Reflection on February 15, 2003 Peace Demonstration in New York City

By Sunshine Lemme,
Montauk, NY
(Member of the UU Congregation of the South Fork, NY)

It was cold on Saturday, February 15, and I had to be at the East Hampton train station by 7:10 am to catch the train to Penn Station. Worse, I was almost out of gas, and had to figure out how to get home by 8:00 pm because it was my ambulance squad's night on duty. Do you know how many gas stations are open at 6:30 am? Well, the Mobil in Amagansett was, at more than two dollars a gallon, but five bucks was enough to get me home and even to church on Sunday, and I got to the station with ten minutes to spare.

I didn't know most of the people there, but then Mike O'Neil, chair of our Social Action Committee, came in, followed by George Wilson, two of the organizers. Mike gave me the job of distributing snacks on the train, collected my fare and gave me the return tickets. I also paid three dollars for a pin sold by the Ladies in Black (actually by a young man who didn't meet the criteria but was a very good salesperson; most of the people on the train had them); the profits support the new East End Peace Coalition.

We were all happy to get aboard the train, which quickly filled up as we hit the stations on the South Fork, I figure two or three hundred people. Bill Dalsimer gave me the job of caring for the "LI Unitarian Universalists" banner; I passed out snacks, talked to my fellows, read my book, and generally had a great time. When we reached Penn Station we walked a few blocks to the Community Church were UUs gathered from as far away as Maine and Massachusetts to make a presence. We relaxed, had a short service, and began to walk up Madison toward a crossing to First Avenue at 11:30. We crossed several streams of marchers as we moved north, and finally, disorganized by the shear numbers of marchers, we turned east on 52nd Street as we mixed with the Green Party and walked to 3rd Avenue.

Here, we were turned north by the police. I never did get to the rally on First Avenue, nor did most of us. We did make our presence felt, however. Most of the protesters were specifically against a war against Iraq, but there were plenty of takes on that. "Go Solar, Not Ballistic" and "SUVs: Axles of Evil" made a lot of sense, especially when "No Blood for Oil" was the most common sign. Some signs had entire essays, most were short and to the point, some were printed, most were hand painted, and many poked sarcastic fun at the administration in writing ("Dubya Dubya III", the President, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Ashcroft, and Powell defined as the Axis of Evil, and the acronym of the names of the Vice President, Secretary of Defense, Attorney General, and Secretary of State) and in pictures (the President with, among other things, a Hitleresque mustache, a "Sold" sign printed on his forehead, and as Alfred E. Newman). Vietnam Veterans Against the War (which I joined in 1971) was there, along with Vets for Peace and Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, those Americans who started WW II a few years early. Many religious groups beside the Unitarian Universalists were also represented, including Catholics, Mennonites, Jews, Amish, and even the President's affiliation, the Methodists.

In many ways it was like the Viet Nam War protests. There were some stark contrasts, however. For example, there was a lot less drug use. I only noted this when, after a couple of hours trying to get to the rally, somebody lit up a cigarette. Really, one tobacco cigarette in the entire two and a half hours I was there.

There was a lot of cooperation between marchers and the police. Both the police and the marchers had different attitudes than the ones that were so common during the sixties and seventies, much more tolerant.

Another difference to my earlier protest days was the many signs with the URLs of websites for the particular cause they were promoting, from impeachment to the next rally (March 1 in front of the White House). We had a much larger communications problem in 1971!

I spent about an hour between 58th and 59th, when my companions on the banner thought they should get some lunch. I wrapped up the banner and said goodbye to them, since I brought my own lunch and would have to get back on my own anyway. Suddenly, something happened up ahead, and we started moving again. At 62nd Street, the police line was disrupted so badly that we just walked around them, and they weren't trying to stop us. They had a backup plan; the road was blocked at Second Avenue.

Amid many chants of "Whose Streets?" "Our Streets!" many of the demonstrators, mostly young, were trying to push through the barricades and police lines there. My conflict was, should I try to be a peacemaker, standby with my EMS supplies and skills, or leave the area. As my peacemaking efforts were ignored and my experience of what happens when it gets violent (everybody gets clubbed), I let discretion rule, and moved north a couple more blocks, then started back west. My feet hurt, I was hungry and thirsty, and I needed a restroom.

I walked to Central Park, where I used the facilities, rested, ate my lunch, and watched literally thousands of other demonstrators walk by. After a long break, I went to the Lexington Jitney Stop and got home well before Squad time.

Was the cold, sore feet, and loss of a Saturday worth the effort? Well, I feel very good about what I did. I don't know if it will prevent war, which would be the best outcome in my eyes, but I fail, it won't be because I didn't try. I had a chance to look death in the face in Viet Nam, and it isn't pretty. The hunger, disease, destruction, poverty and general misery that come with war are also ugly. I don't like the idea of my country sending my son to fight a war that will turn out much like Viet Nam, with some very unwanted consequences. I remember being young and wanting to prove myself. I remember being disillusioned. I remember dead children, maimed soldiers, lost comrades. Neither victory nor defeat sticks in my mind like the horror. Victory and defeat come at the same cost. Neither is worth the risk. Let Saddam keep playing the shell game with his weapons. He already knows the price of aggression. I'm afraid President Bush doesn't.

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