The sweat beaded on Al Sharpton’s
forehead as he angrily and passionately delivered his message at the “March for
Peace, Justice, and Democracy” on April 29th in New York City: “This
war is illegal; it is immoral, and it is un-American….We have a President who
misled the American people….This President – who can see weapons of mass
destruction in Iraq that are not there, but cannot see a hurricane in New
Orleans that is there….We are the picture of the American people….” By
the time he was finished, I was fired up, unable to resist a loud response of “Whoo!”
and “Yeah!” My need to speak truth to power was frowned upon by the
professional looking men and women surrounding me, all of whom immediately
looked at the “Press Badge” I was given by United for Peace and Justice (UFPJ).
Apparently, members of “The Press” don’t cheer for the speakers at a press
conference, as I learned from the icy gaze of the Newsday guy and the Univision
woman. Though their New York City issued credentials looked a little more
professional than mine (which proudly had “WESU [A Crowded Fire] printed on it),
we were all given the same access, and I elbowed my way in to get the scoop,
even though it was often unnecessary to do so.
I had attended many
demonstrations before, but this was my first as a member of “The Press.” There
was, however, a downside to my journalistic status – in addition to receiving
condescending glares at the press conference, I was kicked out of the main body
of the march, even though I was close enough to touch the back of Jesse
Jackson’s neck, or pat Daniel Ellsberg on the shoulder, or smell Susan
Sarandon’s hair. I was told to walk in front of the march with the real,
professional, important journalists, closely following a man from 1010WINS
radio, assuming he knew where the action was. This quest took me into a nearby
Starbucks. After I caught up with what I will call the
Journalism-Experience-Required Committee (JERC), I began surveying the crowd of
about 350,000 for people to talk to.
The range of people in the march was as diverse
as the spectrum of people around the nation who are furious and disheartened by
this war and this administration. Some of the most influential organizations in
the country joined with UFPJ to organize the protest: the RainbowPUSH
Coalition, National Organization for Women, People’s Hurricane Relief Fund, US
Labor Against the War (more unions were represented at the protest than at any
previous demonstration), and many others. The timing of the march embodied a
grave urgency: April 29th marked both the end of the bloodiest month
in Iraq in half a year and the beginning of threatened aggression against Iran.
That urgency could be heard in the voices of everyone I spoke to.
Ruth Garbus is a member of the Women’s League
for Freedom and Justice and is a close friend of Daniel Ellsberg, the heroic
whistleblower who once faced 115 years in prison for leaking what would come to
be known as the Pentagon Papers during the Vietnam War. Ruth echoed Ellsberg’s
call for current officials to leak information and prevent a devastating attack
on Iran: “The plans for Iran have already been made. Troops are ready; it’s
all strategically planned – and we must prevent a continuation of this war.”
Fear over what is going to happen in the
imminent future resonated with many. Max, from Germany, told me he came to the
march to “say no” to aggression in Iran and to protest the proliferation of
nuclear weapons, something he sees as a major threat to peace. He was one of
many protesters with a “no nukes” message – a cause that becomes all the more
terrifying when you read the words of former Clinton Defense Secretary, William
Perry, who says that "there is a greater than 50 per cent probability of a
nuclear strike on US targets within a decade."
The mood of the protest is impossible to
characterize: it could shift in a moment from feeling like a carnival to feeling
like a funeral. When Cindy Sheehan, who is the leading figure in galvanizing
the anti-war movement and the mother of Casey, one of the 2,422 American
soldiers killed in Iraq, spoke about the “war criminals” in the government and
the “war machine,” her words were fiery, if also familiar and rehearsed. But
then she paused for a moment to tell us that the other night, she dreamt about
her son as a toddler, asking if he can go out and play. You look around and you
see mothers and fathers with pictures of their children who did not make it out
of Iraq; you see the faces of fatherless or motherless children attending the
protest with their one heartbroken parent. You realize just how real it all is
and you feel the horror overcome everything else.
Demond Mullins was an infantryman in Iraq and
has been home for six months. After returning home and struggling with guilt
and regret, he found Iraq Veterans Against the War (IVAW) and quickly joined.
Demond, who is only a year older than I am, enlisted because he wanted to get
the college benefits. As we spoke, the idea that the cost of college for him is
measured in blood struck hard. Demond saw his best friend die in Iraq and wears
a bracelet to commemorate him. He wishes he stood up to the industrial-military
complex, which he now speaks out against, and refused deployment: “I still beat
myself up over conforming,” he tells me. “I should have resisted, made a
statement.” He calls the Bush administration “cowardly” and says that
“’supporting our troops’ would be being out here right now.” That Demond is
only 22 is difficult to comprehend - in his voice and in his eyes you can tell
that something has been taken away from him; there is a sadness and an anger, a
year of his life lost to a cause he now realizes is wholly “immoral.” He never
received the college benefits that he was promised.
After leaving Demond, I sought out someone from
the “media staff,” who were there to help coordinate interviews for members of
“The Press.” One staff member asked me who I wanted to talk to. I sheepishly
replied, “Uh, Cindy Sheehan?” figuring that I’d aim high. Within a few minutes,
I was shaking her hand and setting up my recorder. Soon after saying, “Hi, my
name is Aaron Sussman, I’m from WESU,” I realized that I had nothing to ask
her. What can you ask someone who has been so widely covered by “The Press” and
asked so many questions by so many people? As much as I loved my Press Badge, I
didn’t want to be journalist right then – I wanted to thank her for everything
she has done for the cause of peace, tell her how moving it was to hear her talk
about her son, commiserate with her about the desperation and fury and
helplessness that so many feel. I wanted the architects of the war and members
of Congress and everyone else complicit whose children will never see combat to
feel the pain that she has felt, understand the consequences of what they are
doing. I simply asked her to say some words directed toward college students
and then thanked her. I shook her hand again, said thank you one more time, and
left.
I thought about the press
conference earlier that day, about the stoic look on the faces of all the real,
professional, important journalists. I wondered what they’d write about in
their stories. I wondered what they would have said to a man who went through
Hell to get an education or a woman whose son paid the ultimate price for a
hollow cause. I wondered about what made those journalists so real, so
professional, and so important. And then I wondered about why this tragic war
is still going on, and why nothing seems to change.