"When did you Wake Up?"

My last missive mentioned wake up calls and the greater population of Americans “hitting the snooze” when it comes to the war. People often ask, “When did you realize you wanted to be an activist?” or “What makes you do this? Why are you here?” And believe me there are times when I ask myself much the same thing. But I have a different answer for myself than I do to everyone else.
When asked about “When?” I say, “Before the invasion.” I was a military journalist and yes, in a way that is an oxymoron. While you are active duty military you do not have the luxury of free speech or free press to the degree that civilian Americans have those rights. However, my experience in the military, covering base news and writing tons of feature stories about service members, their families and their missions, brought their stories close to my heart, which answers the question of “why?” It also gave me a perspective on how the military controls and spins information. I know what I have seen and written, and I know what was allowed to be aired or printed. I have also worked as a civilian journalist, my recruiter should be glad to know that I actually took my military skills directly into the “real world” job market. He might not be so excited to find out that the combination of my military and civilian experience made me hyper-aware of the lies and spin tactics used in and on major media in the run-up to the Iraq War. I have friends that served in Desert Shield and Desert Storm and a few who were still active duty for this war. I was never really asleep, but making a conscious choice to act is a different matter.
When I question myself, “What makes you do this? Why are you here?” I usually stick on… If I don’t, who will? If I don’t will more die? If I don’t will my children have to continue the fight or keep paying for it? If we won’t say what we think is right, aren’t we complicit? I participated in the strengthening of the American Military Machine. I already bear responsibility in a way. Speaking out, standing up, supporting the truth and the troops is an act of ablution, cleansing for me.
Although I believe that I was never asleep, my own wake-up call, my self-affirmation of intention, came in the form of a poem in January, 2003. When was yours?

Living in a New World
By Lori Perdue
1-19-03

I’m living in a New World
Gotta have a new life
Tired of crawling through
This universe of strife
Wanna tell the man
He can’t pigeonhole me as wife
Cause I’m living in a New World
And I’m gonna have new life

I’m living in a New World
Gotta redefine sin
Need to shape my mind to giving and heart to love
And stop seeking only for the win
Wanna to stand up for the truth and
Not let the terror soak into my skin
Cause I’m living in a New World and
I’m gonna redefine sin

I’m living in a New World
Gotta practice a new idea of right
We watched the towers fall
And in our anguish we lost sight
Wanna let the world know
We must be justified to fight
Cause I’m living in a New World
And I’m gonna practice a new idea of right

I’m living in a New World
Gotta search and hope and live for peace
We find ways to deal with the loss
And live our lives everyday with the grief
Wanna say that while we will never forget
Violence leads us into a cycle without release
Cause I’m living in a New World
And I’m gonna search and hope and live for peace.

Each One Teach One

by Lori Perdue

May 29th, 2007, Indiana

I returned to Indiana on Sunday for a much needed recharge of the batteries (which, for me, can only be accomplished when plugged-in to the power of family). I have much to do with my family this month, business as well as recreation, I hope. It's nearly June and in Indiana the evenings are warm but not quite sultry, and I sit on the back porch with a fabric softener dryer sheet tucked into the back of my collar to fend off the mosquitoes.
Yesterday I went to the bookstore. I was looking for the Portable Dorothy Parker in my quest to slowly rebuild my library. I did not find it, but was reminded why I love bookstores and libraries. They present a chance to learn and sometimes to teach. I found a copy of "The Moon Is Always Female" a book of poems by Marge Piercy. It interested me because I am currently reading a novel by that author. Within three poems I was delighted with her work and glad that Piercy and Parker both start with "P". The other item was a real find. It was on sale on a table display. Bonus. I have read this particular work a few times over the years, but haven't since about four years ago. Thomas Paine wrote "Common Sense" in January of 1776 as a pamphlet to be sold on the street. The document was key in empowering the People of the Colonies to move toward revolution.
I am going to tackle both at once in the hope of finding both foundation and direction and return to D.C. empowered and effective.
But that's not the story that leads to the poem I am sending you.
As I stepped up to the cash register, I read aloud the Headline on the cover of Time Magazine. "Report Card on No Child Left Behind" and responded with "Don't they mean No Child Left Un-Recruited." For once, one of my anti-Bush smart-ass remarks elicited an appreciative remark from the nice young man behind the counter. "I'm still upset that they passed that funding bill, the one that pays for the war to go on," this fresh-faced young Hoosier offered. It was like rain falling in the desert.
I have long been pained by the general apathy of the residents of my home state. I have found myself driven to go to Washington D.C. to feel effective in the work to end this war because I craved a higher level of activity than I could find here in Indiana. I was frustrated by what, to me, felt like the General Public refusing to allow such timely and vital topics as an illegal war and unconstitutional occupation of Iraq to be a part of their daily thought or speech. I did not find an overwhelming amount of opposition to the thought that Congress should pass legislation that would bring our troops home safely before I began this mission with CODEPINK in D.C., but rather discovered Hoosiers "hitting the snooze". The People were hearing facts and figures that are a "wake up call", but were half-consciously pushing that little button that allowed them to get another nine minutes of foggy fitful rest. They were opting out of a full wake up, over and over.
To hear this young man, his name is Shawn, offer my own thoughts back to me, unsolicited, brought me sheer joy.
I smiled and questioned him a little more, probing to see if my ears had deceived me. But he reiterated that it was indeed the Supplemental Funding Bill that he was talking about. "I don't understand why they don't just spend the money they have to spend to bring them home right now." I introduced myself as Lori and said that I had been splitting my time between Indy and D.C. working on the Hill to end the war and that I was very glad to meet him. I told him that I couldn't understand it either, really, and was arrested in protest to the first Supplemental that passed the House in March, the one with the time-lines that the Senate removed in favor of non-binding suggestions to George Bush that he consider ending his occupation of Iraq. The bill he promptly vetoed, which I celebrated because it meant Congress would have another shot at passing an effective bill, one that might fulfill the wishes of the People and their mandate for peace after the November elections. The kid didn't quite grasp that I took that action in Congress myself. "They did? People did that?" "I did, with a friend of mine," I clarified. "We got arrested for speaking up while Congress was voting." He blinked. "There are a lot of people on Capitol Hill everyday working to end the war, going to hearings and meetings with staff and with legislators everyday, sometimes catching them in the hallways or even on the sidewalk on their way to a vote in the Capitol. Sometimes getting arrested when we protest," I said, briefly explaining the Lee Amendment, HR 508 and HR 1234. He listened intently and made notes of the legislation. I smiled, wishing I had picked out more books for him to ring up slowly. "You can help, you know," I said, and his eyes widened in an ambiguous manner that I can't quite attribute to either interest or wariness. "Call Congress," I continued. "Look up those bills and then call your Representative and Senators. Tell them what you want them to do in Congress." He handed me the receipt for my newest distraction/inspiration project and the next customer stepped up to him. As I walked away I said, "Call Congress, Shawn, tell your friends to call. Don't forget they work for you, Shawn. Don't let them forget it either."
He waved and said in a bold voice, "I'll call. Thanks, Lori."
He repeated my name and I knew he really would think about that encounter. It will be hard for him to "hit the snooze" on that one. He seemed sincere.
A small action, yes. Behavior that is nothing out of the ordinary among the community of activists with which I have been working. Yet, it was a significant encounter for me because it happened, not in D.C. where local people know a little about the issues, like all people tend to know a little about the issues in their own backyard. I am encouraged because it happened in my backyard. I share it with you now, on a day that the peace movement is reacting to the passage of legislation and dealing with new direction and loss, to tell you that I learned two things; that the Grassroots are growing, blessedly growing, and that if we have to do it one at a time, I, for one, am willing.
Peace,
Lori

And now the promised poem.

Each One
by Lori Perdue

We gotta each one teach one
Get out the word
We gotta save one brave one
This Occupation is absurd

The People are paying the price
In blood and in treasure
It doesn’t matter to Bush, Cheney and Rice
They won’t consider peaceful measures

So we gotta each one teach one
Give the People the power to stand up
We gotta save one brave one
This war is using them up

Tour after tour they keep sending them back
Now they’re deploying the National Guard to pick up the slack
The war machine is chewing them up and spitting them out
And I keep expecting the People to stomp and shout

But I wind up questioning "Where is the heart in the Heartland?"
And "Why won’t the good people of America take a stand?"
Our troops and so many Iraqis are dying; blood for oil spilled onto the sand
While Mid-westerners offer up their children, wait for the phone to ring and wring their hands

We gotta each one teach one
The People have the power to make this stop
We gotta save one brave one
Staying the course is not reason enough for killing in Iraq

This is a war for oil my people, although they spin it when they can
Iraq did not have WMD and they didn’t attack our land
This is a war of choice my friends, a mission of retribution, man against man
And unless you speak up, speak out, the blood is on your hands.

Each one
Teach one
To save one
Brave one

Disruption of Congress

By Lori Perdue

Reporting on her action in the Capitol on the day of the House vote on the Appropriations Bill on Friday, March 23

I am, in general, a law-abiding citizen. I pay my taxes. I use my turn signals. I show respect for law enforcement officers, too much sometimes, according to Medea. I am a realistic person and an idealistic soul. The combination makes for an interesting perspective while working on the Hill.

I have been in many, many congressional hearings in the past several months. And yes, I have acted up, spoken up, been moved to stand up in protest, been removed and threatened with arrest. I have confronted legislators in hallways, following press conferences, in their offices, at events and on the streets of D.C. I have lobbied, monitored, and marched into the teeth of opposition. It is true, I have pushed the envelope and been pushed across the line and onto the floors of the House office buildings. That must be expected when one is working with likes of revolutionaries Medea Benjamin and Gael Murphy. I have not, however, been arrested… before Friday, March 23.

Civil Disobedience has been something I have supported, and advocated. It is a valuable tool for change in our society, a vital part of Democracy. But I have made a point in many conversations to stress that it would take a very clear issue to motivate me to join the ranks of the Activists who so willingly lay their bodies, records and pocketbooks on the line to emphasize a point to their government. Last week, I proudly, but with an overwhelming sadness, added my name to the list of those whose life stories include defying rules and laws to shed light on injustice and express dissent.

I spent early Friday morning on the sidewalk between the House office buildings and the Capitol lobbying Members going to and from the Democratic Caucus meeting, stressing that if they buy this war, by funding it, they will own it and will be held responsible for the outcome. I won’t say the effort was wasted, because the experience hardened my resolve. When Members who greeted me on their way to the Caucus meeting wouldn’t look me in the eye upon their return, I understood that our battle for de-funding was facing defeat at the hands of the Democratic leadership. The reality of the betrayal was stark, but not startling. Move On had ensured that the staunch attitude of “No more money for War” from the Peace Movement contingent was muddled with an invalid poll and millions of dollars applied to pushing Dems to vote for the Supplemental and it’s millions for programs unrelated to ending the war. The tears started to flow freely when a Democrat finally looked at me, standing on the sidewalk with a poster of an American Solider carrying a dead Iraqi child, and said, “There’s nothing we can do about it. They are going to get their votes. Thank you for trying. Don’t stop.”

After working so hard, for so many weeks, with so many people, to pressure Congressional Democrats to vote “NO” on the Iraq War Supplemental, or for Democrats of principal to support the Lee Amendment that would fund only the safe and orderly withdrawal of troops, I felt I had no choice but to ensure that a voice of dissent was heard in the House.

I entered the Capitol building with Marine Mom Tina Richards, Military Families Speak Out co-founder Nancy Lessin, and two other members of MFSO. I was wearing black, clearly marked with Code Pink – Women for Peace, with stage blood on my hands and face. We waited in line, passed through security, waited inside the Capitol and were finally admitted to the House Gallery. Tina and I were seated in the front row, along the rail, directly behind the Democrats. As Speaker Pelosi addressed Congress Tina produced a photo of her Son, Cloy, bravely held it in front of her face and refused to put it away. She wanted to remind Congress, many of whom had met with her in the previous weeks, that her son could be recalled to active duty and deployed to Iraq, for the third time, if they funded the Supplemental. She was escorted out of the gallery by four plain clothes Capitol Police officers and removed from the building. They did not want to arrest her, told her so, and showed regret at her plight and were kind to her as they ejected her.

As the Speaker wrapped up her address by twisting the Peace Movement’s talking points to her purpose, making it seem as if the interests of American and International Peace Groups were truly being served by the passing of this bill, I felt physically ill. Pelosi was co-opting our truth and besmirching it with her partisan spin. The feeling of betrayal was overwhelming and my heart started to pound with an outrage that rivaled that of the dismay and anger I felt over “Shock and Awe”.

Congress quickly moved for a voice vote on the bill. When the applause faded and legislators moved to cast their electronic votes for the record I recognized that my time had arrived. I quickly stood, held my bloody hands in the air and shouted, “Don’t buy this war.” I was grabbed by the Capitol Officer who had stationed himself next to me, expecting just this type of disturbance, and pulled into the aisle. I continued, “You’re buying it and you own it!” Four more officers surrounded me and lifted me by my elbows up the stairs as I shouted, “Troops Home Now! Troops Home Now! Troops Home Now!” as they carried me from the Gallery. Another Activist, Tighe Barry, picked up the cry from another area in the Gallery as they dragged me out, sustaining the dissent for a few more moments. We were both arrested, searched, cuffed and taken away by Police quite efficiently and without violence.

Looking back, I realize that our actions did not change the way the votes fell, but the spirit of true change was recognized in the Capitol. Pelosi and the Blue Dogs got what they wanted legislatively. They got their money, but they also got the message that the cost was much greater than 100 billion dollars. The true cost will be paid in blood and tears. They did not, however, get it quietly, floating their political maneuvering under the radar. Tighe and I made sure they and everyone in the Gallery and maybe those watching at home on CSpan realized that there are those in the public that disagree, that there are Americans that don’t believe that more money for war is supporting the troops. I truly hope that all members of Congress understand that we will continue to mourn and dissent even in the House Chambers, and now in the Senate, until they act responsibly to Bring our Troops Home Now.

Lori Perdue is a native of Indiana, mother of two teenagers, a United States Air Force Veteran and is officially affiliated with Code Pink – Women for Peace, Veterans for Peace and Military Families Speak Out. She has been a full-time Peace Activist for two years.