Report From Crawford
Happy Friday.
This is as real as it gets. My ex-cousin-in-law, Elizabeth, (she's very cool and I'm honored to know her and thrilled to share this) is a freelance writer who recently returned from the protest in Crawford; which she attended with her three children. The following email has been circulated among the family. It is touching, poignant, and honest.
For most of us, the war is nothing more than a distant thought. For those protesting in Crawford, and elsewhere around the world, it is an unexplained, inexcusable travesty that inflicts daily suffering.
Her email tells a story few of us know, and all of us need to hear. Thanks, Elizabeth.
-----------------------
Hello Everyone,
I know this is long--feel free to skip it if it doesn't interest you!
Peace, Elizabeth
I returned early this morning from Crawford, Texas, where I brought my kids to protest Bush's doctrine of pre-emptive strike and this war of aggression he is waging in Iraq. We camped at the Crawford Peace House(http://crawfordpeace.nfshost.com/), a house bought by two men in 2003 with enough foresight to see that Crawford--Bush's hometown-- needed a home devoted to peace. By the time we arrived, on Saturday, August 27 and the 20th or so day of Cindy Sheehan's vigil outside the Bush ranch, the peace house was filled with volunteers, staff, and visitors from around the world.
And what did I learn from my summer vacation? That our peace movement is HUGE, folks. We are huge. Bush has less and less support for his illegal war. There were THOUSANDS of us in Crawford, and a few dozen Bush supporters. Remember this as you make your plans to protest in DC in September!
Like us, people had arrived to protest the Bush regime. By that time, I had realized that Bush was not going to meet with Cindy and explain why her son had to die. Bush had told her in the past that her son died for a noble cause, and people were wearing t-shirts that read, "What noble cause did my son die for?" By the time we arrived, I knew Bush wouldn't meet with her or bother trying to explain the noble cause for which Cindy's son--and over 1600 other American troops--have died for. Most of us know by now that it was all a pack of lies--fixed intelligence reports and faulty "evidence" skewed to meet Bush's agenda of ousting Saddam and taking over an oil-rich country in the Middle East.
So, I didn't go in the hopes that a larger presence of supporters would "encourage" Bush to meet with Cindy. I went because it was the last weekend in Crawford, and there was a big protest planned. I went because I am sick and tired of Bush's rhetoric and pissed off as hell that he's on vacation while thousands of people in Iraq are dying. I went because Karl Rove continues to do God knows what in the Oval Office while the Saint Patrick's Four are facing prison time. And I went because I wanted to support Cindy when her detractors showed up, which they did--small in number though they were.
Some of her detractors were lined up outside a general store in Crawford called the Yellow Rose--a store with two large stone monuments out front with the ten commandments carved in them. Others were lined up alongside Camp Casey I, the place where Cindy first plunked down her lawn chair and said she wanted to meet with Bush. Camp Casey I sat alongside the road down from Bush's ranch. By the time we got there, on one side were Cindy's supporters with tables, information, tents and a small food prep area. The other side of the road were Bush supporters. It was pretty surreal driving through it. On one side rainbow and earth flags mixed in with American flags, a memorial of white crosses, and an eclectic mix of activists mobilizing against the war. On the other side, neat rows of American flags, mixed in with "W" signs and "Bush Country" signs. Okay, so maybe they were a bit tidier, but they couldn't bother spelling Cindy's name right. One big sign said "Cindi Doesn't Speak for Me." Cops had come and negotiated a "truce" of sorts with the two groups--in exchange for "peace" they weren't allowed to interact with each other. At least that's what I heard. That's really too bad, as open communication can always enhance understanding. But I imagine that emotions were also flaring and the cops wanted to avoid a scene or possible violence.
Many of Cindy's detractors called themselves the "Cindy Doesn't Speak for Me" caravan. They were also parents who have lost sons or daughters in Iraq, but they support the war. I chose not to interact with these people. They also brought their kids and sat outside in the Texas heat to exercise their first amendment rights, and I just didn't have the energy or desire to speak with them. They want so badly to feel that their children's lives were not wasted, and it's so emotionally charged that I didn't think I could get into a conversation with any of them without inadvertently causing more pain. The truth is, their children's lives were NOT wasted. We were all there to honor them. But what they died for is not a noble cause; they died for a lie. So I just waved and held up the peace sign. I did have to laugh at one of their banners--We Will Prevail, We Will Not Fail, We Will Fight Evil. It's at best a bit optimistic. I mean, yeah, we'll win this war against evil right after President Bush invites me over for birthday cake. So, I avoided them in order to avoid asking, "how many of "them" do we have to kill before "evil" is gone from this earth and all that's left are God-fearing Americans sucking up oil for their Hummers?"
So we moved on to Camp Casey II, where we spent the majority of our time. CCII was a huge tent set up about a mile or so away from Bush's ranch. The tent was industrial sized and large enough for a stage, chairs in front of the stage, a circle of chairs behind that, and a couple dozen round tables for eating and relaxing. Banners hung from all the sides, and there were more tables on the sides with info from the various groups there. Groups represented included Military Families Speak Out, Gold Star Families For Peace (co-founded by Cindy), Code Pink, Iraq Veterans For Peace, Vietnam Veterans For Peace, and many others. An industrial sized kitchen was set up and volunteers cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner for thousands of people every day.
While I was there, visitors to CCII included Al Sharpton and Martin Sheen. They were both great speakers with a lot to say for the cause of peace. The Burns Sisters from Ithaca sang some songs, and many others played music, or spoke about why they were there. I attended a press conference with Cindy and asked her about mothers getting involved in the peace and justice movement. She expressed regret at not having told Casey that his government could misuse and abuse him, and that it was crucial that all mothers tell their children these things.
On Sunday, Working Assets had organized a rose drive, and 4500 roses were trucked in for a memorial ceremony. After the interfaith mass on Sunday morning, family member of the fallen, as well as activists present, placed roses on all the white crosses outside of the tent. It was a rather solemn event with many people shedding tears for the immense loss of human life--loss compounded by the realization that these people were sent to kill and die for a bunch of lies.
I met a man, Juan, whose son was killed in Afghanistan. His son was a CPA and on the reserves when he was called to Afghanistan. They gave him an office job but the office was raided and all 8 military personnel on duty were shot in the head. The Pentagon is refusing to investigate what happened. That is all Juan knows about the situation.
Another woman I spoke to, Beatrice, lost her nephew in Iraq. She held her sister's arm as they viewed her nephew's body. She said they were lucky; the coroners had managed to clean him up enough so that they could see him. Other families weren't allowed because their soldiers were too mangled. Beatrice said despite the efforts they had made to clean up her nephew you could see the pain he had suffered from the car bomb that killed him. He was 23--also a reservist.
Despite Juan and Beatrice's pain and grief, they were remarkably strong and determined, and extremely friendly and kind to my children. They gave us a ride to CCII on Sunday and kept the kids entertained by telling them jokes. Beatrice held Lily, 4, on her lap and kept telling her how beautiful she is. Juan asked Lily if she knew what cows in Texas say, and Lily answered "Moo!" "No," Juan said, "Here in Texas, they say, 'Buuuussh.'" The kids thought that was hilarious and it became the joke of the weekend.
The kids got a little loopy at the end due to extreme lack of sleep. However, I've got to hand it to them, given the intense heat, the fire ants, the tent on a bed of rocks, the hourly or so train whistles at night, trains running about 100 feet from where we were camped, the unfamiliarity of the situation, and thousands of people they've never seen before, they had a blast. Lily was going up to everyone and saying "Hi, I'm Lily. I'm 4. What's your name?" She asked everyone with a dog if she could pet their dog, and made friends with every dog owner on site. She asked a 60 year old Vietnam Vet what school he goes to. He later told me how precious she is. When she woke up from a nap on Sunday, she said to me, "Mom, we have to just think and think, even in our sleep when we dream, we have to just think and think of all those boys who died."
My son, Adrian, 7, spent a lot of time drawing and listening in to people's conversations. He placed roses on crosses and made friends with Mia--an eccentric lady from Northern California who did yoga with the kids and gave them organic chocolate drops. She sang songs with them and danced. She was right on their level. Zany and fun and free-spirited. They followed her everywhere, and Adrian adored her.
My daughter Briana, 14, mainly just absorbed the atmosphere. She helped me with the younger kids and talked to lots of people. She met some vets and was impressed with the things they had to say. She bought a Code Pink shirt and asked me to please take her to the peace march in DC in September. She had also made earrings for me as my b-day was Monday. The kids wanted to have cake, but I told them I was so happy to be in Crawford with them, doing something for the peace movement, that even without cake it was the best birthday ever. Early in the morning, as I stood in the kitchen at the Peace House, a Mexican woman named Sylvia sang a song to me in Spanish for my birthday as she made frittatas. Yummy.
We met Cindy on Monday morning. Cindy spoke mainly to Adrian. She asked him why were there and he said, "We came here to support you." He had been the most interested in meeting her; she was like a celebrity to him. She hugged him and when he told her we came all the way from Ithaca, she said, "There are so many Ithacans here, you'll have to invite me up sometime."
I met so many people and heard so many stories--too many to relate here. An Iraq vet who is now paralyzed is going on the bus tour, and also wants to ask Bush what noble cause made him paralyzed from the waist down. Other vets bravely talked about what they did in Iraq and how they came to the realization that this war is wrong. Very moving people. I wanted to hug each and every one of them.
The trip ended in a hard way for me--I woke up before dawn on Tuesday with nausea, vertigo and an intense splitting headache. After vomiting several times, I got to pack up my tent and all our things in the intense heat, drive 2 hours to Austin, fly 3 hours to Chicago, lose my cell phone in the O'Hare airport (but find it after running about two miles back to where I'd lost it), fly 2 hours to Rochester, and then drive two hours home in the pouring rain at 10:00 at night, all with a chatty 4 year old who kept asking me what cows say in Texas. I was pretty damn tired. But we did it, we made it, and I don't think any of my kids will ever forget it.
Peace to you all,
Elizabeth
P.S. I was able to go thanks to Back to Democracy in Ithaca, and support from my ex-husband, Adam, and his dad, Burt. Thanks guys!
This is as real as it gets. My ex-cousin-in-law, Elizabeth, (she's very cool and I'm honored to know her and thrilled to share this) is a freelance writer who recently returned from the protest in Crawford; which she attended with her three children. The following email has been circulated among the family. It is touching, poignant, and honest.
For most of us, the war is nothing more than a distant thought. For those protesting in Crawford, and elsewhere around the world, it is an unexplained, inexcusable travesty that inflicts daily suffering.
Her email tells a story few of us know, and all of us need to hear. Thanks, Elizabeth.
-----------------------
Hello Everyone,
I know this is long--feel free to skip it if it doesn't interest you!
Peace, Elizabeth
I returned early this morning from Crawford, Texas, where I brought my kids to protest Bush's doctrine of pre-emptive strike and this war of aggression he is waging in Iraq. We camped at the Crawford Peace House(http://crawfordpeace.nfshost.com/), a house bought by two men in 2003 with enough foresight to see that Crawford--Bush's hometown-- needed a home devoted to peace. By the time we arrived, on Saturday, August 27 and the 20th or so day of Cindy Sheehan's vigil outside the Bush ranch, the peace house was filled with volunteers, staff, and visitors from around the world.
And what did I learn from my summer vacation? That our peace movement is HUGE, folks. We are huge. Bush has less and less support for his illegal war. There were THOUSANDS of us in Crawford, and a few dozen Bush supporters. Remember this as you make your plans to protest in DC in September!
Like us, people had arrived to protest the Bush regime. By that time, I had realized that Bush was not going to meet with Cindy and explain why her son had to die. Bush had told her in the past that her son died for a noble cause, and people were wearing t-shirts that read, "What noble cause did my son die for?" By the time we arrived, I knew Bush wouldn't meet with her or bother trying to explain the noble cause for which Cindy's son--and over 1600 other American troops--have died for. Most of us know by now that it was all a pack of lies--fixed intelligence reports and faulty "evidence" skewed to meet Bush's agenda of ousting Saddam and taking over an oil-rich country in the Middle East.
So, I didn't go in the hopes that a larger presence of supporters would "encourage" Bush to meet with Cindy. I went because it was the last weekend in Crawford, and there was a big protest planned. I went because I am sick and tired of Bush's rhetoric and pissed off as hell that he's on vacation while thousands of people in Iraq are dying. I went because Karl Rove continues to do God knows what in the Oval Office while the Saint Patrick's Four are facing prison time. And I went because I wanted to support Cindy when her detractors showed up, which they did--small in number though they were.
Some of her detractors were lined up outside a general store in Crawford called the Yellow Rose--a store with two large stone monuments out front with the ten commandments carved in them. Others were lined up alongside Camp Casey I, the place where Cindy first plunked down her lawn chair and said she wanted to meet with Bush. Camp Casey I sat alongside the road down from Bush's ranch. By the time we got there, on one side were Cindy's supporters with tables, information, tents and a small food prep area. The other side of the road were Bush supporters. It was pretty surreal driving through it. On one side rainbow and earth flags mixed in with American flags, a memorial of white crosses, and an eclectic mix of activists mobilizing against the war. On the other side, neat rows of American flags, mixed in with "W" signs and "Bush Country" signs. Okay, so maybe they were a bit tidier, but they couldn't bother spelling Cindy's name right. One big sign said "Cindi Doesn't Speak for Me." Cops had come and negotiated a "truce" of sorts with the two groups--in exchange for "peace" they weren't allowed to interact with each other. At least that's what I heard. That's really too bad, as open communication can always enhance understanding. But I imagine that emotions were also flaring and the cops wanted to avoid a scene or possible violence.
Many of Cindy's detractors called themselves the "Cindy Doesn't Speak for Me" caravan. They were also parents who have lost sons or daughters in Iraq, but they support the war. I chose not to interact with these people. They also brought their kids and sat outside in the Texas heat to exercise their first amendment rights, and I just didn't have the energy or desire to speak with them. They want so badly to feel that their children's lives were not wasted, and it's so emotionally charged that I didn't think I could get into a conversation with any of them without inadvertently causing more pain. The truth is, their children's lives were NOT wasted. We were all there to honor them. But what they died for is not a noble cause; they died for a lie. So I just waved and held up the peace sign. I did have to laugh at one of their banners--We Will Prevail, We Will Not Fail, We Will Fight Evil. It's at best a bit optimistic. I mean, yeah, we'll win this war against evil right after President Bush invites me over for birthday cake. So, I avoided them in order to avoid asking, "how many of "them" do we have to kill before "evil" is gone from this earth and all that's left are God-fearing Americans sucking up oil for their Hummers?"
So we moved on to Camp Casey II, where we spent the majority of our time. CCII was a huge tent set up about a mile or so away from Bush's ranch. The tent was industrial sized and large enough for a stage, chairs in front of the stage, a circle of chairs behind that, and a couple dozen round tables for eating and relaxing. Banners hung from all the sides, and there were more tables on the sides with info from the various groups there. Groups represented included Military Families Speak Out, Gold Star Families For Peace (co-founded by Cindy), Code Pink, Iraq Veterans For Peace, Vietnam Veterans For Peace, and many others. An industrial sized kitchen was set up and volunteers cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner for thousands of people every day.
While I was there, visitors to CCII included Al Sharpton and Martin Sheen. They were both great speakers with a lot to say for the cause of peace. The Burns Sisters from Ithaca sang some songs, and many others played music, or spoke about why they were there. I attended a press conference with Cindy and asked her about mothers getting involved in the peace and justice movement. She expressed regret at not having told Casey that his government could misuse and abuse him, and that it was crucial that all mothers tell their children these things.
On Sunday, Working Assets had organized a rose drive, and 4500 roses were trucked in for a memorial ceremony. After the interfaith mass on Sunday morning, family member of the fallen, as well as activists present, placed roses on all the white crosses outside of the tent. It was a rather solemn event with many people shedding tears for the immense loss of human life--loss compounded by the realization that these people were sent to kill and die for a bunch of lies.
I met a man, Juan, whose son was killed in Afghanistan. His son was a CPA and on the reserves when he was called to Afghanistan. They gave him an office job but the office was raided and all 8 military personnel on duty were shot in the head. The Pentagon is refusing to investigate what happened. That is all Juan knows about the situation.
Another woman I spoke to, Beatrice, lost her nephew in Iraq. She held her sister's arm as they viewed her nephew's body. She said they were lucky; the coroners had managed to clean him up enough so that they could see him. Other families weren't allowed because their soldiers were too mangled. Beatrice said despite the efforts they had made to clean up her nephew you could see the pain he had suffered from the car bomb that killed him. He was 23--also a reservist.
Despite Juan and Beatrice's pain and grief, they were remarkably strong and determined, and extremely friendly and kind to my children. They gave us a ride to CCII on Sunday and kept the kids entertained by telling them jokes. Beatrice held Lily, 4, on her lap and kept telling her how beautiful she is. Juan asked Lily if she knew what cows in Texas say, and Lily answered "Moo!" "No," Juan said, "Here in Texas, they say, 'Buuuussh.'" The kids thought that was hilarious and it became the joke of the weekend.
The kids got a little loopy at the end due to extreme lack of sleep. However, I've got to hand it to them, given the intense heat, the fire ants, the tent on a bed of rocks, the hourly or so train whistles at night, trains running about 100 feet from where we were camped, the unfamiliarity of the situation, and thousands of people they've never seen before, they had a blast. Lily was going up to everyone and saying "Hi, I'm Lily. I'm 4. What's your name?" She asked everyone with a dog if she could pet their dog, and made friends with every dog owner on site. She asked a 60 year old Vietnam Vet what school he goes to. He later told me how precious she is. When she woke up from a nap on Sunday, she said to me, "Mom, we have to just think and think, even in our sleep when we dream, we have to just think and think of all those boys who died."
My son, Adrian, 7, spent a lot of time drawing and listening in to people's conversations. He placed roses on crosses and made friends with Mia--an eccentric lady from Northern California who did yoga with the kids and gave them organic chocolate drops. She sang songs with them and danced. She was right on their level. Zany and fun and free-spirited. They followed her everywhere, and Adrian adored her.
My daughter Briana, 14, mainly just absorbed the atmosphere. She helped me with the younger kids and talked to lots of people. She met some vets and was impressed with the things they had to say. She bought a Code Pink shirt and asked me to please take her to the peace march in DC in September. She had also made earrings for me as my b-day was Monday. The kids wanted to have cake, but I told them I was so happy to be in Crawford with them, doing something for the peace movement, that even without cake it was the best birthday ever. Early in the morning, as I stood in the kitchen at the Peace House, a Mexican woman named Sylvia sang a song to me in Spanish for my birthday as she made frittatas. Yummy.
We met Cindy on Monday morning. Cindy spoke mainly to Adrian. She asked him why were there and he said, "We came here to support you." He had been the most interested in meeting her; she was like a celebrity to him. She hugged him and when he told her we came all the way from Ithaca, she said, "There are so many Ithacans here, you'll have to invite me up sometime."
I met so many people and heard so many stories--too many to relate here. An Iraq vet who is now paralyzed is going on the bus tour, and also wants to ask Bush what noble cause made him paralyzed from the waist down. Other vets bravely talked about what they did in Iraq and how they came to the realization that this war is wrong. Very moving people. I wanted to hug each and every one of them.
The trip ended in a hard way for me--I woke up before dawn on Tuesday with nausea, vertigo and an intense splitting headache. After vomiting several times, I got to pack up my tent and all our things in the intense heat, drive 2 hours to Austin, fly 3 hours to Chicago, lose my cell phone in the O'Hare airport (but find it after running about two miles back to where I'd lost it), fly 2 hours to Rochester, and then drive two hours home in the pouring rain at 10:00 at night, all with a chatty 4 year old who kept asking me what cows say in Texas. I was pretty damn tired. But we did it, we made it, and I don't think any of my kids will ever forget it.
Peace to you all,
Elizabeth
P.S. I was able to go thanks to Back to Democracy in Ithaca, and support from my ex-husband, Adam, and his dad, Burt. Thanks guys!
posted by Happy Friday | 12:01 AM
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