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To Not Have To Do This Again

I want to make a special call to the military.  And more concretely to the military bases and to the military headquarters….You are from our same people.  You kill your own brothers and sisters.  The law of God that says “Do not kill” is higher than the order of your commander to kill. …The Church, as defenders of God-given rights, of the laws of God, of human dignity, and of the person, cannot remain silent before such abomination.  In the name of God, then, in the name of this suffering people, whose laments are raised to the sky from a world everyday more violent, I pray, I entreat, I order you in the name of God: Stop the repression.  (Oscar Romero, Homily, March 23, 1980—the day before he was murdered)

I kept thinking during the vigil on Sunday that we shouldn’t have to be doing this anymore.  We shouldn’t have to be protesting and calling for the close of the School of the Americas again this year.  We shouldn’t have to be here one more year after 19 previous ones. The problem should already have been taken care of.  And the vigil’s “faithful” agree:  I was considering buying a T-shirt, a black one with images of the many white crosses with names on them.  I had seen someone wearing a T-shirt with a similar design but that said “close the School of the Americas,” and I wanted a shirt that stated the demand.  However, the vender, who has helped ever since the first Close the School of the Americas vigil in 1990, told me that last year they had thought that the School of the Americas was going to be closed, so they had only printed T-shirts that more generally spoke about remembering the martyrs and resisting.

Yet, the School of the Americas has continued to train Latin American soldiers, so we continue to resist and demand its closure.  In my Old Testament class, Professor David Carr explained that the words of the prophets were often not heeded in the times they were written but were written down and remembered later only because the words they spoke had relevance in successive generations.  Oscar Romero’s order to the military quoted above is a similar text.  It was not heeded in its own historic time: in fact, the very military to which Romero spoke murdered him the very next day.  Violence in El Salvador continues, from 1980-1992 with the civil war, and afterwards until today with the violence of economic exploitation, poverty, and gangs.  We remember and use Romero’s words today because violence at the hands of an oppressive military and exploitative foreign policy continues.

...boundaries that should not be crossed?

Yes, the liturgy of this year’s School of the Americas vigil was beautifully symbolic, as my fellow “Unionistas”along on this trip have described in this blog, but we can’t be lulled into wanting to come back to see it again next year.  The principalities and powers want us to want to return next year because, if we return next year, it will signify that the SOA still trains Latin American soldiers in counterinsurgency tactics and the oppressive government still determines the boundaries that should not be crossed.  No matter how touching and beautiful the acts of remembering, honoring, mourning, and resisting were at this year’s vigil, instead of just planning for next year’s trip to the SOA vigil, we must plan to work this year so that we don’t have to go back next year.  The idea that we could actually close the SOA or change the oppressive US foreign policy may sound naively optimistic, but I wonder if the literally hundreds of thousands of people who have protested the SOA each November over the past 20 years are not more powerful than we admit?  The powers-that-be certainly don’t want us to recognize our powers to not only sing and march at a vigil and protest, but also effect grassroots change.  What if everyone at the vigil, instead of marking next year’s date on their calendars went back to their homes determined to work this year so that such a vigil and protest becomes no longer necessary?

Behind 3 rows of fences...

With this in mind, I wonder what must be my personal commitment, the collective commitment of the four of us who attended this year’s vigil and our supporters, and the commitment of the Union community now that we’re back from SOA Watch vigil?  As we sat on “the line” at the Fort Benning gates on Saturday and Sunday in a prayerful and reflective spirit,

 I couldn’t help but notice a box-shaped, technologically-advanced machine with at least 4 different video cameras attached to it parked behind the 3 rows of fences.  It raised and lowered at various times by radio control. 

...a technologically advanced machine with at least 4 cameras.

The full purpose of the machine remained a mystery to us, and its sheer complexity as a tool used by the oppressors reminded me of a point made often by Poverty Scholar Willie Baptist, who helps lead Poverty Initiative at Union Theological Seminary.  Willie talks often about how those of us working to end poverty, exploitation, and oppression must understand the intelligence and complexity of our enemies (which I define as those who create misery for others).  The technologically-advanced machine at SOA represents something greater.  Think about it: the enemies have at their disposal money, technology, media, messaging, political and religious establishments, and I could go on.  Not to mention advisors, the educational systems, other world leaders indebted to or afraid of the US, the world economic system, etc. 

But before we get depressed or lose hope, remember what we do have on our side as those who struggle against injustice and oppression:  the sheer masses “who have very little, or even nothing, to lose.  If they can be helped to take action together, they will do so with a freedom and a power that will be a new and unsettling force in our complacent national life.” (Martin Luther King Jr, 1967), “the arc of the moral universe [which] is long but it bends toward justice” (Martin Luther King Jr, 1967), and God (I don’t say that lightly).  An intelligent, highly-evolved oppressive force must be countered by a highly-developed, highly-intelligent, and highly-organized force toward liberation.  A vigil with a 20-year-long history of heart-felt is no longer enough; opposing an enemy that has evolved new tactics requires the resistance to have new tactics.

3-faced "Puppetista": Capitalism, Imperialism, and Militarism

The School of the Americas is part of a complex system of exploitation and oppression that is more intelligent and advanced than ever before.  The 3 faces on the “Puppetista” at the SOA Watch Vigil accurately represented the 3-faced enemy that we must confront:  capitalism, imperialism, and militarism.  What if, during the 2010-2011 year, before the SOA Watch vigil next year if there has to be one, we could commit personally and collectively as concerned students at Union (including attendees of the Vigil, SPJ, Latin@ caucus, etc—there are already existing avenues) to engaging in some practical efforts that combat this 3-faced enemy: capitalism, imperialism, and militarism?  Couldn’t we work so that next year there won’t have to be a Close the SOA vigil? 

I propose a first step, something that is possible before next year:  we must understand more about what SOA does today and how it plays into the larger complex system of capitalism, imperialism, and militarism.  Instead of ignoring or down-playing that SOA has changed its name to Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation (WHINSEC), and that it claims a new “commitment to Democracy, Ethics and Human Rights” (WHINSEC website, https://www.benning.army.mil/WHINSEC/ ), we need to better understand these changes and new strategies.  We stand no chance at changing that which we don’t understand.  

...how does the SOA play into the larger complex system of capitalism, imperialism, and militarism?

What does SOA do today? What is its role in the bigger picture of US foreign affairs?  What does the maneuver of changing the SOA name and vision really mean?  Speakers at the SOA Watch vigil said that there is no noticeable difference between SOA and WHINSEC, but I suspect that the act of revamping the image of the School in such a way that its opponents think there is no difference makes the changes even more of a threat and demonstrates the high intelligence of the enemy.

Embarking on this “comprehend to upend” effort will be difficult because truth is manipulated from all sides.  Someone who supports the closing the SOA who attended the WHINSEC Open House on Saturday reported that WHINSEC promotes itself as different from the SOA which trained murderous military officials in the 1980s, and WHINSEC sees itself promoting a form of development.  This argument reminds me once again of the intelligence of the forces we are working against.  Is anybody interested and would anyone like to dive into this “comprehend to upend” work with me?  Do you have your own ideas about how we can take concrete steps to combat the 3-headed monster in order to not have reason to go back to the Close-the-SOA Vigil next year? 

Let’s act this year so we don’t have to converge on Fort Benning next year.

Back at Union

We have arrived safely back at Union. Thank you all for your support in following the blog, car care packages, crosses, phone calls and more. The four of us each intend to write and post a follow up to our experiences in the next few days after some more prolonged reflection. Thank you again for all the ways that you have supported our trip. Specifically, we would like to thank the Student Life Office, all the Students for Peace and Justice, the Worship Office and the entire Union Community, as well as Nancy Allison our host in North Carolina, and CB Stewart for the use of the car. The four of us who traveled felt deeply blessed by the generous communal outpouring of support that carried us through this past weekend.

Come Along with Us: Video “Presente”

We have felt so supported by our communities of support that we wanted you to be able to experience yesterday’s Vigil honoring the victims and calling for the close of the School of the Americas along with us.  Please click on this YouTube link to watch a short video of clips that we made so that you too can come along with us:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c3rqUxEF9SQ

“We go with you”

Jesus called the crowd with his disciples and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me.” -Mark 8: 34

As the Union community commissioned us on our journey we all took up crosses together in James Chapel to bear witness to the death dealing power of injustice, oppression, and war in our world. Tonight those same crosses, lifted up and placed in sand in James Chapel, are wedged in the fence surrounding Ft. Benning as our community’s witness against the violence that facility represents.

Today we joined your chorus to our own as we sang ¡Presente! and invoked the memory of the martyrs as a peaceful means to resisting violent oppression. Thank you for all the ways that you as a community have come with us on this journey.

Living as the Body of Christ

God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other.  If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.  Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.

– 1 Corinthians 12: 24b-27

The crowd has dispersed.  The narrow avenue to Ft. Benning is no longer lined with idealistic rabble-rousers, politicized street vendors, and revolutionary artists.  Lingering notes of Freedom Songs are no longer lifted into on the voices of the people.  The veterans, feminists, Buddhists, Christians, communists, Nuns, Monks, puppetistas, musicians, survivors and allies no longer obscure the pavement of the road.  Save for a small contingency of folk who remained behind to help break down the stage, and the blessed, courageous souls who leapt over the fence to get arrested, those in attendance at the vigil have returned (or are in the process of returning) into the myriad worlds from which they came.

For a moment, we converged.  For a moment we felt our deep connection to people we had never seen before, who moved in us and through us and with us, who made themselves present in embodied art and song and witness.  For a moment we lifted our ideals, our rebellion, our resistance into the heart of a body much larger than anything any one of us could ever hope to become.

Names of the disappeared and the murdered were lifted into the clear blue sky, and after each name, we collectively sang the refrain presente, invoking each individual life and existence, each individual heartbreak and joy, into this sacred space.  Each of us carried a wooden cross, lifting it into the air as each name was brought forward, as we walked in solemn procession to the chain link gate of Ft. Benning.  And then we wove the crosses into the fence, each cross on top of another, until we could no longer distinguish one cross from the next – until what had before been the chain link fence of a military base was now a collage of names and ages and hopes and dreams and outrage and suffering and joy and wisdom and witness.  We became a body – Christ’s body – and we lay that body at the entrance of the School of the Americas.

Now, however, we disperse.  We go into the world, carrying the brokenness of our brothers and sisters with us.  For a moment, we come together and are one body.  If we are to share witness to the body of Christ that lies within us, then we must break the body we have created apart.  We must go into the world as the broken body of Christ and offer our whole beings as the transforming bread and the liberating cup.

- Lucas

“Do not weep for me…”

As they led Jesus away, they seized a man, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming from the country, and they laid the cross on him, and made him carry it behind Jesus.  A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him.  But Jesus turned to them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.”

- Luke 23:26-28

We gathered in silent prayer for several moments at the Ft. Benning fence, holding hands in a small circle.  We had placed the crosses we had been given during the vigil and those we carried from Union in the fence. In many ways, it was finished.

We had responded with a sung “presente” – which translates from Spanish as “here” or “present” – to each of the hundred and hundred of names intoned.  Each name was that of a person who had been a victim of violence perpetrated by graduates of the School of the Americas.  Although it is often easier to connect to a story than a statistic, these names, by their sheer number, represented a conflation of the immensity that statistics abstractly represent and the weight of so many family members, friends, and strangers.  The most difficult names to hear chanted were those of children whose ages were sung after their names.  “…five-years old.”  “…eight-months old.”  “…sixteen-years old.”  As we stood together in silence, the tears that had been welling in my eyes for several minutes began to fall more freely.  I watched my tears, in tiny pools, darken the pavement of Ft. Benning Rd.  I began to feel the immensity of so much suffering, combined with exhaustion, breaking into my body.

S’bu Zikode is the president of the Shackdwellers Movement, the largest militant poor people’s movement in South Africa.  During his first US tour to the United States S’bu spoke at the Poverty Initiative’s seventh Strategic Dialogue, a gathering of 75 grassroots organizations and individuals committed to building a social movement to end poverty.  He spoke on importance in organizing of creating a space where people can come together to cry.  One of the major victories of the Shackdwellers Movement has been the creation and protection of an alternative space.  This is a space where people come to laugh, love and cry.  S’bu shared that if one’s tears fall “inside” oneself, they become poisonous and can cause great damage.  But if they are allowed to fall “outside,” they can fall on the ground.  When the ground is watered by our tears it becomes fertile soil for building a movement.

Women in wartime are often portrayed as those who receive the bodies of the dead, lost brothers, fathers, uncles, and sons.  The iconic “Pieta” portrays Mary holding the lifeless body of her crucified son in her arms.  As Jesus was being led by Roman soldiers to the place where he would be crucified, in Luke’s gospel, he turns to the women who are following him.  They are already publically grieving, bearing witness to Jesus’ torture at the hands of Rome and his inevitable, imminent execution.  Jesus turns to the women and says, “Do not weep for me, but for yourselves and your children.”  Perhaps Jesus foreknew the women, men, and children of Latin America, a crucified people, that would also mourn their dead.

The SOA Vigil’s funeral procession is a protected space, a public act of mourning.  In a culture that pathologizes and isolates the grieving, this communal witness is a powerful counter voice that attempt to sanitize spiritualize death and violence.  To be present in that space, remembering those that have died, in solidarity with the grieving, we stared into the face of violence and death.  In taking that grief into our bodies, in letting our tears fall, it is my hope and prayer that they will fall in the fertile soil of liberation.

Transgressing Spaces

The gates of Ft. Benning demarcate a striking contradiction of spaces. They embody how the military claims its space in contrast to how activists outside create their own space in a hostile environment. The military defines its space in terms of exclusion and the fence is the central symbol of this orientation. With overwhelming police presence, fortifications, and recorded messages the military creates their space as isolated from the realm of the gathered activists and as impermeable to the radically distinct logic of justice and peace that breathes and grows just outside their walls.

In contrast, the space of the vigil is held open by activists who bring their discourse to a creative expression of remembrance and resistance. The space invites new expressions and experiences into the movement, it allows for the creation and experience of radical symbolic and ritual witness. Our witness at the School of the Americas is liturgical, symbolic, and ritualistic. It evokes the presence of those who have been killed by SOA graduates and assumes a posture of resistance

Because of the real differences between these two spatial realities, an extraordinary thing happens when our funeral procession reaches the Ft. Benning gate and activists place crosses in the links of the metal barrier to invoke the presence of SOA victims: we claim the central symbolic element of the military’s space as part of our own creative witness. As the fence becomes populated with memories and prayers it ceases to be a barrier keeping our message from penetrating the grip of militarism and is transformed into the living presence of victims, it is assumed into the creative space of the resistance.

When viewed in these terms it is clearer both why the military has placed such steep penalties for transgressing their boundary (6 months in federal prison) and why so many are called to assume the risk to cross it. The power of the military is threatened by the presence of peaceful people in its space. People who cross the boundary peacefully are refusing to accept the military’s logic that transgression is violent and will be met with violence. The transgressors show us with their bodies that the logic of the creative peaceful space can pass into the military zone. The speedy arrest and removal of these transgressors shows us that, just as the world could not tolerate the presence of Christ, so to the military fears the activists’ very presence as that presence represents an alternative logic that threatens to upset established military control.

When people cross the fence they are taking a great risk for the sake of revealing a great lie. Despite the intentionally bifurcating way the police seeks to define space, the logic of peace and justice can and will transgress into and transform the social space currently occupied by the military. By their action, activists embody the faith and hope of our movement in the power of an alternative presence to transform what a space like Ft. Benning has come to represent: domination and injustice.

And so we pray for our brothers and sisters, imprisoned now for undertaking this bold act of transgression, we honor their courage and faith in the power of peace to prevail, we witness with them to injustice and pledge ourselves to continue the work that begins in their sacrifices.

We made it!

We arrived today at Fort Benning, Georgia after 995 miles of travel from NY, NY!  We got an early start after a pancake breakfast at Nancy and Dale’s. Interstate-85, a traffic-free roll through Atlanta, a pitstop, then Interstate-75.  At about 1:30 we rolled into Columbus, Georgia.  Interesting conversations, car games, learning the history of the School of the Americas, sleeping, Frisbee breaks, music, and the care package helped the time pass rather quickly.  The weather is amazingly warm for us New Yorkers—perfect to spend all day outside honoring the victims of graduates of the School of the Americas and demanding the School’s closure.

“Unionistas” Arrive in Ft. Benning

Morning Political Discussion

It has been seventeen hours from New York, New York to Columbus, Georgia in the faithful “chariot.”  For two days we have been in almost constant motion, stopping for gas, food, and sleep.  We arrived on Ft. Benning Rd. in Columbus early this afternoon, a space claimed by the SOA Watch organizers earlier in the week.  The road leading to the gates of Ft. Benning was lined on both sides with tables hosting everything from Food Not Bombs to a first aid station, leftist book sellers to faith-based social justice organizations, artists and the Coalition of Immokolee Workers.

The motion of the last thirty-hours ended abruptly at a fence, three fences in fact, at the gates of Ft. Benning.  Local police lined the both sides of the road, behind the tables and vendors in a liminal space between the SOA Watch and Ft. Benning proper.  A few military police walked around inside the perimeter fence.  Columbus police department and US Army watch-towers loomed both outside and inside the perimeter fences.

Morning Political Education

After a quick tour through the vendors and organizations tabling and listening to the speakers and performing on stage for several minutes, I noticed John in his bright red Union t-shirt farther down the road.  He was sitting on the road, just behind “the line,” staring through three sets of fences and barbed wire.  When protesters cross “the line” they commit acts of civil disobedience by trespassing onto Ft. Benning property and are immediately arrested.  I decided to join John as he sat just behind the line.

Sitting on the ground, looking through the fences at the military personnel and equipment, I felt fully present in a place for the first time since the commissioning service on Thursday.  We sat quietly just behind “the line” that separated us from them.  Although we were not risking arrest by sitting on the pavement, we were putting our bodies on the line in such a militarized space.  We could sense that we were being watched from behind the tinted windows of the watchtower.

As Christians we are called to put our bodies on the line, because as his followers, we are called to walk in the footsteps of Jesus.  Jesus was chased out of his hometown, risked mob violence for healing the sick, and was ultimately tortured and crucified for proclaiming the a gospel of love and liberation for all people.  In being fully present, in prayerful silence in that space, in challenging the oppression of our Latin American brothers and sisters made possible by US foreign policy, I pray that we might learn more and more what it means to love as Jesus loved, with his body on the line.

Rally at the Gates

This is My Body

There is a three-headed hydra imposing its insatiable appetite on Mexico, Honduras and Columbia. He wanders through the pueblos of these countries, viciously lifting arbitrary inhabitants into its jaws. Their family members scream in protest as they watch the bodies of their sisters, fathers, children, brothers, and mothers disappear into the belly of the beast. Broken bodies are poured between his lips.
As the hydra moves through these countries, paying no heed to the desires of the people on whom he treads, simply lifting them from the ground and throwing them into his mouth, the protests of the inhabitants grows louder and louder, stronger and stronger. Despite the hydra’s attempts to tear the people in these countries apart, they come together stronger and stronger until they have surrounded the beast.

Then goddesses of hope, imagination, and resistance join them. The hydra begins to tremble in fear as the heartbeats of the people grow louder and louder, as their strength grows before him and he can no longer consume their bodies. He will burst before their energy.

And burst he does. His chest cracks open with an explosive drum beat, and a brilliant blue goddess of liberation comes pouring out of him, trailing behind her all the living bodies of those he had consumed. These bodies, broken before, yet now somehow whole, go forth to the people, who dance before crumbled body of the hydra; who dance with the goddess which had been living within him. The people dance with their sisters, fathers, children, brothers, and mothers now restored to them. They dance no longer in the imposing shadow of the hydra, but instead in the joy of the hope, liberation and resistance that pours out of his now broken state.

We stand at the mouth of the School of the Americas and give witness to bodies that have been broken and consumed by the overwhelming greed of American foreign policy. We give witness to these bodies as the body of Christ, and we give witness that this way of consuming the body of Christ is betrayal of Eucharist.
The body of Christ remains within the belly of the beast, and if Eucharist is to be shared with God’s people, then it is that beast’s body that must be broken open, and the bodies that it has consumed must be remembered to the people. We are called to break that body open – the body of evil and empire – and to share the liberation that pours out of such a body with our brothers and sisters. -Lucas Milliken