ecospirit

After the park was cleared and the policeman with the submachine gun who had greeted us left, we held the rally, featuring young folks from iMatter and the march organizers. Appropriately, the twin focus was upon youth and the over-65 generation, the grandparents. The most poignant pleas from the youth were from an Eskimo boy whose entire town had slid into the Arctic Sea due to erosion from Global Warming and a Navaho girl whose family had lost their farm to severe drought and total loss of their water. My young marching friend Alex was there to read from his rewrite of the Declaration as one of Energy Independence, and it was unfurled 175 feet to display the signatures of 75,000, including John Kerry, Barbara Boxer, and yours truly. We were asked to solemnly pledge ourselves to massive reduction in use of fossil fuels, something we were demanding of our government and corporations. This gave me pause, as I've cut back to half the average American, but hit a wall a few years ago. I still fly airplanes, no matter the Prius, which drive more than ever from our remote rural base in the mountains. Busy lives, spewing carbon. But I raised my hand.

The Asheville Green Grannies sang smart lyrics to choice oldies, pointing fingers at the White House as they reminded the President of his promises (the biggest is his 2008 campaign promise: “Let us be the generation that finally frees itself from the tyranny of oil”). All three of the faithful Siler family spoke: young Leigh, repeating her wish that future children be able to enjoy the rich rural life she has; her father Mark, rousing us with all of our slogans, a surprising orator in our midst.

And then came Mahan, whose speech was an arrow straight into my heart. At 79, he was our oldest marcher (Leigh at 11 was the youngest). A retired Baptist preacher, he spoke eloquently about the responsibility of the Boomers present. We have unprecedented life expectancies and wealth – neither of which our grandchildren will have – and an unprecedented challenge. “Don't retire – RECOMMIT!” Then he gave us a fitting image for what was unfolding at this rally. He asked those under 19 to make a central circle, facing out to the rest of us. We reached our hands towards each other, some grabbing hold, others holding shoulders and backs, like a healing. He described two arcs, one of the children reaching up from the earth, a second of the over-65's rising to meet it, forming a Keystone.  

“They are not the Keystone, we are, at this place of meeting. Let's take back this lovely word.” His words and our action said it all.. Friends, may we all answer Mahan Siler's challenge and retake the Keystone, resting the whole butressed rainbow in God's everloving hands.

The action at ERM was scheduled for noon. The day of the action, a few walkers left at dawn to be able to join it, 13.5 miles distant. Others took rides to the metro with the same intention. The rest of us waited for the day walkers, who had been instructed to join us at nine. About a half dozen did so, with others swelling our ranks as we neared the capital. One cheery young woman calmly emerged from the forested banks of the Potomac, a lovely woodsprite affirming our purpose. As was the case all along the walk, I had probing talks with other walkers, this day with a man who had just joined the movement last fall. When we reached Georgetown, he unfurled his banner, proclaiming the Great Turning and the end of Fossil Folly. On it was written the names of his grandchildren, one just adopted the week before after a long struggle (thus “Hope” was crossed out, replaced by Bryan). More and more of the folks I meet in these actions have never done any kind of activism before. Many spoke of their awakening, and the tempo is accelerating.

Though the company was surprised they were the target, the police arrived swiftly, and it was all over in fifteen minutes or so. They arrived with wire-cutters, paddy wagons, and plenty of plastic handcuffs. As the 54 who were arrested left in their custody, there were huge smiles, cuffed hands raised overhead, and frequent applause. This was a celebration, though at least some would need to return for a court date in mid-August, which could be a problem for my new friend Deborah from Seattle, at her first action. But as my brother-in-law the police dispatcher says, “That's a first-world problem.” This is not Syria, nor Russia, nor Turkey.

We arrived at the site of the civil disobedience around three pm, well after it ended. The police returned from lunch to face a second wave of protesters. We did not see them as the enemy, and when I saw the video footage recording the warning from a company employee that he would call the police if the intruders didn't leave, I heard one woman say “Thank you.” Unlike previous 350.org civil disobedience actions, this one was not scripted, since the target remained secret. But each side still knew what to expect from the other. This is a dance we do in our democracy, and without the police doing their part, it would be incomplete, and our message would be lost. As the commander said to Geeta (he looked like a glamorous politician, an impeccable diplomat), “This is not Syria. We are here to protect your right of grievance to your government .” We are blessed to be able to dance our protest and sing out our grievances.

One thing that disturbed me about the action was the rowdy chanting of slogans, both on the street and inside the building. I would prefer dignified silence, punctuated by eloquent signage. Even a clever chant sounds adolescent when amplified by a crowd. I have been part of three acts of civil disobedience, and though we sang, and even chanted some, there was a more dignified tone. The chanting at ERM did not reach the strident pitch which so put me off during the Vietnam War protests, but the more I do activist work, the more I yearn for dignity throughout. That was what I experienced at the Interfaith Moral Action on Climate, IMAC, in January. I am sure the training was thorough, undertaken by some of the same trainers at the same church, St Stephens Episcopal, where we trained for the August 2011 Keystone action at the White House. But I miss the silent witness, the meditative prayer, inviting everyone on all sides to plumb their depths.