Medea Benjamin

The Next Generation: Presente

2007-09-30T20:52:00.000-07:00

By Cassandra Rice

As the First Ladies of CODEPINK were coming together in 2002, I was thinking about where and how I would go to college. Like many teenagers at the time, I witnessed the events of September 11, 2001 live in French class. I watched footage of the invasion of Iraq in history class. I participated in discussions during lunch with teachers and fellow students, the majority of which enthusiastically supported US military involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan. Living in West Virginia, many of these students would follow in the footsteps of their parents and grandparents and enlist in the armed forces having very little understanding of the effects of war on the human body, mind, and spirit. In addition to the typical talks on drugs and safe sex, my high school also sponsored several appearances by and speeches from military recruiters proposing enlistment as a career option. I, myself, was dating a guy in the National Guard. In all of the speeches, films, debates, and conversations there was very little representation of and even blatant disdain for internationalist, pacifist, or feminist stances. I remember feeling alienated and unsure. This feeling continued and grew through college in rural West Virginia.
I learned in university-level political science courses that in addition to structural and legal explanations for America’s low voter turnout, there are also psychological. Like many people my age and those who lived through the Civil Rights Era, I used to believe that my generation is more apathetic and alienated than any previous group of American youth. I was not taught, however, a means of overcoming these deleterious psychological effects. Out of some strange combination of hope, disgust, and anger I took off for Washington, DC to participate in the events of September 15, 2007. Like many of my fellow progressive-minded youth, I dreamt of traveling back in time to an era where people of all races, classes, and genders came together in mass for a common objective. It was there that I discovered CODEPINK in addition to many other groups campaigning for social justice. It was there that I discovered an active youth culture which betrays the notion that my generation can only sit around and bitch about our problems. Having been raised as the first with the Internet to connect to the whole world, my generation is also subject to voyeurism. Until September 15th, I had only known of these groups through the Internet and not as real, powerful, passionate people. After marching through the streets, I joined several thousand on the lawn of the Capitol building just before the police barricades. I looked around, and realized I’d found what everyone said no longer existed. It was beautiful.

For the demonstrations on September 29th, I wanted a more intimate exposure to the peace movement. Desperate to work with a group of both feminist and antiwar orientation, I decided to stay at the CODEPINK house for three days. I was amazed and elated as I was greeted by leading members of CODEPINK as a friend and an equal. I could not believe that I was hugging Medea Benjamin and other women involved in struggles for peace and social justice; that I was marching with women I never thought I’d meet in person. I am amazed above all with the warmth, accessibility, and organization of this group. Anyone who doubts the passion and social involvement of young women today can alleviate those concerns with a visit to various CODEPINK efforts or even a stay at the DC house.
“What do we want? PEACE! When do we want it? NOW!” This was one of our many demands as we marched through the streets of DC on the 29th. What a way to become acquainted with our capital! Having read about the disagreements between feminist, pacifist, and revolutionary groups of all races during the 1960s and 1970s, I expected some conflicts among various special groups of the peace and social justice movements. I am surprised and happy to say that this conflict did not occur. In fact, at the end of the formal march, a group comprised of possibly 75 members of SDS, FIST, Troops Out Now Coalition, individual protestors, and CODEPINK members converged to block the intersection of Constitution and Pennsylvania. Though some veterans of the peace movement were present, the majority of this group represented a multifaceted bunch of young people. We held the intersection, without direct police interference for roughly six hours. Six lanes of traffic in downtown DC were blocked off by this nation’s emerging and growing progressive youth for at least 6 hours. Once we realized the police were not prepared to intervene, we ordered pizza, set up tents, played music, and danced in the streets. We made sure that the police and those passing by knew one undeniable fact: these streets are OUR streets. Around 9PM, we collectively decided to end the protest on a positive, energetic, and victorious note to be played again in the future. The experience was nothing short of magical.
To young women and men wondering if they are alone in their dreams of ending wars of racist imperialism, the objectification and exploitation of women and the working class, the lack of affordable, quality health-care and viable progressive politicians in office, I have one strong message for you. YOU are the ones which must change this nation. We cannot leave this up to veteran members of various grous; we cannot simply watch Cindy Sheehan, CODEPINK, Troops Out Now coalition, ANSWER, and IVAW demanding change and facing arrest on television and the Internet. We must join them in the streets, in the halls of Congress, and anywhere else we can get major media coverage and make a large impact. If we do not, we become the next generation of apathetic complacency. We are the next generation of peace and social justice activists, and there are warm, passionate people waiting to welcome and assist you. Let’s see what we can do on October 21st and 22nd!

Cassandra Rice

gonzales almost

2007-06-11T19:27:00.000-07:00

By Philip Champon

last night some of code pink heard they was havin a hearin on mr gonzalez's future, in the senate... a vote as to whether or not the senate could hear arguments for and against a vote of no confidence in the attorney general ... the group was receiving beams of light from a bunch who thought they'd take the message of some ecuadorian tribe to the white folks in north america... just as they were about to smack us down with crystals i was yanked out... to cut gonzalez's head off, put a slip on him, give him some boobs, hairy legs and wing tip shoes... cuz we decided we were heading out to the senate office buildings to paint the town with hideous, albeit humorous leaflets... afterwards, i got to make masks of gonzalez's awe inspiring countencance...

off to bed around 2:30... up at 8... that's better than i pull off for work!...

the group came up with a song to sing the senators...

what a beautiful morning
what a wonderful day
i've got a wonderful feeling
gonzalez is going away
gonzalez is going today

i don't think i sang it monotone either... maybe just baritone...

i had my mask in hand and an orange jumpsuit on... the idea was that mr gonzalez, being a chief and blind supporter of the president and chief counsel to the white house when gitmo was created, should be sent there post haste...

there were an awful lot of salty republican aids that received us... sour pusses and all... but we managed to make a few people smile, even if it was sardonic...

we wrapped that up and i got to dance around in an oversized gonzalez mask in front of the department of justice while other folks brandished signs and bullhorns... admittedly, my dancing was somewhat minimal, perhaps more of skip... there was no hip swishing or slinking... but!... i did figure out how to make the mask bounce just right, so our dear friend was rendered a bobble head.... to keep rhythm i hummed to myself as i sashayed up and down the sidewalk... once again, we succeeded in getting some people to honk, hoot and holler...

from there we met up with a bunch of other folks and trundled into lieberman's office... he announced on some sunday talk show that "we've got proof that iran helped to train iraqi insurgents and as a result aided in the deaths of over 200 american soldiers"... or something to that effect... maybe he shoulda been tapped to be secretary of defense... at least there wouldn't be any question where his marching orders come from... at any rate, we filled up the office (not too big anyway)... and his executive assistant spoke to us... leslie, a code pinker, lead the chatter... she'd just come back from iran in may and because of his statement she began a hunger strike... we'll see if that affects his decision to meet with her... i won't hold my breath...

some other pinkers tried to "lobby" the senators just before the vote... hanging about in the basement of the office buildings, you'll come upon the nexus between them all... where they often pass... this appears to be one of the surest places to stumble upon them... unless you're a registered lobbyist...

knackered, i took up residence in the senate viewing lobby... and listened to dominici (from NM, part of the gonzalez brouhaha) throw out some sad info on environmental changes... clean coal!... 150 new plants in the works... new nuclear!... 30 new plants on the way... maiz ethanol (largely discredited as a sustainable alternative to petrol)... to his credit, he did yammer a bit on celulosic ethanol, good for him...

then the senate began their debate about debating and voting on the gonazlez no confidence doodad... schumer, whitehouse and someone else gave elucidated the subject clearly ... lott and two other shit slinging humanoids tried to deride the attempt as a strictly political ploy... schumer's rebuttal had a lovely bit, excoriating them for lame attempt to confuse the issue...

the democarats claim this is about his mistakes, blunders and political machinations... that to judge him without political regard he's not only under performed, but irrevocably damaged the department whose lead was in his charge... as a result of all of this, it's the congress' job to express the will of the people and their conscience, because gonzalez won't step down and the president won't replace him...

the repulicans are cried political ploys... that the cabinet, once approved by the senate, is the president's to do with as he pleases... and the senate must have more pressing issues to tend to...

they needed 60 yea's... they got 53... it was non-binding anyway... purely a symbolic manuver... but i would have been pleased as punch to see them debate the issue... and vote no confidence...

bugger

The Power of Pink!

2007-06-07T06:38:00.000-07:00

by Kit Kimberly

The day at the Pink House begins, as always, in a flurry of activity. Liz, Medea, Desiree, Ena, and visitors Anne and Barbara head off to congress for hearings; Eileen is here adjusting the wireless and connecting the downstairs computers to an Ethernet (because the pipes block their access to the wireless internet).

I am blogging frantically from the night before, and trying to catch up with media and training tasks that I agreed to do, when Liz bounces back into the house and says, “C’mon, we’re off to justice.” We catch a cab—Mustapha, the driver, is a Pink friend and he and Liz have a detailed discussion about the Iraqi oil laws—to 9th and Constitution, where we will maintain a lunchtime vigil today and until Gonzales either resigns or is fired. There’s a concrete platform on the corner, and David Barrow—dressed in an orange jumpsuit with a black hood over his head—kneels in handcuffs while Desiree and I stand behind him with a pink banner: “Women Against Torture.” Passers-by stopped at red lights often ask what it symbolizes; “The US government is torturing people at Guantanamo Bay,” we tell them. Most nod and look sober, then give us the thumbs up or a peace sign; a few turn red-faced with indignation, yell something about traitors, and give us the “one-fingered salute.” I am particularly amused by the man in the black luxury car, sealed up in his air-con, expensive black suit, who drives by with his middle finger raised serenely. What a pathetic, empty gesture, I think. It’s that kind of insularity that has created all the problems in this country.

Next to us on the sidewalk is an open sewer vent where men are working; it sends hot steam into the air, which blows our way, adding to the already considerable midday heat. David is still as a stone (from artist model training, he says) but Desiree and I move around uncomfortably, trying to escape the heat. Two guys in uniforms come and close the vent—we strike up a conversation. They ask what we’re doing, we tell them. One asks a lot of questions; the other nods—he knows already. I say, “Whew, that was hot—thanks for closing that.”

“Yeah, we saw that you were getting really hot, so I called my boss and he said we could close it,” he tells me. I had no idea he was closing the vent for our benefit, and am suddenly, tearfully grateful. There is solidarity in the most unexpected places. Liz, who is walking around with the bullhorn calling, “Resign, resign, resign, Mr. Attorney General,” catches the worker as he pulls down the yellow caution tape. “Can we have that?” she asks with her characteristic chutzpah. “It could come in handy.” He grins knowingly at her and, shaking his head in amusement, hands it over.

The weather today is perfect, the air perfumed with heady late spring. Back home for a couple of hours—after a late night and an early rising (impossible to sleep in around here)— I’m groggy as I try to finish a blog, and slide into a nap in the well-fanned air of my 2nd floor bedroom. Liz (again) wakens me with a shout and demand, “We’re going, we’re out of here, we’re gonna have fun, fun, fun!” and I’m up, pushing my hair into a clasp, pulling shoes on—“Are we walking? What shoes do I need?” I ask as I stumble downstairs half awake. Medea is petite and elegant in a flowing blouse, but Liz and Barbara have on jeans so I reckon my pink sweatshirt is acceptable. I’m still yawning (it’s 5 pm; I must’ve slept for awhile) as we race-walk down 5th Street toward Union Station. “Where’re we going?” I ask again. To a reception for Nancy Pelosi’s 20th anniversary in congress. WHAT? I’m not DRESSED, I think. Ah well.

We get there and the reception area is being closed off and wait staff carry chairs from all directions. Barbara (using the harmless, white-haired granny disguise—little do they know, ha ha!) asks what’s going on and when it’s going to start. We find out that it will be a couple of hours before anything significant happens, so we decide to join Desiree and others at the Hilary Clinton event in Central Lot. The (current) leading contender for President of the United States is speaking in a parking lot? Not only that, sharing the bill with her is an American Idol finalist—not even the winner, mind you. I sigh in disgust. This is how the US people choose their elected representatives—just like they choose a TV-created celebrity. What a sad, sad state of affairs.

To add insult to injury, we arrive to find Des and a local Pinkler, Brenda, on the sidewalk outside the blocked off event. “They saw the pink and wouldn’t let us in,” Des tells us, and describes the nearly foaming-at-the-mouth rant the “I support Hill” campaign went into at the sight of her. “I recognize you,” the site manager had accused. “Are you here to sing more songs?” he asked in a nasty tone. And Code Pink was banned, just like that. It was a ticketed event, and we all had tickets—hmm, remind you of any other presidential campaign events? Like, oh, I don’t know, the REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION and debates of 2004? HELLO! When Hillary Clinton begins using the same tactics to shut down dissent and free speech as the law-breakers and war-criminals currently occupying the White House, things have come to a pretty pass. I recall the old adage, “Those who use the tools of the oppressors become themselves the oppressors,” and realize that, Democrat, woman or not, Ms. Rodham the feminist justice advocate has morphed into MRS. CLINTON, the powermonger.

It makes me sad to think that I cannot support the first woman candidate for president who has any serious chance of getting the nomination. As far as her ability to win, well, I think she is the Republican party’s wet-dream (in a totally non-sexual context, of course). They can stir up so much shit about Hillary—plus play on the not-by-a-long-shot dead white male fear of powerful women. Completely apart from my disgust at her lack of integrity and support for the war (and notable refusal to say she was wrong), she has such a tarnished, dirty past … well, it’s not like almost any national candidate doesn’t, and I don’t believe personal history should play into electability … but if the Bush administration falls because of corruption, lies and lack of rule of law, I really can’t see that Mrs. Clinton is much of a step up.

Somewhat perversely pleased at having so much power the Clinton campaign is afraid of us, we return to Union Station for Nancy Pelosi’s party and find it in full swing. As members of congress that we know—and some we don’t—head for the red carpet, we approach them. This is Democrat territory, so most greet us with warmth and sincere (sounding, anyway) thanks for our work. I feel horribly underdressed in my ratty sweatshirt covered in Code Pink buttons—although I’m proud of the 3497 armband (the number of US dead in Iraq through today) as the well-dressed representatives, aides and lobbyists shake our hands; but there are no snide remarks or even disapproving glances. They seem genuinely impressed with our presence. Again, I am amazed at the apparent power of a few women dressed in pink. Medea has removed her elegant blouse and replaced it with a short “Troops Home Now” t-shirt, which she clearly wears with pride. Desiree tells the attendees, “Enjoy the reception,” but to us says, “yes, while our troops subsist on single rations a day and tainted water.” Yet these are the halls of power where we must make friends and allies—and it’s clear that we have them.

Planned Parenthood President Cecile Richards (resplendent in a nubby-fabricked, pearl-buttoned pink suit—we all need one of those!) and lobbyists from transport and environmental groups seek us out to chat. Most humbling for me is the group of California representatives—Barbara Lee, Maxine Waters and Lynn Woolsey—who are smiling and welcoming and fun and glad to see us. So many people thank us for what we’re doing, it’s a bit overwhelming. By eight o’clock, the wait staff (there must be 100 of them, snaking across the marble foyer in a never-ending stream) are carrying out the dinner plates, and Barbara and I decide to go home for dinner. We leave Medea, Desiree and Liz, energized to the max—this is their element—and schmoozing til the end. Back at the Pink House, my head is full of stories and experience, and I hurry to write it all down. It is impossible to capture, however, this infusion of faith and optimism brought on by the Power of Pink.

New York CODEPINK and Grannies Visit Nancy Pelosi

2007-04-16T21:18:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning we met at the Chinatown bus in a driving rain. We dozed all the way to DC while the driver chatted away in Chinese on his cell phone. After a metro ride and a short walk, we were welcomed warmly by Desiree and Liz at the CodePink house. One look at the schedule for Monday and we knew we had our peace work cut out for us. After Desiree fed us a lovely late luncheon we went down to the basement and began painting banners, t-shirts and sashes. Everybody worked so well together that the chore wasn’t a chore for very long – it became fun. While painting with Medea, Gael and Sonia, we practiced and composed songs for the Monday morning march to Pelosi’s office. Meanwhile Joan died a bale of t-shirts pink and hemmed a couple of banners. After Desiree’s delicious vegan dinner our musical abilities seemed enhanced. We reviewed plans for Monday’s breakfast press conference and the visit to Nancy Pelosi’s office. The D.C. based CodePink women whipped out their cell phone and began make reminder phone calls to area peaceniks. The three of us hit the hay while those that don’t need sleep kept working.

Monday morning the MSNBC crew arrived for breakfast and taped our rehearsal and preparation for the day’s actions. In pink apparel and with our voices raised in song we marched to the Cannon office building. As per our plan we settled in to Nancy Pelosi’s office. We offered the staff coffee and began decorating her walls with banners and pictures of soldiers who had died in the war. We were permitted to stay in the office and read the names of the 300 U.S. soldiers killed in Iraq since 110th Congress was sworn in. Suddenly someone from the House Rules Committee showed up and cited the rule that press was not permitted in Congressional offices. Some of the people with us left the room with the press to affirm the constitutional right of freedom of speech. Voices were raised and one person was arrested in the hallway. Eventually Speaker Pelosi’s Chief of Staff Terri McCullough did join us in the outer office for a stand-up meeting. There is much to be learned about political activism and we are taking a hands-on course.

Next the three of us hung pictures of our grandchildren from our necks and proceeded to go to the office of each of the nine members of Congress who voted no on the supplemental because they wanted to de-fund the war and bring our troops home fast. It was a pleasure to lobby with a thank you note for their vote. We realized how good a staffer feels when they work for someone with courage and character. When we asked how we could be more effective we were told that hand written letters mailed to local offices had more weight than emails or typed letters. Everywhere we went we asked that our troops be brought home, health care and education should be funded, and that funds should be allocated for the restoration of Iraq. And of course we also called for impeachment proceedings against our spectacularly incompetent president.

Later we regrouped and reviewed the day and headed to the restaurant Busboys and Poets to hear Congressman John Lewis speak. It was emancipation day and Congressman Lewis spoke about his early work in the voter rights movement. The District of Columbia still has no representation in Congress. Congressman Lewis noted that not enough of us in our country today are aware that change happens when you get in the way. And we felt inspired to keep on getting in the way!

Bev, Caroline and Eva-Lee, CODEPINK NY and Granny Peace Brigade