low-cost place for families to buy whole-grain bread, eggs, dairy, and other staples.  The Tillamook Franz Bakery Outlet has been that place.  In recent months, sales have suffered, leading the corporate office in another town to announce the store’s pending closure. 

For over half of the last year, the road on both sides of the store were nearly impassible, due to a construction project that seemed to take forever.  The road was closed, and even when it was reopened, the roads were still difficult.  People continue to avoid that stretch of road even now, as driving it entails negotiating an obstacle course of manhole covers that jut inches above the unfinished pavement.  In the local paper, a spokesman for the store’s parent company minimized the impact of the road closure on sales; locals know better.

It hadn’t occurred to me that there was any chance of the corporation changing their minds about closing the store, but I thought if they were going to close it, they ought to at least hear the truth of the matter: YES, that road closure DID matter, and locals are very upset about the closure and the impact it will have on our community.  On a whim, I looked up the company online, and called.  To my surprise, I encountered a friendly CEO who answered his own phone.  We had a nice chat, and to my surprise, he has agreed to reconsider the closure if sales improve.  I was impressed, so I posted details of the call to my Facebook page, encouraging people to shop at the store, and call the CEO to tell him of the commitment to keep it open.

A friend of mine created a Facebook event, using my original post, to “Save Tillamook Franz Bakery Outlet,” and as of this writing 270 people have signed onto this event to demonstrate their commitment to help keep this local asset.  There is also a write-up in the local paper.  The outcome remains to be seen, but I have high hopes.  I joked with the reporter from the paper, who is a friend of mine, that here I stand week after week at peace vigil, and sometimes feel so hopeless, but one call to a bread store…  !  It has kind of taken on a life of its own.

Many people are overwhelmed at the idea of creating peace.  It feels so daunting, so universal, yet peace is created in simple ways. Feeding the hungry creates peace, even if it’s just trying to keep low-cost food accessible to low-income families.  It can be other simple acts, such as making a phone call, writing a letter, interrupting a hateful remark, or sticking up for someone being bullied.  When we expand our definition of peace to include social and economic justice, and bringing comfort to others, it becomes so simple.  Peace can be a lifestyle!  Life, after all, is comprised of a series of individual moments; it’s how we spend those moments. 

On this Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I am reminded that every single one of us, with each simple deed, is part of a larger process, the big picture.  To me, as corny as it may sound, this is bigger than a bread store.  It’s about the inspiration we can provide to one another.  I have been touched by the huge response to this by people who care enough about their community to take one small action.  Whether or not the bread store survives, the effort to save it has brought people together to do something good, and that IS a big deal.  The way we build community is the way we build peace: one action at a time.  Every small act of kindness counts, just like the ocean is made up of billions of tiny drops of water.  It’s when they band together, they become powerful.  For every Gandhi, for every Rosa Parks, for every Martin Luther King, there are countless others of us and we ALL make a difference.

“An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity.”  Martin Luther King, Jr.

Peace Out Loud

This is a post I have really been looking forward to writing ever since I started my blog, because it’s about who I really am, what I stand for, and why I decided to start a blog.

I work for a non-profit that helps violence survivors and part of our goal is to educate and raise awareness to help our community to prevent violence. In my spare time, I am a peace activist, as much as I have time to be while playing a very active role in the lives of my grandchildren. I wouldn’t have any of this any other way!

Every Friday evening, a small group of us stands peace vigil in our small, rural town… often only two of us, but that’s okay. We stand as a human reminder that yes, there’s still a war going on, several in fact, and they need to stop. We stand for the people who can’t: the troops who are sent far from their families to fight in a battle that isn’t theirs, for those who won’t come home (on all sides of the battle; the “enemy” has family too), and for those living in the war zones. There are other reasons why we stand; I’ve been doing it for a couple of years now, and my friend Linda has been standing since the very beginning of the war, shortly after 9/11. Maybe the biggest reason is the need to, literally, take a stand for peace.

When I started, a couple of years ago, I noticed that we were frequently flipped off, screamed at, etc., by passers-by. But I felt very passionate about why I stood and those people only made me stronger. Over the past several months, I have experienced a change in attitude. More people honk, and give us thumbs up and other positive feedback, than ever before, and the rude gestures and remarks are fewer and further between. I think people are beginning to get as fed up as we are.

As time went by, I decided that reading about peace and standing vigil was nowhere near enough. I started using my Facebook page to promote peace. It started with a month-long effort to post a song about peace each day; this ended up going on for several months, at which point, I switched to posting a peace/anti-war quote each day. I continue to do this daily.

I have become much more outspoken than I used to be; to be honest, I can’t NOT be outspoken about a life or death issue that impacts every human on earth. I have not shied away from posting videos and photos showing the real devastation of war that network TV doesn’t want the public to see. I have promoted sites and efforts to resist the military draft, because our young people deserve better than that.

It takes more than the bombing to stop to create peace, although that’s a start. I see peace as a very holistic thing. Peace, like violence, can occur on all levels. Individual peace leads to more peaceful interpersonal relationships. It’s hard to be hateful and angry at others when you are happy with yourself. Once you reach the point of not carrying that anger and fear and malcontent, it’s much easier to create peace on a larger level. An example is speaking out against racism, and in favor of more peaceful means of communication. Violence becomes unthinkable and abhorrent. All the things that we as humans fight about seem petty and childish. On a global level, I really do believe that peace can be achieved. But it starts within each of us to care enough to talk about it.

Peace is about so much more than peace signs and hippies and tie-dye… it’s a way of life. It’s not wishful thinking; it’s faith in action. It isn’t always easy. It means choosing non-violence, no matter how justified violence may seem. It means respecting people, even if they are being disrespectful. It means being open to new ways to handle conflict that respect the person and the situation, then teaching it to our children and to others. Finding the good in someone you are angry with is a victory, not a weakness. And it means understanding the concept of karma: that revenge is pointless, because the person who hurt you has already created bad energy and you don’t need to go and create it too. It means listening, mediating, negotiating, and putting pride aside. These are values that traditionally have not been valued in our society, but I believe that, like many things, things are starting to change. Each generation seems to inch its way a little closer. The struggle for equality and civil rights didn’t begin or end in the 60’s; it’s on a continuum, and old, intolerant beliefs continue to be challenged and dismantled. I believe this is growing, as younger generations see the futility and stupidity in the previous oppressive behaviors.

Obviously, none of us are perfect, and we all fall short, but these are my goals in my daily life. Peace is hard work. But it can be habit-forming, because it feels good to live with purpose. We do each make a difference, you know. It’s just a matter of what kind of difference we make.

Peace can be created consciously. So how do we work more effectively toward world peace? I believe the keys are education and non-judgment. That takes effort, and it means having an open mind and doing research. If I hear something inflammatory about a particular group of people, I tend to distrust it immediately. After all, are you the same as every other person of your skin color, gender, religion, etc.? Of course not, and nobody else is all the same either. Whenever I hear stereotyping, I discount it, because I don’t believe in stereotyping. The best weapon against hateful thinking is facts. When I hear something that sounds like hate propaganda, I research it and refute it with facts. Needless to say, not everyone enjoys being corrected when they are trying to justify hateful beliefs, but I think it’s important to prevent the spread of misinformation. This is especially true when hateful stereotyping has led to violence, such as the racial profiling and hate crimes against people of Middle Eastern descent after 9/11. We can do better than this.

Another way to promote peace is by talking to combat veterans, especially in these most recent wars. Hear the truth, instead of the prime-time television pablum you have been fed. Realize that our money is being used to prop up the false concept of American exceptionalism, which essentially means, “we are Americans so we are better than you.” This kind of concept does not create peace. It causes resentment, and rightfully so. We are not better, and we are all just human. I am always baffled by people who refer to themselves as Christians who ascribe to this type of thinking… I don’t think Christ (the Prince of Peace) would be pleased with this arrogance.

This is also part of the reason I refuse to pledge allegiance to the flag. While others recite the verse they are told to recite, I stand with my hand over my heart and silently pray. I pray for those innocents we have killed, I pray for the American soldiers needlessly in harm’s way, and I pray for forgiveness of our nation’s warlike ways. First of all, I have a hard time picturing Christ pledging his allegiance to ANY flag, and I do try to live my life by those principles. I believe Christ saw the big picture, and was not caught up in nationalism. I cannot in good conscious be for global peace while supporting this thinking. I support my nation and those in it, just like I support other humans, but I will not support the drone strikes, the land mines, the obscenely huge war budget, the signing of the NDAA, the invasion and occupation of other countries under false pretenses, and the boosting of despotic regimes that has been carried out under this flag with my tax dollars. It makes me ashamed.

Needless to say, some have called me unpatriotic. I’d like to differentiate between patriotism and nationalism. Nationalism doesn’t question anything; it pledges blind allegiance, on the assumption that the government will do what is right. Patriotism wants what is actually best for the people. It wants justice, and fair laws, and equal rights. Nationalism cares about being number one. Patriotism means wanting to represent your country with pride by being the kind of person your country can be proud of. Therefore, I consider myself deeply patriotic. I value ALL human lives, not just American lives… kind of like Jesus would do.

If you are anything like me this way, and are being blasted as unpatriotic, take comfort in the fact that you are in prestigious company: Albert Einstein, Helen Keller, Mark Twain, many of the Founding Fathers, Howard Zinn, Albert Schweitzer, Ralph Waldo Emerson… well, you get the idea, and I’m sure you can think of many of your own. In other words, people who didn’t settle for the status quo. It’s called thinking for yourself, and that’s a good thing.

I decided a while back I really wanted to write a book about war and privilege. It occurred to me that with my busy schedule, that would be a Herculean project at best. I don’t have the time to do the research to complete it in any reasonable time period. I suddenly realized that a blog would promote peace in a meaningful way, and in doable chunks. Best of all, it can morph and change and stay caught up with current events, unlike a book. I was hooked!

As soon as I decided to write a blog, ideas started to fly into my head, except for what to call it. A couple of days later, I was standing on the corner at my Friday night vigil when the phrase “Peace Out Loud” came into my head. It was perfect! After all, for peace to be effective, it needs to be spoken about, practiced mindfully, and lived out loud.

My goal with this blog is for every post to be in some way connected to peace. It may be personal peace, it may be world peace, or anything in between. Some of it may be very political, but it’s impossible to talk about peace without talking about such realities. Peace isn’t some lofty ideal to me, it’s a practical matter, which requires practical discussion about both the spiritual and the worldly.

At the end of the day, I always come back to myself and examine how I have behaved. Some days I get an “A,” and some days an “F.” We’re all a work in progress. Like a novice gardener, I’m starting with a small plot and dreaming big. Why not? I may be dreaming big and starting small, but I’m starting, and I’m learning, and that’s what counts. I’ll never be Gandhi, but it doesn’t matter. We only get a few decades on this planet to do what needs to be done, and my intention is to grow and learn while I’m here, and leave it nicer than when I came.

I am humbled and grateful to have the opportunity to share my thoughts and ideas. A big thank you to everyone who reads my blog, and I always welcome your feedback, thoughts, ideas, and dreams. Thank you for coming to visit, and I wish you peace!

Father's Day

I spent this last Father’s Day in silent, burning rage at my dad, and it’s taken me three months to sort it out enough to write.