January 20, 2003
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The bus ride from Arcata to the demonstration in San Francisco began on Friday, the 17th, as a community event. Our two Veterans For Peace buses were loaded with folks who carried a variety of perspectives and a limited amount of baggage. Cheered by people on streets as we departed, I felt a sobering sense of responsibility; the hearts of many went with us. There was a high school senior who was attending his first demonstration with the intent of finding a more effective course of action. There was a middle-aged mother searching for ideas to assist our local Green Party with outreach and mobilization. There were tree-sitters who left their charge to others and went searching for a greater voice, carrying with them a most appropriate sign, "There's A Terrorist Behind Every Bush." Many of us were heading into an unknown, a BIG city, with little idea of how we would be changed, gambling with our own emotions.
Evolution is like that. That evening's full moon and clear sky transformed our journey. We traveled through 'dreamworld' in our galactic buses with a quiet sense of awe and profound humility. We knew we were changing the course of history with every turn of the great wheels on which we rode and I felt our hearts rejoice with the hope given only to pioneers. We would speak out when others fell silent, we would march while others sat still, we would change though others would not, and we would do so with the help of each other. Upon our evening arrival at Berkeley's Unitarian church, we were welcomed with respite and refreshment and a sanctuary for silence and sleep. Demonstration morning dawned early. I arrived at the Embarcadero overwhelmed by the number of people who had joined in the great march for peace and justice. How many? I had no idea. As far as I could see, in every direction to which I turned, a great sea of humanity flooded the streets of civilization, holding signs, waiving banners, playing music, dancing and chanting and moving as one. I was immediately stricken by the diversity I witnessed in this great cloud of people. There were GeeDubya masks in business suits and fiddlers and jugglers and dancers and clowns of every stripe and color, people in every imaginable costume. But mostly, we were common every-day people dressed as usual doing an unusual thing. We were speaking out, we were demonstrating our opposition to the powers of hatred and fear. We were mothers and fathers pushing strollers and carrying signs. We were elderly people with banners. We were teens and union members and veterans and school children and teachers and lawyers and doctors. We were of every race and creed and color and we were all voicing our opposition to the terrible injustices of this world, to the war on life. We were one. I arrived at the Civic Center a changed person. At some point during that march my evolution took place. I am no longer a person living in fear. I am not alone, anymore. Last night, as I reflected upon my journey, I was reminded of the words of a great prophet and poet, Bob Dylan: "Come gather 'round people Wherever you roam And admit that the waters Around you have grown And accept it that soon You'll be drenched to the bone. If your time to you Is worth savin' Then you better start swimmin' Or you'll sink like a stone For the times they are a-changin'. "Come writers and critics Who prophesize with your pen And keep your eyes wide The chance won't come again And don't speak too soon For the wheel's still in spin And there's no tellin' who That it's namin'. For the loser now Will be later to win For the times they are a-changin'. "Come senators, congressmen Please heed the call Don't stand in the doorway Don't block up the hall For he that gets hurt Will be he who has stalled There's a battle outside And it is ragin'. It'll soon shake your windows And rattle your walls For the times they are a-changin'. "Come mothers and fathers Throughout the land And don't criticize What you can't understand Your sons and your daughters Are beyond your command Your old road is Rapidly agin'. Please get out of the new one If you can't lend your hand For the times they are a-changin'. "The line it is drawn The curse it is cast The slow one now Will later be fast As the present now Will later be past The order is Rapidly fadin'. And the first one now Will later be last For the times they are a-changin'." In my evolution I find my journey without end, without arrival, and in myself I find all others. Time is just a speedometer on this magical, mystery bus...this magical, mystery bus we call life. Take the tour. Evolve. · · · · · ·
Resources Veterans for Peace Unitarian Universalist Church of Berkeley Michael W. Stowell is a local activist in Northern California. Do you wish to share your opinion? We invite your comments. E-mail the Editor. Please include your full name, address and phone number. If we publish your opinion we will only include your name, city, state, and country. Please, feel free to insert a link to this article on your Web site or to disseminate its URL on your favorite lists, quoting the first paragraph or providing a summary. However, please DO NOT steal, scavenge or repost this work on the Web without the expressed written authorization of Swans. This material is copyrighted, © Michael W. Stowell 2003. All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. |
This Week's Internal Links
Parallel And Linked Genocides: Iraq And Palestine - by Edward S. Herman
A World Full Of Choking Pretzels - by Gilles d'Aymery
Typology Of Ignorance - by Milo Clark
Demonstration - by Michael Stowell
National Sanctity Of Human Life Day: A Letter to the President - by Jan Baughman
Bush Economic "Plan" (giggle, snort) - by William Funke
Dividends From A Patriotic Investment - by Philip Greenspan
The Birds - Poem by Alma Hromic
to all those lost 2/13/91 4:30 a.m. - Poem by John Bart Gerald with Drawing by Julie Maas
Future History - by Milo Clark