Three Years Later
March 18th, I awoke with a profound headache and the sound of breathing next to me. Had my life morphed into an episode of Sex and the City? Please… It was Nicki – my wonderful friend who thankfully picked me up from my ill-fated St. Patrick’s Day festivities. Outside of football season, my tolerance was lacking and my vegetarian status rendered me unable to eat the Irish dinner of choice, corned beef and cabbage. Thus, the alcohol hit me hard and fast. And while the night was crazy, I was still home in bed by midnight – thanks to Nicki.
I had an early morning appointment to keep in the city – that all-important hair highlighting session so I didn’t have two-toned hair at my history conference. So after emerging from my bed, and scarfing down a yummy cheese roll from The Cheese Board, I made my way into the city – dark sunglasses plied to my face.
Exiting the salon as a reinstated blonde, I strolled through Maiden Lane, home of expensive shops I will never enter, past the larger gentleman who belts Pavarotti’s favorites on a daily basis, and into Union Square where I had parked my car. I had noticed a larger police presence as I drove into Union Square earlier in the day, but thought little of it until I checked my voicemail when leaving the salon. Justin had called to see if I wanted to go into the city to protest the third anniversary of the war in Iraq. A nameless emotion began to mix with the hangover in the pit of my stomach.
It wasn’t guilt that I felt as much as a deeply sad recognition of how living with war has changed my life.
By March 20th, 2003, Justin, Destry and I had already logged many hours of protesting the war Bush promised in his September 11, 2002 speech. However, on March 20th, the war was no longer an idea but a reality and our response would transform from sanctioned marching to direct action. On the 19th of March we had a sleepover in my Berkeley apartment and woke early the next day to shut down San Francisco on the first day of war. I brought with me a brand new Canon GL2 and videotaped the events of the day. First we watched as protestors were arrested and removed outside of the Bechtel Engineering building, a firm set to make big money rebuilding Iraq’s infrastructure after the war. Then Destry and Justin sat defiantly in an intersection with a large group. One by one the police forcibly removed all of them. The scene was too much for me. I sobbed from behind the camera. After Destry and Justin were driven away in a makeshift paddy wagon, I was consumed by a sense of isolation.
Protesting for me was a group activity. I did it as much for the cause as for myself. I didn’t know how to comprehend the war, and I took comfort in the company of like-minded friends and felt some semblance of empowerment from the activity – no matter how indirect. Left to return to Berkeley alone, the façade of empowerment exposed itself and when I returned to SF later that evening to reunite with the recently released Destry and Justin – new and less organized protest tactics alienated me and without a badge of arrest, I wondered if I would feel the empowerment of group action again.
I would. A year later, Justin had moved to Colorado, I had started grad school and gave up my full-time protester (otherwise known as unemployed) status. I had made a music video with my footage from March 20th and thus realized one of the ways I could be effective in fighting war. When the first-anniversary of the start of the war came around, the three of us reunited in San Francisco to march in opposition. It was my type of protest – children against war sitting on the shoulders of their parents and the always-adorable Raging Grannies (of which my friend Matt’s grandma is a member).
For two consecutive war anniversaries now I have missed the San Francisco marches in opposition to the war. What does this say about me? My belief that this war is unjust and unnecessary is as strong now as it was before. However, my motivation has changed as have the outlets for my frustration. At the onset of the war in both Afghanistan and Iraq, my emotional reaction to war drove my desire to action. Three years later, the continued war has dulled my emotions, and the knowledge I have accumulated about the war, rather than feelings, moves me to act. Now, however, I have found a new outlet for my frustration. I respect protests and direct action, but political books, my job, our Iraq-centered events and discussions, and even this blog have given me a new forum to discuss my feelings about the war in a way that makes my pragmatic mind feel more useful and empowered.
Three years have passed since this war began and while my personal tactics for dealing with the uncertain chaos of it all has changed, the reality of war has not. It needs to end – NOW.
I had an early morning appointment to keep in the city – that all-important hair highlighting session so I didn’t have two-toned hair at my history conference. So after emerging from my bed, and scarfing down a yummy cheese roll from The Cheese Board, I made my way into the city – dark sunglasses plied to my face.
Exiting the salon as a reinstated blonde, I strolled through Maiden Lane, home of expensive shops I will never enter, past the larger gentleman who belts Pavarotti’s favorites on a daily basis, and into Union Square where I had parked my car. I had noticed a larger police presence as I drove into Union Square earlier in the day, but thought little of it until I checked my voicemail when leaving the salon. Justin had called to see if I wanted to go into the city to protest the third anniversary of the war in Iraq. A nameless emotion began to mix with the hangover in the pit of my stomach.
It wasn’t guilt that I felt as much as a deeply sad recognition of how living with war has changed my life.
By March 20th, 2003, Justin, Destry and I had already logged many hours of protesting the war Bush promised in his September 11, 2002 speech. However, on March 20th, the war was no longer an idea but a reality and our response would transform from sanctioned marching to direct action. On the 19th of March we had a sleepover in my Berkeley apartment and woke early the next day to shut down San Francisco on the first day of war. I brought with me a brand new Canon GL2 and videotaped the events of the day. First we watched as protestors were arrested and removed outside of the Bechtel Engineering building, a firm set to make big money rebuilding Iraq’s infrastructure after the war. Then Destry and Justin sat defiantly in an intersection with a large group. One by one the police forcibly removed all of them. The scene was too much for me. I sobbed from behind the camera. After Destry and Justin were driven away in a makeshift paddy wagon, I was consumed by a sense of isolation.
Protesting for me was a group activity. I did it as much for the cause as for myself. I didn’t know how to comprehend the war, and I took comfort in the company of like-minded friends and felt some semblance of empowerment from the activity – no matter how indirect. Left to return to Berkeley alone, the façade of empowerment exposed itself and when I returned to SF later that evening to reunite with the recently released Destry and Justin – new and less organized protest tactics alienated me and without a badge of arrest, I wondered if I would feel the empowerment of group action again.
I would. A year later, Justin had moved to Colorado, I had started grad school and gave up my full-time protester (otherwise known as unemployed) status. I had made a music video with my footage from March 20th and thus realized one of the ways I could be effective in fighting war. When the first-anniversary of the start of the war came around, the three of us reunited in San Francisco to march in opposition. It was my type of protest – children against war sitting on the shoulders of their parents and the always-adorable Raging Grannies (of which my friend Matt’s grandma is a member).
For two consecutive war anniversaries now I have missed the San Francisco marches in opposition to the war. What does this say about me? My belief that this war is unjust and unnecessary is as strong now as it was before. However, my motivation has changed as have the outlets for my frustration. At the onset of the war in both Afghanistan and Iraq, my emotional reaction to war drove my desire to action. Three years later, the continued war has dulled my emotions, and the knowledge I have accumulated about the war, rather than feelings, moves me to act. Now, however, I have found a new outlet for my frustration. I respect protests and direct action, but political books, my job, our Iraq-centered events and discussions, and even this blog have given me a new forum to discuss my feelings about the war in a way that makes my pragmatic mind feel more useful and empowered.
Three years have passed since this war began and while my personal tactics for dealing with the uncertain chaos of it all has changed, the reality of war has not. It needs to end – NOW.
posted by LeahT at 10:27 PM
1 Comments:
Here, here!
Next time you are in town, I'll have to show you my pictures of a SF Viet Nam protest.
Claudia
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