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The Nation’s Capitol, Then and Now
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Polly Mann, W A M M
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All the way from Milwaukee to Washington the young mother and I talked. The day was sunny and the flight was smooth. She was en route to her sister’s wedding in Virginia and I to the September peace demonstration. In addition to being the mother of three small children and the wife of a Wisconsin U.S. representative, she is a nonpracticing but dues-paying attorney. We mainly discussed famous Minnesota and Wisconsin politicians, the cruelty of war, and childrearing.
During the lulls in the conversation, I thought about my first experience in Washington in 1943. World War II was well underway and the city was filled with stalwart handsome soldiers. I especially remember the Russians. I was 24 years old and had accepted a position with the U.S. Foreign Economic Administration, the agency responsible for buying war materials. I was to spend several weeks in preparation for a secretarial job in Guayaquil, Ecuador. At that time I had hardly been outside my home state of Arkansas and I found Washington very exciting – the embassies, the parks, the glamorous hotels, and even the slightly cynical bureaucrats in charge of my orientation. The White House, the Supreme Court Building, the Capitol, they were more than just buildings. They were the symbols of democracy – the rock of morality upon which the country was founded.
I didn’t come close to Washington again for about 25 years, during which time I had developed an activist political philosophy. The Vietnam War was raging. Somehow I never thought about World War II as “raging.” In my mind it simply occurred – necessary, and painful. And even though my sister and eventually my husband were in battle zones, I didn’t rail against that war. At that young age I hadn’t yet analyzed and recognized the stupidity and cupidity of war.
I was working at Southwest State College in Marshall, Minnesota, when large demonstrations against the Vietnam War were taking place. Students at the college were eager to attend and I agreed to take as many as the family station wagon would hold. My oldest daughter, who had just graduated from college and was chairperson of the Philadelphia presidential campaign of Eugene McCarthy, planned to meet me there. The trip from Marshall to Washington was not uneventful. Somewhere on the other side of Chicago we had a flat tire. Two policemen stopped as a couple of students were changing the tire and inquired as to where we were going. “To the antiwar demonstration in Washington,” we said. They asked to see the draft cards of the young men. I had heard rumors that police were checking draft cards of any men going to the demonstration and that this information would be turned over to the Selective Service. I had discussed the possibility of something like this happening before I left Marshall and was prepared. “No,” I told the patrolman, “these students aren’t going to give you their draft cards. The law doesn’t require it. If you want to arrest me, go ahead. You’ve seen my license and car registration. If you arrest me, we’ll hire a lawyer and fight it.” That ended that.
At a brightly lit roadside station along the way I telephoned my daughter, who told me that she was being followed everywhere and was too frightened to attend the demonstration. It was all connected with her involvement in the McCarthy campaign. She sounded so distraught that I decided to let the students take the station wagon to Washington while I went to Pennsylvania. I had hardly arrived when she told me that she had been accosted at the small railroad station at Newtown, where she was living. She was alone on the platform when a man with a badly scarred face asked her how she’d deal with her face being so disfigured. He knew who she was and questioned her beliefs. As we walked about and had lunch in a downtown inn, I discovered we were indeed being followed. Years later I read about so-called “Nixon goons” who had threatened people during these years.
I actually made it to Washington a year or two later. The American Friends Service Committee (AFSC) had arranged for approximately 50 people from across the United States with a history of dedication and involvement in the peace movement to lobby the U.S. Congress about ending the war in Vietnam. I was to talk to senators and representatives from the upper Midwest – Minnesota, Wisconsin, North and South Dakota, Illinois, and Iowa. What we said was left up to us, individually. That’s the way the Quakers operate. One of the questions I asked the legislators was, “Would you vote to cut off all funding for the Vietnam War if you could be assured of your reelection?” I may not have put it that succinctly. But I received a resounding yes from all but about four of the legislators. This was extremely disillusioning. Land and property were being demolished and Vietnamese and Americans were being slaughtered because U.S. legislators were more concerned about their reelection. I didn’t need to go to Washington to work against the war. I had to stay in Minnesota and help build a peace movement that would convince the Congress to vote against funding the war.
Fast forward another couple of decades to 1992 and I’m in Washington at a huge demonstration against the first Persian Gulf War. I don’t remember the month but it was warm and beautiful and there was a great Korean drum group. Many Minnesota friends were there and the excitement was high. I had hopes, high hopes that the hundreds of thousands of people would convince the Administration and the Congress that war was not the answer. But no, war came anyway. Money and power won. The people lost, and as a result the war and the pitiless sanctions against the Iraqi people followed.
So it was not with great expectations that I again marched in Washington this September. Again the day was sunny and warm. Excitement was in the air. The crowd, as with all crowds of peace people, was friendly, happy, and open. Busloads of people came from Minnesota. A friend brought a fold-up legless nylon chair which could be used on the ground and provided back support. It was a lifesaver. As I sat listening to the countless speeches, Cindy Sheehan walked by followed by Ramsey Clark. Finally our small group decided it was time to walk, to heck with the speeches.
We walked along the avenues of imposing white stone government buildings lined with temporary wooden barriers. Standing behind the barriers were the Washington police, batons in hand, threatening in countenance and menacing in stance. As we walked, we looked for satellite toilet facilities. Absolutely none. The situation became dire and we abandoned the path of the scheduled walk and headed down a side street. There on the corner was a Sofitel Hotel with tables on the sidewalk at which sat people with tinkling iced drinks. There were several empty tables. It was hot. Wordlessly, almost as a unit, we decided. The headwaiter was there at the entrance to the patio. “I’m sorry,” he said in response to our inquiry. “There are no tables available.” “But,” we argued, “we see them there – at least two.” “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “No tables are available.” We looked at each other. Some of us were wearing signs; some of us were carrying them. What else could be the matter? We should not have been surprised. We are, after all, in the eyes of many, “the other.”
Attendance figures varied from 100,000 to the 300,000 as reported by the Washington Post. The government buildings were the same astounding structures I had viewed more than 50 years before. But the exaltation experienced then was replaced with overwhelming sadness. An eerie feeling brought to mind science fiction fantasy, depicting a beautiful scene, but one with ominously evil overtones accompanied by doleful music.
What good did the demonstration do? Who knows? To engage in this kind of activity requires a lot of faith – faith that justice must ever be proclaimed, that truth must ever be sought, that the righteous act needs no justification, and finally, faith in yourself for doing that which you deeply believe needs to be done. |
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© 2005 Women Against Military Madness. All rights reserved.
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Complete November 2005 Index - click here
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