For years I crossed to the opposite side of the street, or changed my direction, or turned a corner whenever I saw a police officer. PTSD caused my muscles to contract then quiver. Sweat beaded on my brow. My heart rate accelerated. My calves and thighs contracted as I prepared to run for my life. This was not because I was a criminal; but, because I had been a student protester in the late 60s and early 70s. I had been attacked and threatened with tear gas, pepper spray, bully clubs and bullets.
I was inspired by Thoreau, Mahatma Gandhi, and the Reverend Martin Luther King,Jr. to seek justice through peaceful protest and political action, to embrace the protections in the Bill of Rights which granted my free speech and right of peaceable assembly, and to redress the Government for redress of grievances.
As a child, I watched TV police dogs attack and bite civil rights protesters peaceably assembled, watched those protesters beaten into submission with clubs and guns, watched them shot, watched busses burned, watched water hoses knock down men, women and children. I watched those asserting their rights jailed and injured while handcuffed in cells.
Brutality seemed a “southern thing”; but racism was everywhere around me, in my Ohio town, my Catholic school, my Italian-immigrant and Appalachian-white neighborhood. We immigrants, who faced our own discrimination were too ready to discriminate against Black people, lest we be seen as within their fold. We Catholics who saw swastikas painted on our gym walls, who faced our own discrimination were too ready to discriminate against Black people for the same reason. The common thought expressed whenever anything difficult happened was “At least I am free, white and 21.”
Too many missed the point that if one person is denied freedom we all are; an un-provoked attack on any person is an attack on all of us, justice denied one person means justice is denied all of us. We pretend that we are safe because we are “free, white and 21”.
The trick of oppressors is to recognize racists, misogynists, homophobes and the poor that they suffer because of those they are willing to hate, not because of those who wield the power of oppression to greedily retain their wealth and power. No minimum wage increases, destruction of workers’ unions, ignoring the need to build affordable housing, food insecurity, privatized mental and physical health care system. It all works to the advantage of the oppressors.
On campus, women in my co-ed dorm had a curfew and sign-out book to record where we went after 6pm, with whom and when we would return. Men had no such requirement. We were punished with student judicial charges if we did not follow “the book”. I wrote a Declaration of Independence for the women of Lincoln tower and with other women removed the books and threw them into bonfire. Today, we would have been arrested. It ended the sign-out system when requests to the women’s Dean of Students (yes, there was a Dean for Men and a Dean for women) refused to take action on our behalf.
I participated in hunger strikes and sit-down strikes for transparency of crimes on campus, especially crimes against women and Black students. Crimes were not considered public information back then. One hunger strike resulted in the installation of emergency blue-light cameras strung across campus. They are still in place. We also protested and had hunger strikes for a Black Studies department, Black faculty and curriculum. Racial awareness programs and efforts, affirmative recruitment of Black students and Black faculty.
Meanwhile, students formed their own racial crisis-intervention practices and programs. The Student Government Association joined with the leader of Afro-Am in the development of a petition to address the issues of racism and need for a Black Studies Department. The petition included 19 items, initially. The student Leaders were denied a meeting with The President of OSU, day after day. Finally, they set up a card table and chairs in front on the administration building, waiting for him to acknowledge their presence and meet with them. Student organizers from across campus dorms, clubs, and student organizations decided to support the effort and called for a student strike.
The day before the strike was to begin I called the Secretary of the Board of Trustees, asking them to step-in and meet with Afro-Am and SGA leaders, or demand the president do so. I explained the growing unrest and pending strike, which would disrupt the educational mission of the university, He understood and agreed to call each board member and see if he could attain a quorum wiling to meet the leaders. Late that day he called, saddened to report that the board refused to meet or discuss my request for their intervention.
The next day, the strike was called and the requests had become a list of demands. A microphone was set p on the Oval and anyone could speak about the need for a university response. One of the first speakers was Woody Hayes, our beloved and irascible football coach who understood the demands and applauded us for remaining peaceful. The National Guard was ordered to campus. Its commander took the microphone to ask us to remain peaceful and told us although his soldiers carried weapons, they had not been issued bullets.
The following day a different commander addressed us to report the first had been removed from command and the soldiers were now fully armed and weapons loaded. The siege was on.
The protest lasted most of Spring quarter. Any group with a grievance climbed on the backs of Black students to seek their own agenda; feminists, LGBQ, environmentalists etc. Then, Cambodia was bombed and OSU became part of nation-wide student anti-war movement.
During this time we were tear-gassed, chased by jeeps with machine guns mounted on the back, sprayed with pepper gas; and helicopters flew over us dropping a yellow gas which exfoliated the trees and shrubs, browned out the grass, and caused the spring bulbs to keel over and die. It was a metaphor for what they did to us. Thousands of students, even those frat boys along fraternity row who collaterally were gassed and their frat houses shot up as students were chased by police along side streets, joined in the strike. The faculty of the Philosophy department conducted training and held classes on peaceful resistance, helping us orchestrate lie-ins and die-ins. We learned about sacrifice of the few for the rights of the many, among other philosophical treatises. I often brought food and water to the guardsmen, raiding automated food machines in my dorm. We handed them flowers and made peace with them, understanding they had no desire to kill us, and had to follow orders. Police cruisers circling the Oval would stop suddenly, an officer or two jump out and begin clubbing students sitting there, handcuff, arrest them and toss them into the back of the cruiser. We gave our floor “activity money” to campus clergymen to bail-out those arrested every day. The Ohio legislature later created a law to seize those fees for university control only, to avoid our use of our funds in a manner they disagreed with.
One day stands out. Maintenance was taking down the flag in front of the administration building where our leaders still sat and waited for an appointment. The group waiting with them began singing “America The Beautiful” in a very sarcastic voice. Some threw marshmallows toward the guardsmen who formed a triple-line between us and the flag, even though no one moved toward the flag. An order was given. The first line went to ground. The second line crouched down. The third line rested their guns on the shoulders of the second line. I was in front facing three soldiers. Our group became silent. A second order was given and we heard and watch guns cocked and ready to fire. We knew the next order would be “fire”. I looked into the eyes of the soldiers and ask tears held in check in fearful eyes. I whispered, “it is Okay.” I have no idea how long we stood there, frozen guardsmen and frozen protesters. But eventually the order was given to stand-down. I brought food and water again that night, dodging armed jeeps and cutting across a party no car had access to.
We were never invited to meet and discuss our demands. Martial law was declared by the Ohio governor. Students were ordered to not gather in groups exceeding 4 persons, or could be arrested. Civil rights were suspended. The thousands of us who gathered daily simply divide up into groups of 4 sitting no closer than 10 feet apart. The bully-club attacks continued. The gassing continued. We stayed. Most of us slept overnight knowing if we left the field the Oval would be cut-off to us. We held the field for those arriving in the morning to swell our ranks.
Until Kent State. Black students at Jackson State had been shot and killed a few days before Kent State. They were overlooked because Black lives have seldom mattered in America. But, when Kent State students died campuses were shuttered and students sent home; allowed back to take finals before dismissing for the summer. Campuses were reinforced for crowd control. Rules and laws were changed to undermine student organizing. Legislative hearings were held on campus, and facts suppressed. I attended the hearings. I recalled E.R. doctors from University Hospital appearing to report the nearly 30 students were shot during the protests, some left paralyzed. This had never been reported upon. The legislators asked the doctors to turn over the medical files they had brought to support their testimony. the doctors refused because medical records should be private, and because we “fear the information contained within will be suppressed.”
We have been in this space before:
Civil rights demanded and ignored.
Peaceful association branded harmful, protesters branded violent criminals.
Marshal law invoked to eliminate due process and civil rights guaranteed by the Constitution.
Use of weapons of war against civilians.
I have been called a “commie, pinko, radical, n…. -lover, racist”, since my teenage years into my mid-70s. I am a peace-lover, people-lover, nature-lover activist. All activists who embrace our constitutional rights are considered radical. We are trouble-makers when we question injustice and seek redress. Name-calling is meaningless to activists. We care not care what you call us because that is not us. We do care that you use name-calling to justify your own inaction, your own fence-sitting, your own unwillingness to facedown bullies. We bring attention to your deepest fears, while you insist there is nothing to fear. But, I tell you, there is something to fear.
We all should be afraid. I cannot watch scary movies. I face fear daily, for real. I cannot involve my consciousness in fake fears to entertain myself. I cannot look away from real suffering. I cannot sit on the fence and watch. I must act. I ask you to act, peacefully and continuously, “Until justice runs down like water, and righteousness lie a mighty stream.” And, know this: when you stir yourself to action, you will be attacked.
Once you find the courage to act, the emotional fear subsides. The physical attacks are more difficult. Mostly, because we never seem to expect human beings to be so cruel to us, fellow human beings. We know we are not behaving wrongly. We know we are not hurting others. We know we are not asking for anything we do not need, nor deserve. Why would anyone hurt us? Well, I have no answer because it is not a rational thing. There is no rational answer that applies to all. What I can do is offer some useful tips.
Check to see if parade-marshals are present. Listen to them and follow their instructions.
Wear shoes that are secure on your feet and allow you to run, and run fast. Wear socks.
Wear long-sleeves and long pants.
Pay attention to your surroundings and the people around you.
Note any inconsistent behaviors, especially violent rhetoric.
Try to stay upwind of police, note wind direction to avoid gas.
Wear a mask to avoid breathing in gasses.
Apply vaseline to exposed skin to avoid burns from pepper spray/pepper gas.
Note exit routes in case of attack, or stampede. Be ready to exit.
Move away from disputes, not toward them.
Employ the maxim, “Run away to fight another day.”
If arrest/removal is attempted go limp, lie down and allow peaceful removal. You can argue in court later through your attorney.
Do not block sidewalks, nor ingress and egress into buildings on your route.
Do not interfere with others going about their business.
Have videographers present to film.
Use camera to record incidents. Do not willingly turn over phones/cameras (without a warrant). Leave before anyone grabs them, and preserve images.
Have emergency number and agreed upon pick-up point in case you need to call for assistance.
Let others know where you are going to be and call when you finish to let them know you are safe.
Look out for one another. Calm others when they start to get agitated. It happens to the best of us.
Register with groups and organizers. They will help if things go haywire.
Peace overcomes war. Love overcomes hate. Stay in that space. When you no longer can, leave.
Come back and join in the next march, protest, sit-in,/die-in…and if you cannot physically engage in this way, offer financial support, write Letters to the editor, call your local-state-county and federal officials and representatives. And for goodness sake, vote as if our lives and our sacred honor as Americans rely upon you.
Firehosing is a propaganda tactic that involves pushing out large mounts of false and misleading information at once. The term was first applied to Russian propaganda strategies intended to silent dissent and mislead the public. Wikipedia, Jan.13, 2021. Actual use of firehoses is used in this country to silence protesters. It has been used against those Americans active in Civil Rights campaigns.
Being human is terrifying. Being aware carries the burden of striving to be correct. To err invites injury to ourselves, to those with whom we share the planet, and to the planet itself. We also fear others who err; and even more so, those who would do us harm. It is a scary world we live in, internally and externally. And yet, living in this the world is such an amazing experience, majestic and breathtakingly beautiful. Our world is of such beauty that we transcend our fears most of the time. How we do so is both delightful and comforting.
We laugh. What a gift. Laughter dismisses fear to such an extant that some of us lose muscle control and “fall down laughing”, making ourselves totally vulnerable to all the scary stuff we know surrounds us.
We cry. What a gift. Tears reduce us to a molten mass falling into one another’s arms with no fear of retaliation or control by the other. We are most vulnerable when we laugh and when we cry. Yet, these moments are often our most memorable, and most satisfying. These are moments of grace.
We can chose to live in grace,even when we are not experience the comforting joy of another’s comedic safety net for our fears, nor the calming security of another’s embrace. We can choose to live in grace when everything around us shouts “danger.” Living in grace allows us to transcend fear. I refuse to be afraid. I choose to live in grace.
When I was a prison social worker I worked in a women’s maximum security facility housing inmates whom society so feared that our courts locked these women away. Visiting those locked into the most restrictive cell block, maximum security, was discouraged. This short-term lock up was to isolate a particularly intractable inmate who had behaved too violently to remain within the general population. They were not permitted to leave the cell for any reason. They were left alone for days or weeks. As a social worker, I believed such an event was a “teachable moment”,when I could perhaps break through the bravado and masks of an inmate who normally would not welcome my company or conversation.
These women in max were starving for human contact. Thus began my frequent visits to max. The first day, the single guard on duty did not know what to do with me, having never received visitors before. But, he unlocked the corridor door and accompanied me to the first cell in which a woman from my caseload was locked up. After about five minutes of standing by the door he asked how long I would be. “Thirty minutes” was too long for him to stand around so I suggested he let me into the cell and he could then go back to his seat. His eyebrows shot to his head as he suggested to me it was not safe. I asked the woman, “He thinks you will hurt me if he lets me inside alone with you.Will you harm me?” After a short pause to consider, she said,”no.” The guard then locked me into the maximum security cell and I told him I would call him when I was ready to leave. After I left that cell, women from other case loads called out my name as I passed by asking to speak with me. I visited every woman in max that day and every few days after. The guard and I followed the same protocol each time: lock me inside, then come when I call to let me out.
The moments I spent locked into maximum security with the most violent offenders in the prison were moments of grace. We shared laughter and tears. We explored the pain and fear that led to the violence. I tried to “always leave them laughing,” and living in grace.
The write-ups for violence on my caseload diminished and extinguished. I was called in for a discussion with the Associate Director and charged with being too permissive. How else to explain why the women for whom I was responsible were no longer getting into trouble? Another bone of contention was my crisis intervention strategy. I had instructed my caseload to yell out “Call Annarino!” whenever they were about to become violent with a guard or other inmate, instead of letting the violent feelings flare into harmful words or actions. Before long the guards knew to call me and everyone waited somewhat peacefully and guardedly, until I arrived. At which time, I explained everyone involved would get a chance to tell their truth without interruption. I dismissed the usual onlookers hoping for a good fight, promising to stop by their work or class site later to fill them in on what happened after they left. This substantially reduced the risk of group pressure and blustering bravado which often led to mass violence. Once only the critical participants were left, the preaching the truth was followed my mediated conversation.
It did not occur to me that armed guards would find it embarrassing for a 22 year old woman weighing 102 pounds could protect them from harm with mere words. Just before I lost my job, I was told my job was not to empower inmates but to treat them as the “dog chained up in the back yard: when they howl, shut them up.” Instead I had given them a voice. It did not seem to matter that their voice was calm, peaceful and truth-seeking rather than violent curses accompanied by physical attacks. They had learned to live in grace, which seemed to scare people even more. This is the power of non-violence. When we let go of fear, we find truth and the truth is what sets us free.
There is no war on women. What we are watching play out is an age-old phenomenon of men who fear women’s sexual expression. Whether it is the Taliban, fundamentalist Muslims-Jews-Christians,or Mike Huckabee, the chastisement and need to control women springs from men’s fear of loss of their own control. I refuse to allow their fear to become my burden. I suggest they learn to handle it all, as I must handle my own fears. Their fear, their loss of control, is not my problem; but, they insist on making it so. I don’t call that a war. I call it fear mongering.
We use the word war too loosely. We enjoy hyperbole because it grabs our attention,holds our imagination, and allows us to believe we are heroes(another word used too loosely)fighting some grand battle. Anyone who has ever experienced war is insulted by this cavalier use of the word. Anyone who have ever acted heroically is appalled by its frequent use in today’s lexicon. As William Tecumseh Sherman who marched on Atlanta destroying all in his wake said in his address to the Michigan Military Academy in June 19, 1879, “You don’t know the horrible aspects of war. I’ve been through two wars and I know. I’ve seen cities and homes in ashes. I’ve seen thousands of men lying on the ground, their dead faces looking up at the skies. I tell you, war is Hell!” (Battle Creek Enquirer and News,Nov.18,1933). I cannot use the word “war” to describe anything but war. Fear is not war; and, unless we name what is happening correctly, we cannot address the problem we face correctly.
This fear of male loss of control when faced with female sexual expression has biological roots. http://www.webmd.com/balance/features/how-male-female-brains-differ Men’s brains are structured with less ability to maintain rational thought while in the throes of emotion. Of course they fear women whose brains allow them to cry,laugh,orgasm and think at the same time. Whom should we blame for this? The Hebrews tell a story of the first man and woman, Adam and Eve, in the Garden of Eden. Most of us have at least heard that story a time or two. There are two elements to that story: obedience to the male deity transferred to obedience to the first male, Adam. Who was to be obedient to these male prototypes? The woman. What do fig leaves have to do with the story? They are used to cover up human sexual expression, and thus control sexual expression which becomes sinful when the woman does not obey the man. That is what is going on today!
The Hebrews were not the first to tell such a story. Earlier cultures and religious traditions acknowledged the power of female sexuality; some accepted it and used it as an avenue to spiritual awakening a la the Vestal Virgins. Others fearfully suppressed it, a la female genital mutilation. We see vestiges of these practices today throughout our world. It is not only Mike Huckabee and Republican men who fear women. Democrats,Libertarians,Independents and a host of other men do, too. The men who do not fear women are able to trust and appreciate women, able to understand the biology of male/female differences without feeling inferior, and able to see diversity as an enriching experience,not one to be feared. There is that word “diversity” which too many of us fear. Such men exist within all political parties and religions.
Although I do not see such fear of women as merely a Republican issue, one must acknowledge that the Republican Party platforms have opposed Affirmative Action,our ONE effort to practice diversity; while the Democratic Party platform has embraced diversity.The Republican Party platform opposes women’s right to birth control and abortion,to freely manage her health needs to freely express her body’s sexuality; while the Democratic Party has embraced a woman’s right to choose how she uses her body sexually and how to protect her health. We cannot ignore that these two party positions are different, even though men are the same biological creatures, dealing with the same fears in both parties.
As a woman,I am not satisfied with the behavior of men in either party. It is not enough to add women to the mix, when the men make all the final decisions, and too often ignore and disparage our female voices. When women’s only strength comes from a separate women’s caucus, whose leaders are the strongest and wisest and most experienced political activists I know, rather than being hired into positions of political power we know we still have a long way to go. We may have “come a long way baby”,finally being allowed to participate in the race; but, the race officials-funders-judges are still men who too often control our political expression. The words men use to describe their view of women is not the problem. Their fear of women’s full and free use of her power is the problem. Huckabee apologists are busy trying to reframe how to control women as if male manners need fixed. Instead, they should focus on facing their own fears and finding their courage in the face of female power and sexuality.
annarino writes 
PROTEST NOTES
APRIL 5, 2025 AT A CORNER NEAR YOU
For years I crossed to the opposite side of the street, or changed my direction, or turned a corner whenever I saw a police officer. PTSD caused my muscles to contract then quiver. Sweat beaded on my brow. My heart rate accelerated. My calves and thighs contracted as I prepared to run for my life. This was not because I was a criminal; but, because I had been a student protester in the late 60s and early 70s. I had been attacked and threatened with tear gas, pepper spray, bully clubs and bullets.
I was inspired by Thoreau, Mahatma Gandhi, and the Reverend Martin Luther King,Jr. to seek justice through peaceful protest and political action, to embrace the protections in the Bill of Rights which granted my free speech and right of peaceable assembly, and to redress the Government for redress of grievances.
As a child, I watched TV police dogs attack and bite civil rights protesters peaceably assembled, watched those protesters beaten into submission with clubs and guns, watched them shot, watched busses burned, watched water hoses knock down men, women and children. I watched those asserting their rights jailed and injured while handcuffed in cells.
Brutality seemed a “southern thing”; but racism was everywhere around me, in my Ohio town, my Catholic school, my Italian-immigrant and Appalachian-white neighborhood. We immigrants, who faced our own discrimination were too ready to discriminate against Black people, lest we be seen as within their fold. We Catholics who saw swastikas painted on our gym walls, who faced our own discrimination were too ready to discriminate against Black people for the same reason. The common thought expressed whenever anything difficult happened was “At least I am free, white and 21.”
Too many missed the point that if one person is denied freedom we all are; an un-provoked attack on any person is an attack on all of us, justice denied one person means justice is denied all of us. We pretend that we are safe because we are “free, white and 21”.
The trick of oppressors is to recognize racists, misogynists, homophobes and the poor that they suffer because of those they are willing to hate, not because of those who wield the power of oppression to greedily retain their wealth and power. No minimum wage increases, destruction of workers’ unions, ignoring the need to build affordable housing, food insecurity, privatized mental and physical health care system. It all works to the advantage of the oppressors.
On campus, women in my co-ed dorm had a curfew and sign-out book to record where we went after 6pm, with whom and when we would return. Men had no such requirement. We were punished with student judicial charges if we did not follow “the book”. I wrote a Declaration of Independence for the women of Lincoln tower and with other women removed the books and threw them into bonfire. Today, we would have been arrested. It ended the sign-out system when requests to the women’s Dean of Students (yes, there was a Dean for Men and a Dean for women) refused to take action on our behalf.
I participated in hunger strikes and sit-down strikes for transparency of crimes on campus, especially crimes against women and Black students. Crimes were not considered public information back then. One hunger strike resulted in the installation of emergency blue-light cameras strung across campus. They are still in place. We also protested and had hunger strikes for a Black Studies department, Black faculty and curriculum. Racial awareness programs and efforts, affirmative recruitment of Black students and Black faculty.
Meanwhile, students formed their own racial crisis-intervention practices and programs. The Student Government Association joined with the leader of Afro-Am in the development of a petition to address the issues of racism and need for a Black Studies Department. The petition included 19 items, initially. The student Leaders were denied a meeting with The President of OSU, day after day. Finally, they set up a card table and chairs in front on the administration building, waiting for him to acknowledge their presence and meet with them. Student organizers from across campus dorms, clubs, and student organizations decided to support the effort and called for a student strike.
The day before the strike was to begin I called the Secretary of the Board of Trustees, asking them to step-in and meet with Afro-Am and SGA leaders, or demand the president do so. I explained the growing unrest and pending strike, which would disrupt the educational mission of the university, He understood and agreed to call each board member and see if he could attain a quorum wiling to meet the leaders. Late that day he called, saddened to report that the board refused to meet or discuss my request for their intervention.
The next day, the strike was called and the requests had become a list of demands. A microphone was set p on the Oval and anyone could speak about the need for a university response. One of the first speakers was Woody Hayes, our beloved and irascible football coach who understood the demands and applauded us for remaining peaceful. The National Guard was ordered to campus. Its commander took the microphone to ask us to remain peaceful and told us although his soldiers carried weapons, they had not been issued bullets.
The following day a different commander addressed us to report the first had been removed from command and the soldiers were now fully armed and weapons loaded. The siege was on.
The protest lasted most of Spring quarter. Any group with a grievance climbed on the backs of Black students to seek their own agenda; feminists, LGBQ, environmentalists etc. Then, Cambodia was bombed and OSU became part of nation-wide student anti-war movement.
During this time we were tear-gassed, chased by jeeps with machine guns mounted on the back, sprayed with pepper gas; and helicopters flew over us dropping a yellow gas which exfoliated the trees and shrubs, browned out the grass, and caused the spring bulbs to keel over and die. It was a metaphor for what they did to us. Thousands of students, even those frat boys along fraternity row who collaterally were gassed and their frat houses shot up as students were chased by police along side streets, joined in the strike. The faculty of the Philosophy department conducted training and held classes on peaceful resistance, helping us orchestrate lie-ins and die-ins. We learned about sacrifice of the few for the rights of the many, among other philosophical treatises. I often brought food and water to the guardsmen, raiding automated food machines in my dorm. We handed them flowers and made peace with them, understanding they had no desire to kill us, and had to follow orders. Police cruisers circling the Oval would stop suddenly, an officer or two jump out and begin clubbing students sitting there, handcuff, arrest them and toss them into the back of the cruiser. We gave our floor “activity money” to campus clergymen to bail-out those arrested every day. The Ohio legislature later created a law to seize those fees for university control only, to avoid our use of our funds in a manner they disagreed with.
One day stands out. Maintenance was taking down the flag in front of the administration building where our leaders still sat and waited for an appointment. The group waiting with them began singing “America The Beautiful” in a very sarcastic voice. Some threw marshmallows toward the guardsmen who formed a triple-line between us and the flag, even though no one moved toward the flag. An order was given. The first line went to ground. The second line crouched down. The third line rested their guns on the shoulders of the second line. I was in front facing three soldiers. Our group became silent. A second order was given and we heard and watch guns cocked and ready to fire. We knew the next order would be “fire”. I looked into the eyes of the soldiers and ask tears held in check in fearful eyes. I whispered, “it is Okay.” I have no idea how long we stood there, frozen guardsmen and frozen protesters. But eventually the order was given to stand-down. I brought food and water again that night, dodging armed jeeps and cutting across a party no car had access to.
We were never invited to meet and discuss our demands. Martial law was declared by the Ohio governor. Students were ordered to not gather in groups exceeding 4 persons, or could be arrested. Civil rights were suspended. The thousands of us who gathered daily simply divide up into groups of 4 sitting no closer than 10 feet apart. The bully-club attacks continued. The gassing continued. We stayed. Most of us slept overnight knowing if we left the field the Oval would be cut-off to us. We held the field for those arriving in the morning to swell our ranks.
Until Kent State. Black students at Jackson State had been shot and killed a few days before Kent State. They were overlooked because Black lives have seldom mattered in America. But, when Kent State students died campuses were shuttered and students sent home; allowed back to take finals before dismissing for the summer. Campuses were reinforced for crowd control. Rules and laws were changed to undermine student organizing. Legislative hearings were held on campus, and facts suppressed. I attended the hearings. I recalled E.R. doctors from University Hospital appearing to report the nearly 30 students were shot during the protests, some left paralyzed. This had never been reported upon. The legislators asked the doctors to turn over the medical files they had brought to support their testimony. the doctors refused because medical records should be private, and because we “fear the information contained within will be suppressed.”
We have been in this space before:
Civil rights demanded and ignored.
Peaceful association branded harmful, protesters branded violent criminals.
Marshal law invoked to eliminate due process and civil rights guaranteed by the Constitution.
Use of weapons of war against civilians.
I have been called a “commie, pinko, radical, n…. -lover, racist”, since my teenage years into my mid-70s. I am a peace-lover, people-lover, nature-lover activist. All activists who embrace our constitutional rights are considered radical. We are trouble-makers when we question injustice and seek redress. Name-calling is meaningless to activists. We care not care what you call us because that is not us. We do care that you use name-calling to justify your own inaction, your own fence-sitting, your own unwillingness to facedown bullies. We bring attention to your deepest fears, while you insist there is nothing to fear. But, I tell you, there is something to fear.
We all should be afraid. I cannot watch scary movies. I face fear daily, for real. I cannot involve my consciousness in fake fears to entertain myself. I cannot look away from real suffering. I cannot sit on the fence and watch. I must act. I ask you to act, peacefully and continuously, “Until justice runs down like water, and righteousness lie a mighty stream.” And, know this: when you stir yourself to action, you will be attacked.
Once you find the courage to act, the emotional fear subsides. The physical attacks are more difficult. Mostly, because we never seem to expect human beings to be so cruel to us, fellow human beings. We know we are not behaving wrongly. We know we are not hurting others. We know we are not asking for anything we do not need, nor deserve. Why would anyone hurt us? Well, I have no answer because it is not a rational thing. There is no rational answer that applies to all. What I can do is offer some useful tips.
Check to see if parade-marshals are present. Listen to them and follow their instructions.
Wear shoes that are secure on your feet and allow you to run, and run fast. Wear socks.
Wear long-sleeves and long pants.
Pay attention to your surroundings and the people around you.
Note any inconsistent behaviors, especially violent rhetoric.
Try to stay upwind of police, note wind direction to avoid gas.
Wear a mask to avoid breathing in gasses.
Apply vaseline to exposed skin to avoid burns from pepper spray/pepper gas.
Note exit routes in case of attack, or stampede. Be ready to exit.
Move away from disputes, not toward them.
Employ the maxim, “Run away to fight another day.”
If arrest/removal is attempted go limp, lie down and allow peaceful removal. You can argue in court later through your attorney.
Do not block sidewalks, nor ingress and egress into buildings on your route.
Do not interfere with others going about their business.
Have videographers present to film.
Use camera to record incidents. Do not willingly turn over phones/cameras (without a warrant). Leave before anyone grabs them, and preserve images.
Have emergency number and agreed upon pick-up point in case you need to call for assistance.
Let others know where you are going to be and call when you finish to let them know you are safe.
Look out for one another. Calm others when they start to get agitated. It happens to the best of us.
Register with groups and organizers. They will help if things go haywire.
Peace overcomes war. Love overcomes hate. Stay in that space. When you no longer can, leave.
Come back and join in the next march, protest, sit-in,/die-in…and if you cannot physically engage in this way, offer financial support, write Letters to the editor, call your local-state-county and federal officials and representatives. And for goodness sake, vote as if our lives and our sacred honor as Americans rely upon you.
Leave a comment
Filed under COMMENTARY, POLITICS
Tagged as 2025, Apri 5, Black Lives Matter, civil rights, courts, DOGE, due process, GAZA, Governor Rhodes, Hands Off, history, immigration, Israel, Kent State, Martial law, media, national guard, No Place for Hate, Ohio State University, Palestine, parade marshal, politics, propaganda, protest, racism, Republican candidates, republican convention, resist, sexism, Speaker Mike johnson, state of emergency, suppression of news, trump