The appointments with “our” political representatives this morning. I chose to skip them – part of me is very tempted to do participant observartion: join other people going to talk to their Californian congressmen and women, and even intervene in the conversations if i feel like it, who knows. But another part of me finds it too much, and then the jet-lag that i forgot to schedule does try to kick in. I sleep a bit longer and spend a morning walking through “political Washington”.
I get there by bus, from Columbia Heights where Jayne’s appartment is. As we’re approaching the city, it’s strikes me that i’m the only white body on this bus, and that many of the black and latino bodies are marked by a lack of various kinds of resources. In the middle of wide avenues and imposing government buildings, and suits, ties and briefcases walking briskly and purposefully, this slow bus seems somehow out of place. The people whose posture reflects a sense of entitlement to these streets and the whole world it invokes, are not on this bus. I get myself to Capitola Hill, and do the long walk to the White House. War in my head: images of war and poverty keep flashing before my eyes. It’s infuriating. The more i look around, the more men and women in suits and ties seem to transform into small and not so small agents of this giant war machine. Am i in the headquaters now? Can’t help thinking: this place should be bombed, should be flattened with the ground.
Commotion: police cars with sirenes racing in, out of nowhere, from every direction. They surround a truck with latino road workers. It seems that the truck was taking taking a road that it shouldn’t take, in order to get to the road works. The mistake is cleared out in a couple of minutes, the truck turns around, the police cars disappear as fast as they had come. Five minutes later there’s no trace of the commotion. A sense of heavy yet rather invisible surveillance remains. This place should be bombed, but when the workers’ shift is over. (is there ever such a moment, in between janitors and the construction workers?).
LaFayette Park, opposite the White House. the pray-inn, called for by the Network for Spiritual Progressives has just started. Cindy Sheehan is speaking. Then there’s Code Pink, who were gathered in Washington after their recent Mother’s Day vigil. I recognize a old grey-haired woman whom i saw in the Greyhound Station in Oakland in the beginning of this month. As she squatted on the floor besides her backpack with a tag with a Washington, carrying a peace sign and wearing quite some pink, i remembered thinking that i could guess where she was heading. Many people speak and propose prayers, some sing. Sahar, guess who was also in the crowd, the iranian guy who spoke at the NYC demo against the war in Iraq. “Long live Venezuela. Friendship with Iran”, is the message that he carries around.
At the end of the pray-inn we march to the white house. In the midst of all the imposing buildings in this neighborhood, this white house is deceptively small. Almost a bit insignificant, as if it wants to convey the message: don’t pay too much attention to me, i’m just another rich guy’s house. It also seems deceptively accessible. But as we get closer, the “police do not cross” yellow tape all around the gates becomes visible. We march with many papers, which are spread out all over the marchers. These are the names of people who signed the petition to stop the war on the Iran before it starts. as we approach the gates, people lift their arms and hold the papers in the air. Don’t Iraq Iran, is one of the slogans.
Disappointment: we are not allowed to officially hand the petition to White House. In the end people throw the papers over the gates. Some people get angry. Others get put off by the anger. They get into discussions with each other (why do you need to get angry? etc.). I get put off by the discussions, which don’t seem to lead anywhere, and which add nothing to the discussions on different tactics within a demonstration that are familiar to me. I actually get a bit upset with those who don’t like the anger – i mean, this is one of the most peaceful marches i’ve ever been to (and i’m sure there’s a reason for that, i’m sure the police would intervene massively and quickly if someone stepped over some kind of line), and the slight bit of anger against the refusal of an official reception of the petitions does not seem out of place at all. I have respect for the radical non-violence stance of some of the marchers, for whom shouting was inacceptable, only i felt that their annoying questions (do you really need to shout?) were not only counterproductive but also reflected a lack of creativity. If they wanted a different kind of energy, this was not the way; they could have tried to sing a song or something. (Coming to think of it, one of the songs was All we are saying, is give peace a chance… equally a bit tiresome…)
I turn away from the crowd and focus a bit on the police. They must be slightly amused by the discussions among the marchers, although their masked expressions don’t show it. They are filming all of us. I’m starting to feel in the mood for a little conversation. I turn to the cop near me, whom i see very well is not the leader of the gang, and ask him very sweetly:
– Excuse me Sir, can i just ask you for some information?
He gives me a friendly nod.
– The thing is, i’m a relatively new resident of this country (okay, a little lie, but it sounds better than “i’m an alien non-resident”) and i don’t really understand the situation. Could you explain me what exactely is the problem with giving the citizen’s petition to someone who can bring it to the White House?
Very friendly he explains me that it would be better if i’d spoke to his superior, to which he leads me. I repeat the thing, adding this time:
– Cause you see, i would have thought that this would have been a civic right, in line with the first ammendment?
The superior (y’r typical ugly cop):
– Well, it’s their right to accept it or not, and they won’t accept. You see, that’s your right; if somebody comes to your house, you can choose if you receive them or not.
I’m baffled by the comparison of the White House to any private house. I think back of cop-conversations when our actions were stopped around the parliament and government buildings in Brussels. Their the argument would be that we were disturbing a “neutral” zone with “progaganda”. Here the argument is connected to the sanctity of private space?
– But Sir, surely that is not the same thing. The White House is not a private house, it has a political function.
He considers for a moment, and responds:
– Okay, yes, it’s something political [sic!]. But you know, there’s always a security issue.
Ah, the saving grace of security. From the private straight to security, pushing out the public-political.
– A security issue for papers? We just want to hand over some papers?
– Oh yes, papers can be very dangerous.
In the meantime we’re surrounded by a bunch of marchers. Frankly everybody looked rather baffled. The exchange should have been filmed – the kind police officer in front of the White House saying that papers can be dangerous was quite a powerful image. (The conversation was in fact filmed, but by the police). As we continued talking among us, i understood that i didn’t quite get the thing as it was intended. In my imaginary, it was all about non-democratic regimes declaring the written word to be dangerous. My co-marchers assured me that the cop was invoking the threat of anthrax.
The march continues to Rumsfeld’s house, but the participants to the Spiritual Activism conference are asked to convene at the All Souls Church for the rest of the afternoon and evening program. As we move in small groups, i pick up more and more conversations of people who didn’t like the energy at the march, how some people were aggressive, etc. I shut up, don’t feel like arguing, pretend i don’t know these people. Then a woman addresses me and when she finds out that i’m from Europe, she asks why the EU did nothing to stop the war in Iraq. I suddenly feel like arguing – Oh, who exactely took the initiative for this war? And where exactely were all the millions and millions of people in the street in this country, as happened in many cities all over the world? (i mean, extrapolating the number of people that got together in Rome on the 15th of Feb in 2003, that would translate in about 15 million people on the streets of NYC or Washington.) And more than that, do you think those massive marches would have happened if people couldn’t overcome the “i don’t like the atmosphere of this march” feeling and got stuck arguing about “why are you shouting?”. Plus the way in which the “punishment” of warmongers like Blair and Aznar provokes a certain kind of understanding among many people throughout europe, although they don’t agree with the tactics of the violent attacks, which destablizes or interrupts a hegemonic use of “the events” like that of 9/11 in the US, for more war. I’m all about criticizing and organizing against european goverments and policies, but what about getting a bit more active within the belly of the beast instead of hoping for someone or something “from outside” to stop the US? (oh friends, i already told you, this spiritual activism conference really doesn’t bring out the best in me…) The woman politely turns away and continued chatting with the other people, pretending not to know me.
