Dear Friends and Family,
There comes a time, when the heart is moved by
compassion, to join the likes of Daniel Ellsberg and his wife, Fr. Louis
Vitale, Ying Lee, and others. Good company all. My personal mission this day
was to experience the first stages of civil disobedience. I wanted to sit -
or actually lay - in the street with a gathering of others - for a few
minutes to explore the edges of this phenomenon. It was a photo op for my
friends the Raging Grannies who were mourning the dead. Mourning Granny
Sharon who is a dead veteran and lying in the street at noon in front of
Senator Diane Feinstein's office.
My intention was to get up and leave
when the police announced that anyone who did not want to get arrested must
leave now. I believe I was awake and conscious and listening for the entire
time for this message. I did not hear it. After a time it became obvious
that either it was not given or I had missed it.
I sat up, found
myself and the others surrounded by a circle of police with batons standing
nearly shoulder to shoulder around us, facing inwards towards us. Looking up
at all of those batons and uniforms was quite an experience. It was clear at
this point that we could not leave or that would be resisting arrest. So I
pulled out my Native American Flute and began playing Taps for the "dead"
around me and those really dead in Iraq and Afghanistan. My flute was
blessed in India by Sri Amma.
As I played taps, we were taken one by one
from the circle and arrested for exercising our rights as citizens to
non-violently protest the actions ofour government. We were causing no harm
to people or property. They began on the far side of the circle from me. I
played a long time. I was a bit fearful of tapping the moisture out of my
flute as it might be seen as a weapon. I continued playing with a wet flute
until it made virtually no sound at all. I rested and began again after some
minutes. This sequence happened many times.
Eventually it was my
turn. The officer walked up to me, I put my flute away in my backpack. He
told me I was being arrested and asked me to rise and come with him. I did.
I handed him a flower which he threw on the ground. He carried my pack. We
walked with him holding me by the arm over to be processed. Asked for my ID,
I gave my VA card, another officer asked if I received money from the VA. A
strange question. I said no. Then they applied the white zip handcuffs. I
was photographed with the officer. After a bit I was placed in a locked cell
in a van with 2 other women, we had seating for 2. The youngest crouched on the floor. Neither women had heard the command to leave or
be arrested. One of the women had come with her husband and daughter
who had also been arrested. The other cell in the back of the van was
filled with six other women. One who had resisted arrest and had been
roughly treated.
We were driven away and sat in some driveway for a long
time. Although the cuffs weren't really tight, My shoulders were burning and
my hands were numb well before we were taken out of the van. Eventually they
moved the van again and we were called by name and taken out. Finally we
were given the opportunity to use the port-a-potty. We were placed in open
pens behind the station. Some folks arrested earlier were being out
processed. They were taking elders first, 90, 80, 70, 60. I made my way to
the front and was cited and released. I am to report to court on May 7 at
8am. Several policemen called out that they'd see me at 5pm. I laughed. As
we walked out of the jail, I realized that somehow I felt more free than
before.
I walked back to Civic Center with Daniel Elsberg, Fr. Vitale,
Ying Lee, another vet named Christopher who had a cane, and a few others
released at the same time. I first met Daniel Elsberg in Washington DC five
years ago this weekend... the weekend we began "shock and awe." He had just
been released from jail to join us at Operation Dire Distress. I marched
beside him that day and had dinner with him that night with his grandson and
two Vietnam Nurses, one, Joan Duffy, who has since died of cancer from
Agent Orange.
At 5pm I joined the rally in Civic Center, stood onstage
as we called for all veterans to join us, and then the march of tens of
thousands through the Mission. I sat on the VFP sound truck draped with a
flag, held upside down, and holding a sign 4,000+. Our truck was playing Taps
on the loudspeakers. It was easy to keep a somber face after my earlier
journey. There were many, many, many photographs.
I am writing this
at 4am on the first day of spring. The full moon is outside the window. I
was treated respectfully and relatively gently. It's been 12 hours now since
the cuffs came off and the marks are still faintly there. I can only imagine
those who aren't treated so well, not to mention those in Guantanamo. I am
greatful for drugs... tylenol and motrin, dispensed by my dear friend and
nurse who welcomed me to his home with chocolate cake and a shoulder rub, hot
shower, and a listening ear.
VFP News
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