Candlelight Peace March
Day Two: March 19 marks the fifth anniversary of the U.S. invasion of Iraq. Many events are planned throughout the United States, and the World… vigils, peace marches, and non-violent protests. Over the next days, we will be using this blog to add our voices to the growing crescendo, calling for an end to war and a return to peace and justice… the thoughts, words written, and events we have attended over these past five years, while tens of thousands of men, women, and children have met their death through no fault of their own. Stand up and let your voice be heard. We must end this violence.Candlelight Peace March - 2003
Saturday, January 18, 2003 marked a day of massive antiwar demonstrations in this country. Perhaps a quarter of a million people in Washington D.C., 200,000 people in San Francisco, and 30,000 in Portland Oregon. My heart was in those places - I yearned to be a part of a bigger-than-life event such as these. To be surrounded by thousands of other people who feel as I do. But it was not to be, so I prepared candles for our Friday Harbor, Washington Peace March instead.
We arrived at dusk as the last rays of sun colored the sky west of the Courthouse with broad strokes of pink and orange. Dressed warmly with heavy jackets and wool knit caps, we rounded the back corner of the Courthouse to see only a handful of people standing near a picnic table on the lawn. Bob asked the questions. “Are you sure this is where we are supposed to meet? Is this the right day?” My heart sank. “Just once I would like to be a part of something bigger than myself,” I bemoaned. Bob reminded me that even this handful was more than either of us had had with us when we protested the First Gulf War. He was right of course, but I had hoped for more.
In the next five minutes our small group doubled in size. A man sat on the picnic table bench quietly strumming a guitar. A slender, bearded father in his forties stood nearby with his 10 to 11 year old son, a couple in their fifties waited quietly under a maple tree, a single grey-haired gentleman arrived with a big smile. Small groups of two to three joined us. By now it was dark enough to light our candles - and the numbers grew. We counted 80, then 150. And they continued to come. I recognized other artists; a Quaker who had purchased one of my botanicals, and Joe, a gentle man dedicated to helping others. Three teenage girls crossed the street to join the crowd, and a mother pushing a red canvas stroller. Families. Little children bundled up for the full moon night. A striking young woman arrived dressed all in black. She had painted a black oily tear running from her left eye. More musicians arrived - another guitar and a man carrying a harmonica and ukulele.
Some folks brought their own signs and I wished I had thought to bring one. Then I saw a man with an armload of red, white, and blue printed signs that said “No War Against Iraq.” He was handing them out to anyone who wanted one. Another man came with an armful of handmade cardboard signs - each with a different sentiment. He leaned them against the trunk of a tree for anyone to take. Bob walked over and read each one before finally choosing one to carry.
There was the sound of laughter and of friends greeting friends. Song sheets were handed out. The guitarists strummed old antiwar songs from the 1960’s. “Give Peace a Chance.” A few voices joined in, remembering other protests, other wars.
It was dark by now and the Courthouse lawn was a sea of bright candles. We wondered when we would start the march up Park Street, and then overheard the organizer say that the inter-island ferry hadn’t arrived yet. How many peace marches wait for the ferry? It reminded us that we live in a unique place. While we waited, the newspaper photographer climbed the tree behind us to get an overhead shot of the crowd. “Hey Bob, hold your sign up so that it covers the dead spot.” Bob held up his sign.
Finally the ferry arrived and what had been only a handful of people when we first came, now numbered between 200 to 300 people. We began to move slowly, peacefully away from the Courthouse towards Park Street, a ribbon of candlelight wending its way up the hill to the Episcopal Church. “Amazing Grace” was sung, with some of us just humming. Bob and I were in the middle of the long stretch of people. I looked back at the sea of faces bright in candlelight. It brought a lump in my throat and it was all I could do to hold back tears.
This wasn’t the tens of thousands who marched in Washington D.C. or San Francisco, but these were members of our own community, young and old, who chose to come out on a raw January night to be counted; to say NO to war, and yes to peaceful resolutions.
We arrived at dusk as the last rays of sun colored the sky west of the Courthouse with broad strokes of pink and orange. Dressed warmly with heavy jackets and wool knit caps, we rounded the back corner of the Courthouse to see only a handful of people standing near a picnic table on the lawn. Bob asked the questions. “Are you sure this is where we are supposed to meet? Is this the right day?” My heart sank. “Just once I would like to be a part of something bigger than myself,” I bemoaned. Bob reminded me that even this handful was more than either of us had had with us when we protested the First Gulf War. He was right of course, but I had hoped for more.
In the next five minutes our small group doubled in size. A man sat on the picnic table bench quietly strumming a guitar. A slender, bearded father in his forties stood nearby with his 10 to 11 year old son, a couple in their fifties waited quietly under a maple tree, a single grey-haired gentleman arrived with a big smile. Small groups of two to three joined us. By now it was dark enough to light our candles - and the numbers grew. We counted 80, then 150. And they continued to come. I recognized other artists; a Quaker who had purchased one of my botanicals, and Joe, a gentle man dedicated to helping others. Three teenage girls crossed the street to join the crowd, and a mother pushing a red canvas stroller. Families. Little children bundled up for the full moon night. A striking young woman arrived dressed all in black. She had painted a black oily tear running from her left eye. More musicians arrived - another guitar and a man carrying a harmonica and ukulele.
Some folks brought their own signs and I wished I had thought to bring one. Then I saw a man with an armload of red, white, and blue printed signs that said “No War Against Iraq.” He was handing them out to anyone who wanted one. Another man came with an armful of handmade cardboard signs - each with a different sentiment. He leaned them against the trunk of a tree for anyone to take. Bob walked over and read each one before finally choosing one to carry.
There was the sound of laughter and of friends greeting friends. Song sheets were handed out. The guitarists strummed old antiwar songs from the 1960’s. “Give Peace a Chance.” A few voices joined in, remembering other protests, other wars.
It was dark by now and the Courthouse lawn was a sea of bright candles. We wondered when we would start the march up Park Street, and then overheard the organizer say that the inter-island ferry hadn’t arrived yet. How many peace marches wait for the ferry? It reminded us that we live in a unique place. While we waited, the newspaper photographer climbed the tree behind us to get an overhead shot of the crowd. “Hey Bob, hold your sign up so that it covers the dead spot.” Bob held up his sign.
Finally the ferry arrived and what had been only a handful of people when we first came, now numbered between 200 to 300 people. We began to move slowly, peacefully away from the Courthouse towards Park Street, a ribbon of candlelight wending its way up the hill to the Episcopal Church. “Amazing Grace” was sung, with some of us just humming. Bob and I were in the middle of the long stretch of people. I looked back at the sea of faces bright in candlelight. It brought a lump in my throat and it was all I could do to hold back tears.
This wasn’t the tens of thousands who marched in Washington D.C. or San Francisco, but these were members of our own community, young and old, who chose to come out on a raw January night to be counted; to say NO to war, and yes to peaceful resolutions.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
... P. L. Morningstar
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posted by Looking for Hope | 10:23 AM
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