Author: mopress

By Greg Moses

IndyMedia Austin / OpEdNews / PeaceJournalism / UrukNet / AfterDowningStreet / Bella Ciao

CAMP CASEY, TX (Aug 11-Part Two) With a dozen or more activists still unbedding themselves from the floors of the Crawford Peace House, and with the push-pot of coffee in the kitchen already pumping dry, I think about that tall cup that Cindy Sheehan was holding this morning and decide to follow her lead to Crawford’s Coffee Station across the tracks.

Trains this morning have headed due north along this Burlington Northern Santa Fe line. Either they tow flatcars double-stacked with cargo from port Houston, hoppers that could carry Texas lignite coal, or tanker cars filled with the number one Texas export: stocks from the Texas chemical coast (although if these cars are headed north, they probably are not bound for the number one purchaser of Texas exports: China). As one train last evening made a blinking light out of the setting sun I counted 79 flashes between cars.

Crossing the tracks from the Peace House, the first line of defense offered by the town is the white limestone Security Bank of Crawford. Something about the name and location of the bank makes me want to learn more. It is an allied member of the Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association and an official depository for Dawes County, Nebraska. According to the FDIC bank find, the Security Bank of Crawford is actually a branch office of the Security Bank of Whitesboro, a sole subsidiary of FIRST GRAYSON BANCSHARES, INC. EMPLOYEE’S STOCK OWNERSHIP TRUST of McGregor, valued at $75 million. The banking operation has been doing business since 1940 with branch offices in Whitesboro, Collinsville, and Crawford.

Further on, crossing another slender highway called Lone Star Parkway, is the Yellow Rose, a retail haven for all things Bush (both Laura and W) complete with a storefront altar to the American civic religion: a monument of the twin tablets, written in the same English that Moses used to speak to God, and a fake liberty bell in between. From here we definitely want to take a left turn toward the coffee shop, not a right turn to the fire station where Bush votes for himself. At the Coffee Station, gas is selling for a mere $2.35 per gallon. If we have not yet loved the oil companies with all our hearts, under W’s leadership we’re getting there.

At this point you can either pick up a copy of today’s Waco Tribune with a top-o-the-fold color photo of activist Jim Goodnow, who hails from the arts community of greater Terlingua, or you can just shake Jim’s hand as he spreads morning cheer to fellow customers who do not fail to smile back. A couple of months ago Goodnow was contacted by a Congressional office to see if he might be recruited as a soldier to help militarize the border with Mexico. In a letter to the editor of the Desert Mountain Times, he said: “If this call for troops to be mustered impacts your heartstrings in any way, please call me and share your thoughts Should we not unite, stand tall, and in a strong firm voice, just say no?”

As the cashier rings up my coffee, she discreetly lip syncs the rapid-fire lyrics of Lynyrd Skynyrd on the radio. By this time, with tall coffee in hand, and Southern Rock grinding the air, I’m smiling too. On the pavement outside are tile markers placed in key positions that say “Pirate Country”, and overhead is stretched a wide banner that announces the Tonkawa Traditions Fest. In Pirate Country, at least one has the courtesy to recall.

Returning to the Peace House along the South side of Cedar Rock Parkway, I pass a newly carved ditch that is trying really hard to empty itself from heavy rains. Towering overhead are metal grain elevators marked with logos that say Coop or Sioux. Come harvest time, they will load hopper cars full of corn, wheat, or sorghum. With a bank on the Northside, a farmers Coop on the Southside, and with people heading west to buy and sell, at least the President has chosen a home town that is not too difficult to understand.

Just before I get too close to the KLIF car, which has been stalking the Peace House since I left, I cross the street to the Peace House. License plates around the Peace House say Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, and California. Everyone is up and at it. Attorney Jim Harrington has just arrived from Austin to play sheriff for our side. Last time the cops here busted protesters, it cost the city $45,000 dollars in cash, not to mention the expense of a trial that had to be moved into the in the civic center. Harrington did that legal work pro bono, so we’re all pretty glad to see him now. Time to catch shuttle number one out to camp.

*****

Our early drive to the camp does not go unrewarded. “Fawn!” exclaims the driver as we turn a corner and see two spotted fawns following their mother into some trees. It’s feeling more and more like a lucky day. Driving the car is Burnet, a jovial host who was planning to return home to Houston tonight, but, “I’m having so much fun I might stay.” The other passenger is Joe from Boston. And it’s pretty remarkable if you think about it that the first two passengers to camp on this auspicious day both have PhDs. But Joe is the one with the PhD from Harvard.

Burnet points out the Broken Spoke Ranch on the right, where Bush will dine with millionaire supporters Friday night. The fence around that ranch is unusually high and new. Usually when I see a fence like that I look for antelope, seriously. But since the enclosure seems free of exotic game, this fence looks like it is built to keep certain creatures from jumping in. Finally we arrive at the splendid triangle, home base for Camp Casey.

Not only is this a triangle, but it’s a right triangle with all the Pythagorean reverberations. No doubt the first right triangles were laid out like this on the ground. So let’s begin where the hypotenuse meets side A. Here George Bush has been pink slipped, a code pink symbolic act, where they unfurl a huge pink cloth cut to the curvy image of a grrrl’s body. This pink slip is hung from the windbreak of trees that hug the fence line at side A. It billows like a sail under prevailing southwesterly winds. “Out of Iraq Now” says the pink slip.

As we walk southeasterly along Morgan Road, Camp Casey is also waking up, folks sitting up, staring out tent openings, stretching, tying shoes, rolling up sleeping bags, and taking down tents. Camp director Ann Wright is already wearing a Camp Casey t-shirt–a very impressive sign of mobilization. On the back of the t-shirt is a black question mark overlaid with a pink W. On the front it says in red and black: “Bush… Talk to Cindy! Moms & Vets will Stop War.” Wright is the former Ambassador to Mongolia who wrote a long letter of resignation following the USA-led invasion of Iraq in March 2003. She has 15 years experience in the diplomatic corps and 26 years in the Army reserves.

At a Veterans for Peace convention near Dallas last Friday, Wright thanked the VFP for existing. “This organization to me is one of the most important in America,” said Wright as she introduced a panel of federal whisteblowers. “Thanks to the VFP, men and women in the USA military are standing up to say there is more than war, because some administrations misuse the military, and that is where we find ourselves today.” Her introduction alone of whistleblowers Colleen Rowley from the FBI and Jesselyn Radack from the Justice Department drew a standing ovation from the full room of 50. And that was the day before Cindy Sheehan made her trek from the VFP tent.

Wright, of course, accompanied Sheehan on that first sweltering hike through the bar ditch of Prairie Chapel Road, and she has become part of this movement’s central command. Folks out here express respect for Wright’s diplomatic character. And she is ever on task. Soon she will be calling in transportation, reorganizing campers for the day’s events, and reserving prime tent space for Military Families Speak Out.

A more radical wing of the movement is represented by the next t-shirt I see. It is a picture of Native American warriors: “Homeland Security: Fighting Terrorism since 1492.” This is about the time I greet Will Pitt from Truthout as Scott Galindez works nearby with tripod and video camera, determined to prove that a revolution can be televised.

Meanwhile the McLennan County Road Dept. (Pct. 4) makes its first tour of the triangle today. BTW, the Precinct 4 Commissioner is the only Republican on the court. The other three are Democrats. In terms of the usual party politics in McLennan County, Bush won the Presidential vote by a landslide, but so did the Democratic incumbent for Congress, Chet Edwards.

About this time, up drives a vintage edition Chevy Caprice Classic Brougham with Melvin at the wheel. Last time I saw Melvin he was nodding out about 3AM at the porch of the Peace House. Now he is already returning from a shopping trip to Target, trying to explain to Anne why he doesn’t need to be fully reimbursed for the stuff he just put on his credit card. You can see by the smiles all around that he is making friends. Says Anne to Melvin: “Yes, it’s spontaneity and it’s working and it’s beautiful and y’all are here because you want to be here and…” her comments trail off into Melvin’s smiling face.

Moving a little further down side A, or Morgan Road, I see hefty rolls of measuring tape being unpacked. I happen to know what this means, because last Friday morning I had been sipping coffee with a VFPer from Tacoma. He had helped to lay out an Arlington West display there, and he spoke of the exhaustive care they took to make sure the crosses were neatly placed so many feet apart to mimic the respectful military order of graves at the Arlington national cemetery near D.C. These huge rolls of tape are the first visual evidence of what will be done today, all day, as 1800 crosses get pounded into the ground around Camp Casey and tagged with the names of USA soldiers killed in Iraq. “We need to figure out a way to also honor the Iraqis killed in this war,” said my Tacoma informant. “But how do we do that? Eighteen hundred crosses are difficult enough to deal with.”

Tim Goodrich is spotting his perch for the day under the windbreak along Morgan Road. This morning he has changed into desert khakis so there will be no mistaking the fact that he is an Iraq Veteran Against the War. Later in the day with the sun scorching down on his neck, I see him studying the names on the crosses. As I think about the pictures I’ve seen of VietNam vets at the Memorial Wall in D.C., I certainly don’t ask Tim Goodrich what’s going through his bowed head.

“Air America is here says someone from camp command. Call Pacifica, they ought to be down here, too!” Air America, that reminds me. Last night on the porch the woman who drove 18 hours straight from Iowa said she prepared for her trip by first going on line and writing down all the Air America stations along Interstate 35. There were a few dead spots, but she was pretty pleased to keep company with the network, nearly the whole way.

Symbols of protest are lined up facing the morning sun. “Arlington West” on a t-shirt. “Attila the Preppie Coke Head” on a cardboard square. Then another t-shirt. “Hey wait”, I plead. I need to write this one down: “Where Are We Going? And What’s With the Hand Basket?” Oh. Yeah. “Some people have to think about it for a minute,” says the woman grinning. Hey, don’t look at me; I’m not the Harvard PhD.

By this time I’ve wondered down Morgan Road past the triangle, where cars are parking in the bar ditch. So far about 20 cars. A guy carrying a bag of ice comes walking toward me from where he parked further up. Way out at the end of the line of cars, I turn back to survey the scene. In every direction the Texas horizon sweeps a circle that is ankle high. Only the windbreak at side A pushes the sky from view. If ever there were a Roy Bedichek moment this is it. The gentle naturalist from neighboring Falls County could point it all out. These marvelous prairie grasses. Are they Big Bluestem, Brushy Bluestem, Purple Threeawn, Buffalo Grass, SideOats Grama, Inland Sea Oats, Canada Wild Rye, Blue Hair Grass, Gulf Muhly, Lindheimer’s Muhly, Seep Muhly, SwitchGrass, Texas Blue Grass, Little Blue Stem, Prairie DropSeed, Indian Grass, or Eastern Gama Grass? I’d like to think there’s some Sand Love Grass out here. Later today, one of the crosses will be adorned by a cutting from a Texas Thistle.

Back at the triangle, four crosses have been carefully placed and pounded into the Denton Silty Clay at the righteous angle where side B meets side A. For the rest of the day the crosses will march NorthEastward along side B to Prairie Chapel Road where they will muster in a disciplined row. The first section of crosses, between Morgan Road and the tent reserved for Military Families Speak Out, is ground dedicated to the sons and daughters of Texas. As of yet, however, the crosses are as anonymous as the short stretch of road that they face. So far, this is a fitting memorial to the dead and unnamed.

*****

Heading back to the Peace House, I sit in the front seat with Burnet as the back seats are taken by a photographer and her daughter. Upon arrival, we find Cindy standing in the front lawn equipped with a hands free cell phone, conferring with a cadre of CodePink organizers. Inside the first room, attorney Harrington stands facing the door from his makeshift legal outpost, sorting and re-sorting a short stack of papers. When Hadi enters the house, he and Harrington hug. “We sold anti-war buttons for a dollar apiece to raise the downpayment for this house,” Hadi tells me. Johnny Wolf took the risk of putting his name on the deed, but Hadi is letting me know that the Peace House is a collective endeavor. Back out front, Cindy and her CodePink entourage are backing out in a white Chevy Impala, back to work at Camp Casey.

And Wisconsin has just arrived….

By Greg Moses

AfterDowningStreet / CounterPunch / UrukNet /
GlobalResistanceNetwork / OpEdNews / Bella Ciao / SamHamod /

CAMP CASEY, TX (Aug 11) Thursday is only a few minutes young, but Cindy Sheehan is already running late. Rumors are percolating that police will swoop into Camp Casey at midnight to arrest everyone, and she dare not be late for a date like that. So she says, “I really have to go now,” and takes her leave from the soft light and murmur of the Crawford Peace House lawn. Before she goes however she does have time to say that her fever is getting a little better.

Among the dozen or more activists who remain at the Peace House, Sandy sits on the front porch looking toward Cedar Rock Parkway, the two-lane highway that runs East-West. About 12:30, Sandy sees a cop car speeding West, then another at 12:37, but the rumors and signs add up to to zero as other activists ask, “did you see the cop cars at the convenience store?” Apparently the law enforcement professionals were speeding to their coffee break.

The wee hours of this August morning are pleasant enough for the Texans who gather in a tight cluster of chairs on the porch, occasionally brushing away a June bug or a fire ant. A tube of fire ant medication makes the circle, and Sandy’s companion Rusty sqeezes a modest glob of the gel onto his bare feet. The temperature is falling slowly through the 80s, but the humidity is stubbornly high as a threat of rain passes overhead.

Sitting next to Rusty in our clockwise review, Melvin is telling a story about how he was working for Dick Cheney’s company Brown and Root when they dropped a machine on him, crushing his body from jaw to pelvis. With cane in hand, he talks about his home in the oil patch of SouthEast Texas and how his mama don’t like Republicans either.

Mark Green, one-time Democrat candidate for Congress from the Fort Worth area, tells us that next time he runs for office he wants a party behind him, and that’s the focus of his activism these days. He tells us by the way that former Speaker of the House Jim Wright is still active as a teacher in the Fort Worth area. Thinking about the ethics investigation that resulted in Wright’s abrupt resignation from Congress in 1989 makes the 80s seem like the age of Scout’s Honor.

Pulling up a chair from the lawn to sit at the top of the porch steps, Tom likes to joke that he drove all the way from Portland. Portland, Texas, that is. Tom is the entrepreneur of magneticpeace.com the alternative choice for folks who want to wear yellow magnets on their cars, but who would prefer peace signs to ribbons. He’s looking for the owner of the car with the slogan written on the back window in wedding white shoe polish: “Jesus is Prince of Peace not God of War”, because the car sports one of his magnetic peace signs, too. He tells a real interesting story about trying to locate a manufacturer. The folks who make the yellow ribbons said they wouldn’t make those peace signs even if he paid them to. And you thought those yellow ribbons were not pro-war?

Dot from Dallas sits against the wall that divides the porch from an adjacent room, wearing her t-shirt from the Dean campaign. It was Howard Dean who kicked her into gear politically after seeing the man speak in Dallas during the summer of 2003. Green says he was there, too.

Dot’s turn to tell her story gets interrupted about one o’clock in the morning when up the short sidewalk from the highway walks a woman barely middle aged. She has just driven in from Iowa. Her son is a soldier stationed in California. She figures she has a year to stop the war before he completes his training. He wouldn’t like it that she’s here, “but we all have to do what we must,” she says softly.

A man and woman are walking up the sidewalk now. “This is a military spouse,” says the man to Peace House host Hadi. And Hadi takes the woman inside to her sleeping space. The man is “reservist turned activist” Tim Goodrich, one of the co-founders of Iraq Veterans Against the War. He wears an IVAW t-shirt and says, “it’s like a sauna out here.” Before too long he also takes his leave, opens the door to the Peace House, and turns in. After some time chatting the woman from Iowa enters the Peace House to get some sleep and I climb also into my bunk, the passenger seat of a Honda.

Easing the seat backward to catch a nap, I flip down the sun visors to see if they will block the light from the porch. Over my right shoulder to the East an amazing star shines so bright I think it must be a planet, maybe Mars. But no, John Walker’s website “Your Sky” informs me that my overnight companion is Altair, Southern anchor of the famed Southern Triangle. As Jim Kaler writes: “The Arabic name ‘Altair,’ reflective of the constellation itself, comes from a phrase meaning ‘the flying eagle.’ ” The star calls me out. I have to get up, stand in the middle of Cedar Rock Parkway and watch that eagle glisten. Tiny frogs sing in all directions.

Overnight the pilgrimmage to the Peace House continues. A delegation from Louisiana. A pair of travelers from Dallas. A peace movement comes together before my opening eyes.

As soon as the sky lightens up into the faintest shade of blue, I rummage the trunk for my toothbrush. Soon I’m back on the porch with my back to the front window, checking out a little animal carrier tucked underneath a chair. Out from the Peace House comes a man with a sign that he slides behind my back onto the window sill. “Expose the 9/11 Cover Up.” I move down a chair so that the sign might be read by others.

Turns out the little animal carrier came in with the Louisiana delegation carrying a 9-week-old kitten named Smudge. Leaping into a sprawling Rosemary bush, Smudge looks up at me with eyes of great adventure. And someone is placing a huge cup of coffee under my nose. “Here, please hold this,” says Cindy Sheehan before she scoops up Smudge kitty for a little face-to-face schmooze. And Sheehan introduces me to Smudge’s mommy, Annie who in turn tells me that the kitten has been with the family for about a week. I try to imagine this whole world as a nine-week-old kitten would see it, as Smudge leaps and pounces in the freshness of the day.

By Susan Van Haitsma

CommonDreams

Returning home from the national Veterans for Peace (VFP) convention Held August 4 –7 in Dallas, Texas, I opened my daily paper to an opinion editorial entitled, “‘Thank God for the Atom Bomb;’ it saved thousands of lives.” I thought of a contrasting statement made during the convention by GI resister and conscientious objector, Camilo Mejia. “Conscience is a place where one meets God. Conscience is what makes us human, more than intelligence.”

The meeting place of conscience is what really saves us. In fact, during the convention, I heard more than one veteran say it: Thank God for Veterans for Peace. You saved my life.

Celebrating its twentieth anniversary at this convention, VFP has been growing by leaps and bounds in recent years. Membership has increased from about 550 in 2001 to some 4,000 today, with 123 chapters across the country. Members of Iraq Veterans Against the War (IVAW) also celebrated their very busy first year of activity.

The convention marked the first as Executive Director for Michael McPhearson, an Army veteran whose 20 year-old son is scheduled to be deployed to Iraq this year. McPhearson’s opening address to the convention began, “First, thank you for existing.”

During the convention, placards declaring the five points of VFP’s statement of purpose followed the assembly, appearing prominently during the business sessions, then migrating to the big tent stage as backdrop for the speeches and entertainment. When these vets get together, they have a very good time. But they meet primarily because they have a mission.

We Must Work to Increase Public Awareness of the Costs of War

Brad Johnson, VFP Chapter 80, draws from his 20-year Navy career when he talks with students in Duluth, Minnesota. He visits high schools with his “War is Not the Answer” banner. When students ask what the answer is, he doesn’t hesitate. “I ask them how many windmills they see around here and how they are doing in their science classes.” Straightforward, funny and wearing one hoop earring, Johnson must be capturing the students’ imagination with his anti-war message. He clearly appreciates the opportunity. “I’m buying back my soul,” he says, “one classroom at a time.”

Like Brad Johnson, Vietnam Air Force Veteran, Brian Willson and his partner, Becky Luening also believe it is crucial to explore the “why’s” of war. Willson and Luening took the train to Dallas from their home in Northern California because trains make the most efficient use of fuel per passenger. Willson said they decided to attend the convention because when he saw the preliminary schedule, there was no workshop addressing the structural and root causes of war. He offered to facilitate one. “Our system requires war,” he says. “Do we want to be anti-war, or do we want to get rid of war?”

Willson is well-known as the attorney and activist whose legs were Severed on September 1, 1987 by a Naval munitions train carrying weapons bound for Central America as he and others protested on the tracks. Willson walks skillfully with two prostheses. He and Luening live close to the land, growing much of their food and conducting their business locally. Willson no longer uses air travel and declines most speaking engagements. “When I am invited to speak, I ask, ‘Can I get there without harming the earth?’”

We Must Restrain our Government from Intervening in the Affairs of Others During the convention’s opening plenary, Iraq Veterans Against the War co-founder, Mike Hoffman took the stage along with seven other IVAW members. They spoke of their appreciation for older vets, especially Vietnam Veterans Against the War, who helped them learn to organize in the midst of war. Marine veteran, Stephen Funk, the first conscientious objector to serve time in a military prison during the Iraq war, said that one of the first groups to reach out to him when he became a GI resister was VFP. He said he knew he didn’t have to be suspicious of the group’s motives.

One IVAW member said, “I am a veteran of Operation Iraqi Plunder. To call it Operation Iraqi Freedom is an insult to Iraq and an insult to humanity.” He described symptoms of PTSD he is experiencing: fits of rage, sleepless nights, tearful outbursts. Another IVAW member said, “When people tell me they are proud of what I did in Iraq, I say, ‘Well, I’m not. You don’t even know what I did over there.’”

Hoffman and other IVAW members have been criss-crossing the country over the past year, appearing at schools and public demonstrations. They speak from experience, challenging what vets call “a culture of silence” in the military. To a standing ovation at the convention, Hoffman said, “Bush hides behind the troops when he is criticized. He claims that critics don’t support the troops. Troops are his shield. Well, IVAW will be the shield of the peace movement!”

We Must Seek Justice for Veterans and Victims of War

A banner created by the Santa Fe VFP chapter read, “Who will support the troops when our troops become veterans?” The banner included eight photographs from the book, “Purple Hearts,” of veterans who have lost limbs or suffered other injuries in Iraq.

One of the resolutions considered during the day-long business session of the convention was a proposal to revise the VFP statement of purpose to read, “We Must Seek Justice for Veterans and Other Victims of War,” in order to make the point that veterans are war victims also. However, the VFP board and convention voted to keep the statement as is. “Veterans are victims and also executioners,” said David Cline, board president, reflecting the group sentiment that VFP members take responsibility for their actions in war. One vet commented, “Veterans are in both worlds, and in fact, so are most people.”

The VFP convention commemorated the 30th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam War, or as it is known in Vietnam, the American War. Many Vietnam veterans have traveled to Vietnam since the war to participate in projects that promote reconciliation and restoration. VFP member Suel Jones, spoke about his involvement with Vietnam Friendship Village, a community for children and adults affected by Agent Orange. Jones described his amazement that the Vietnamese people welcomed him even when they knew he had killed Vietnamese people during the war. “Veterans who go back to Vietnam with me always ask two things,” he said. “What the hell were we doing and why didn’t I come back sooner.”

Justice for GI resisters was a major focus of the convention. Workshop panelists, plenary speakers and late-night documentary films explored GI resistance during the Vietnam War and Gulf Wars I and II. Vietnam GI resister, Steve Morse was on hand to talk about the huge increase in calls to the GI Rights Hotline, which he coordinates through the Central Committee for Conscientious Objectors. Lee Zaslofsky, a US Army deserter and Canadian resident since 1970, spoke about his current role as coordinator of the War Resisters Support Campaign, which is lobbying for political asylum and providing practical assistance for 15 US military deserters in Canada. An estimated 5,500 soldiers are in deserter status in the US. Whether soldiers of conscience go to prison, as have Camilo Mejia and Stephen Funk, or seek refuge in Canada, as have Brandon Hughey and Jeremy Hinzman, or just go AWOL, VFP supports them.

We Must End the Arms Race and Reduce and Eventually Eliminate Nuclear
Weapons

Anita Cole enlisted in the Army because she believed the military was “a meaningful and shared public effort.” She felt there weren’t enough outlets for such efforts outside the military. While she was stationed in Japan, she visited Hiroshima. She began to realize that the shared public effort she’d joined “was the most destructive system in the world.” Her belief system “crystallized,” as military regulations call it, and she was discharged as a conscientious objector in 2002. An articulate spokesperson for the rights of conscience, she now serves on the board of the Center on Conscience & War and answers calls for the GI Rights Hotline.

The convergence of anniversaries during the 2005 VFP convention included the 60th year of remembrance of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings. Attending the convention from Japan was special guest, Dr. Satoru Konishi, a survivor of the Hiroshima bombing. Dr. Konishi addressed the convention in halting English, describing his memory of the bombing and subsequent campaign for a nuclear-free world. He closed by reading a poem by Japanese poet, Sankichi Toge, who died from radiation poisoning several years after the bombing. Reciting the poem, Dr. Konishi’s voice suddenly gained strength.

“Our fathers, give back to me, Our mothers, give back to me, Our elders, give back to me, Our children, give back to me! My self, human, give back to me And all humans linked to me! Peace, give back to me, One, indestructible forever, As long as the human’s human world will last.”

When another special convention guest, Cindy Sheehan, finished her Already legendary address to a very enthusiastic standing ovation, Dr. Konishi spontaneously gave her the first hug from the front row as she stepped from the stage.

We Must Abolish War as an Instrument of National Policy

The human life we have taken and keep taking in war cannot be brought back. But, the human connections we make now could be our saving grace. The camaraderie – the love for each other – is what most veterans, including Casey Sheehan, have paradoxically cited as the main reason for following orders into war. VFP understands the significance of camaraderie because the same kind of bonding is necessary for waging peace. VFP members and chapters across the country are involved in powerful, creative efforts to strengthen human connections. In the process, they create the kinds of meeting places where lives are saved.

Susan Van Haitsma is active with Nonmilitary Options for Youth and is an associate member of VFP Chapter 66 in Austin, Texas.

By Greg Moses

IndyMedia NYC / Bella Ciao / UrukNet / InformationClearingHouse / CommonDreams / DissidentVoice / LoneStarIconoclast

Back in the 60s you could say two things about Navy and Air Force veteran Dick Underhill: he liked to do the work that nobody else wanted to do, and he was a Goldwater Republican. Today as Underhill shuttles in and out of Crawford, Texas, running supplies and tending to lists of things to do in support of Cindy Sheehan, you could still say he likes to do the work that nobody else wants to do, but you couldn’t call him a Goldwater Republican anymore.

“You have heard about PTSD, haven’t you?” asks Underhill in a telephone interview Tuesday afternoon from his Austin home. “That’s Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Well, I have a name for something else that I call PASD. That’s Post Awareness Stress Disorder. It’s what happens to you when you’ve been raised all your life to believe the story that the slaveholders and merchant pirates who founded the USA were good people and that the government of the USA is the best in the world. When you find out that’s not true at all, it does leave you under stress.”

The foundation of Underhill’s Goldwater Republicanism was an economic conviction born out of his background as a working class juvenile delinquent who made something good of his life. Anybody, said that conviction, can pick themselves up by their own bootstraps no matter what. If Underhill had done it, so could everyone else.

But the foundation of Underhill’s economic conviction began to crack during the seven years (1978-85) that he spent working for the Parsons Corporation building the Saudi Arabian city of Yanbu from the ground up. Since he was single at the time he could travel quite a bit, so he saw the worlds of SouthEast Asia, India, and the Middle East. Whenever he saw extreme poverty, he heard the same formula for economic opportunity: get access to USA markets. But that wasn’t quite the bootstrap of his convictions, so he began to question his economic theories.

In Tucson during the 1990s Underhill began taking lots of courses at the community college and University of Arizona, where he learned how to outgrow his childhood textbooks. He remembers especially two courses on Latin American history. In part one, “the Spanish are the bad guys you know,” says Underhill. “But in the second part I found out what the government of the USA did.” He learned what happened to Allende in Chile and the usual list of things like that. “It destroyed my vision of what I thought we were like.”

At about the same time, Underhill started going to weekly Peace and Justice vigils in Tucson. He recalls that the vigils were originally called to protest conditions that produced illegal immigrants from Central and South America, but the vigils adapted to changing issues. At the vigils he met some folks from Veterans for Peace. “One thing I have noticed,” says Underhill. “If you are in a group that is predominately pro-peace, ask how many have lived or worked outside the US. Four and Five Star package tours don’t count. My experience is that 70 percent will identify themselves as having lived abroad.”

Now we fast forward to Austin, where Underhill moved to “follow the money” which is his way of joking that his wife found work there, so he came with her. About three years ago, he watched a film about the USA invasion of Panama.

“In my mind the invasion of Panama involved a few helicopters. Our guys chased Noriega into a building and they played loud music until he came out. Then we hauled him off and threw him in prison forever. But I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it.” In the film he saw a story of an illegal invasion in which thousands of civilians were killed, thousands more displaced, entire apartment complexes burned, all in the name of a “drug war.” For Underhill the film portrayed a military preparation for the invasion of Iraq, a proving ground for war technologies such as the newly made stealth bomber. And all of it neatly tucked behind glossy media management so that Americans could coast along on the lie.

“I saw that film three years ago,” says Underhill, “and I haven’t been off the cell phone since.” Which brings us back to the Dick Underhill who likes to do the things that others don’t. For the past three years, Underhill’s cell phone has been ringing with movement business. If a bus is coming to town on a national tour. If a speaker needs a place to stay. All those things that need doing, Underhill tries to get them done. And although Underhill is very active in the Austin chapter of VFP, he had nothing to do with a national office decision to bring the 20th annual VFP convention to Dallas. That decision had more to do with a need to rotate regions and, oh yes, the fact that George Bush lived here (“for tax purposes,” quips Underhill, “because Texas has no state income tax”) and kept a summer home nearby.

About 100 days before the convention was to open near Dallas, Underhill was asked to take over the work of coordinating all the details. How much time did he put into that job? “I worked as long as I could stay awake,” says Underhill. One detail, as we know, was to invite Cindy Sheehan to speak. “I had quite accidentally run across someone who recommended Cindy,” recalls Underhill. “So we tied that up, but no one knew about her plans to visit Crawford until the day before she arrived at the convention. As soon as I got her email about it, the first thing I did was to contact the Crawford Peace House and ask them to get ready.”

The Crawford Peace House was set up by a farsighted peace activist from Dallas named Johnny Wolf. He purchased the building in the Spring of 2003 for just this kind of eventuality. He knew the Crawford Ranch would draw activists, and he wanted a watering hole for them to stop at along the way. “We’re not going to let them turn the town into a three-ring circus,” said Crawford Mayor Robert Campbell to the Dallas Morning News when the news of the Crawford Peace House was announced. “If they want to protest, let them go to Washington.”

That was long before Cindy Sheehan made up her mind to find out where Crawford was so that she could confront the president of the USA at his summer home and tell him to stop using the deaths of soldiers like her son to justify further war in Iraq.

There were some folks who encouraged Underhill to move the entire VFP convention to Crawford at the last minute, but he reminded them that Crawford was not an easy place for lots of people to eat on short notice. “There’s only one blinking light in that town,” says Underhill, “and it’s about eight times brighter than the President.” So the VFP worked out a caravan that would be led by an Impeachment Tour Bus. A couple veterans stayed with Sheehan in Crawford, and you’ve probably heard what happened next.

What you don’t see so much in the tip of the tremendous iceberg that Cindy Sheehan has thrown in front of the President’s war cruiser is the long years of preparation, the weekly vigils in Tucson, the courses in history, the film festivals, the fund drives, the chores and newsletters that finally fuse enough people together that they can move in under Cindy Sheehan and make sure she stays afloat as long as it takes.

Even Underhill thought the scene looked pretty desolate when he passed through Crawford Sunday afternoon (was that just two days ago?) and saw this one lonely tent pitched against the Texas prairie. Although by that point Underhill knew that the Crawford Peace House had thrown open its doors and CodePink had mobilized its network, “It didn’t look too powerful.”

“But you know what?” says Underhill, pausing for a while at home between his support trips to Crawford. “I think this has shaken the whole globe. I have a friend in Germany and he says it’s on television there. This has blown wide open.” Tuesday morning campers watched ABC camera crews hang through the rain to get dawn shots for the evening news. Something about Cindy Sheehan is bringing out the poetry in everyone’s imagination.

“And you know if we had anybody else out there, nobody would care,” he says. “This is all about Cindy.” And Cindy is all about Casey (May 29 1979-April 4 2004). Not in his name, Mr. President. Not. In. His. Name.