Soon after the war in Iraq began, one lone woman started standing on a street corner in front of the museum in Lewes, DE on Sunday afternoons, holding signs protesting the war, praying for peace. In the years (years!) since that beginning, this silent vigil has grown to be a weekly event, bringing usually a small but devoted number of people. Eventually, the silent peace vigil attracted a counter-group on the opposite side of the street - a group wearing VFW caps, waving huge American flags, sporting large bellies and loud voices. Their counterdemonstration is anything but silent - they play loud music, shout obscenities, hold crude and ugly hand-lettered signs. On the most recent anniversary of this war, when I attended the vigil, the numbers on opposing sides of the street were just about equal, twenty or so.
For the Memorial Day weekend Sunday vigil, a much larger event was planned: participants spent many days lettering prayer flags with the individual names of the 1600-plus American military personnel killed in this war, then attaching them to cords that stretched between bamboo poles. On Sunday they worried that they wouldn't have enough participants to hold the poles with the names. Eighty people showed up. Including our little contingent of five: myself and G, my sister, her husband, their 7 yr old daughter. (Bear in mind that this was the middle of the day, Sunday of the opening holiday of the season, with perfect beach weather.)
The line of people stretched way past those holding the names. There were also beautifully done black and white handheld signs with merely the numbers: numbers of Americans killed, numbers wounded, numbers of Iraqis killed and wounded.
It was a group encompassing all ages, races, lifestyles, religions, levels of education, it included pacifists and military veterans (not always mutually exclusive); it was a silent group gathered to pray in whatever format, for those who have died, been injured in body, mind and spirit, for their families who grieve for them, and for those still engaged in this most foolish of wars.
The group across the street looked like this:
and sounded even worse - you can almost see the sign in the upper righthand corner, it says "Honk for Democracy." So, their homeys passing by in pickups, SUVs or really really big/loud motorcycles honked. And honked and honked. For democracy? Well, I suppose so. It is, after all, democracy that lets us stand on opposite sides of the street, giving vent to our radically different views of things.
The local paper had a group of photos, and reported Sunday's event thus:
"Each Sunday a silent vigil is held in downtown Lewes to honor those who have died in the war in Iraq. For Memorial Day, 1,600 flags were flown in honor of the war dead. This vigil is countered with a rally across the street each week. Clockwise from above right, disabled Vietnam veteran Art Wheatcraft and Kathy McCusker show support for the troops. Eleven-year-old Andrew Fagg show support for the troops along with Michael Stein and James Fagg. Vietnam veteran Peter Schultz takes part in the silent vigil to honor those who have sacrificed in Iraq. Lines weren't drawn in the sand, but Savannah Road separated the silent vigil from the supporters of the troops May 29."
The emphasis is mine, showing how, in the mind of the Cape Gazette reporter, crude signs, yelling and waving flags shows "support for the troops," whereas silently and respectfully honoring those who have died or been injured is.......what? Well, we don't know, do we?
We brought home the flags that my niece and I were holding at the end of the vigil, and they are now fluttering in the breeze by the front garden. Until the names fade and the strips of cloth turn to shreds, the wind - the breath of nature - will carry many silent prayers and blessings on its wings: the hope of peaceful rest for the dead, peace and enlightenment for us, for the world.
That's G in the tied-dye shirt on the left, M (niece) in front of her mother, who is obscured by flags, and her daddy in the blue t-shirt behind her as well.