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.
I paint to find a soothing space where words subside and bliss abides. This is my most recent project. I hope it soothes your soul and cheers your heart during these stressful days.
Cousins at play in public park: Tina, Victoria, Louise Annarino 1954
I have seen this hate before. I could not understand it then.I do not understand it now. When my mother lay dying it became clear to me that the only measure of a life is the ability to love. A body shriveled by cancer’s reach into every cell, wracked by pain, realizing death is near holds onto love, not life. Death’s grip is too fierce to break. But, the only thing death cannot destroy is love. I saw it in my dying mother’s eyes, reflected in my own. That love binds us still. It always will. So, no, I do not understand the need to hold onto hate when love is so much stronger. Love reveals our strength to us; hate, our weakness. Love displays our courage; hate, our cowardice. So, no, I do not understand hate.
As child of Italian immigrants, growing up in the 1950’s, in a neighborhood populated by two German immigrant families, dozens of Italian immigrants and a few Irish immigrants, I learned my place. Venturing too far away from the four block area adjacent to the railroad tracks we inhabited brought me to the Appalachian whites nearby, who could not afford to live anywhere else, so had to live near the despised and hated immigrants. Our Catholicism, a commonality of each immigrant group, did not endear us to “Americani”, either. We learned to ignore their taunts and sneers, threats and minor assaults with whatever weapon they wielded…a switch from a shrub, a golf ball, a pitched badminton racket, a rock. We were careful to avoid the “hoods” carrying switch blades. Skinned knees caused while running to escape and falling, split lips or bruises were not uncommon. To be clear, not all of those “Americani” participated in bully tactics; but, too few fully embraced us, and none defended us. I have seen this hate before. I have felt this hate before.
My parents explained that hate is not universal. Only cowards and ignorant fools cling to hate. Most people know how to love. Thus, we were admonished to never hate anyone. Stay strong. Show love no matter what. Be brave. Never start a fight; but, never run from one. Stand up to bullies. They are weak, fearful cowards and will back down. Hate is not endemic to white people, nor to any group. But, within every group there are cowards…bold, brassy, loud and stupid cowards. We held our ground at the playground. We ignored the jokes and jibes. We ducked the projectiles. We moved forward when told to get back, staring with fierce determination to continue to swing, to play ball, to run races. We seldom allowed hate to stop our games and ruin our fun. I learned to withhold my smirk when I saw the bully fall back and slink away. I learned to love despite the hate directed my way. I invited the bully to stay and play. Some did. Thus, we broke the force that would have driven us away from enjoying our childhood. We grew strong, fearless and full of hope for better days.
The recent anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy brought back these childhood memories. When the announcement of his death came over our PA system every class adjourned to the chapel at our Catholic high school. We prayed the rosary together. We prayed for comfort, peace and love in our country. Then, we were sent home to grieve with our families. I gathered my books, not knowing what to expect next, and when school might resume. Across the street was a public junior high school. As I walked by on my way home, clad in my school uniform identifying me as a Catholic, one by one, several public school students shouted at me, “We finally killed him!” “He got what was coming to all you filthy Catholics !” “ This is what happens to Catholics who don’t know their place.” I remember these taunts and all the others. They are tattooed on my heart and on my brain. I even can feel the look of confusion on my puckered brow, wondering how these young kids could hold so much hate for their own president, and for me, a total stranger who had done them no harm. How could they so dishonor the wonderful country we shared, and its democratic principles. No one is more aware of or more grateful for American principles than immigrants are. These long-time inhabitants seemed not to recognize such values at all.
That was then. This is now. Ignorant people still cling to their hate. But the indifference to the haters, the lack of comment rebuking haters which I expected but sadly never heard led to this day. Now, hate is fueled by the right wing of the Republican Party, and not condemned by its members. Worse, its chosen presidential candidate, whose first election succeeded because of, if not regardless of, his hate-spewed speech and hate-filled acts toward people of color, women and non-Christians is further encouraged to continue hate-filled policies and practices which will kill our democracy as surely as it killed Medgar Evers, Emmett Till, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and Robert Kennedy. I have seen this hate before. I did understand it then. I do not understand it now.
I always knew I became a lawyer to stand in the way of those who blocked programs, policies and practices which honor diversity and seek justice for all. I would be in position where such efforts could be implemented and enforced. Only now, do I understand it was my armor to protect that child in me who still believes that good can prevail once we are willing to stand up to bullies; whether that bully is a landlord, bank, or company. The law is the bulwark against hate and harm, against greed and abuse of power. Now, I watch my beloved Law and its Courts undermined by those bullies by Republicans in state legislatures and the U.S.Congress, by Republican governors and secretaries of state and states attorneys general who support a bully as their fund-raising cheer-leader to cover their own dark deeds. The alternatives are not to choose between two evils; but, to choose good over evil. To choose love over hate. I watch the silent white supremacists alongside them allow them free rein. People of Color, Native Americans, immigrants have always known the Law favored the wealthy and powerful, majority of them white men. Now, we all recognize the system that has been in place for so long. As a nation we are reaping what we allowed to be sown. I still do not understand the hate that has allowed this to go on for so long. But, I will still fight such hate with love; until my dying breath…then beyond.
I know how to survive bullies. I am not worried for myself. I watch my country try to survive the bullies, those they eat dinner with at their private clubs who are shocked by what they see…what the oppressed have always seen. Yet, they stay silent or act entertained. Or worse yet, they choose to ignore what they have not wanted to notice. It is my countrymen whom I hope will uphold its constitution, its citizens I hope will stand up to bullies and vote them out of office before it is too late. The power of bullies’ wealth can be overcome by our numbers, if we vote. That is a big if. Mobilize, register, transport and assist voters to the polls. Write Letters to the Editors. Speak out on social media to friends and family. Meet your neighbors and recruit their support for the efforts it will take to stay the course of a democratic republic. I do not understand the hate. I never will. It does not matter. What matters is I will not allow hate to rule my country, nor anyone in it. I choose love, a love embodied in a country which puts no man above the law, and believes all men are created equal, with unalienable rights. I took an oath to uphold the constitution. I took an oath to love.
The conception that unrestricted gun ownership is guaranteed by the 2d. Amendment is a false idea. from discussions recorded by those present as the Constitution was being approved and amendments voted upon indicate that the 2d. Amendment’s purpose was to allow for militias. Our militia SYSTEM is controlled by governors of each state, allowed to arm their citizens in a National Guard, under the federal government’s authority. It had nothing to do with an individual right to bear any and all arms. It was enacted to allow for state militias. Governments-local,state-federal can restrict individual gun purchases, manufacture, and ownership. The idea they cannot do so was constructed by the NRA only recently to improve gun sales, (think of the payoffs ),to sow dissension (funded by Russia), and to uphold white supremacy and control African-Americans who had gained the right to vote and gained more power after the Civil Rights Movement. Fear of people of color is ingrained in white Americans. This is a tool to manipulate us. Also, as immigrants from white Europe declined and immigrants of color increased NRA played on the fear of white Americans. Gun sales shot up. The Republican Party which in recent history opposed civil rights for African-Americans, affirmative action, integrated schools etc. embraced the NRA’s position to advance an agenda which would protect Republican vote and control of the levers of government. NRA funds support these republicans, and a few democratic politicians also accepting the easy money.
Take a moment to think about this and connect the dots. Our children should not be pawns for this white supremacy agenda. Look at the position on guns by candidates at EVERY level. Those claiming they can not do anything about gun regulation because of the 2d Amendment are liars. Vote them out. Always ask them their position on the 2d amendment. If they lie about that they are lying about a lot more. I am on my knees begging like Sen. Chris Murphy, “save our children.” Do not let white supremacy destroy the safety a single person. Do not stand by and silently watch. speak with your friends and colleagues. Beg them if necessary.
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.
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