Lessons in June

Over this last week Congress convened hearings into the Jan 6 insurrection. Earlier, the House passed sweeping gun control legislation after riveting testimony by victims of violence. Most commentators agree that these actions, taken mostly by Democrats with a few notable, courageous Republican exceptions like Liz Cheney, will not amount to much. It is now commonplace to view the political landscape as intensely polarized, with little chance of moving people from rigid, ideological positions. Among the many tragedies of the overwhelming violence, grief, and isolation of these last few years is a growing cynicism and despair. Many of us are beginning to think that the possibilities of moving toward a more just, life sustaining culture is impossible.

It is in this context that I find myself thinking about June 12, 1982. On that day more than one million people marched in New York City for nuclear disarmament. It was the largest single march in the history of the country. The march is often credited as a turning point, pushing the United States toward disarmament treaties restricting the development of nuclear weapons and the proliferation of nuclear power.  It reflected decades of organizing, begun immediately after the US became the only nation to use atomic weapons. Women’s Strikes for Peace, marches, teach ins, local efforts to declare nuclear free zones, civil disobedience, peace camps, mothers marching against arms, articles, books, plays, comedy acts and dancers for disarmament were all part of a sustained long term effort to move the military cultural of death away from the possibility of nuclear holocaust. The success of these efforts made the  “nuclear option” taboo, until today. Increasing our efforts to mindlessly move military might into Ukraine is bringing us closer to catastrophe.

Yet, that wonderful day in 1982 reminds us of the possibilities of sustained political engagement to shift how we act as a people and to find our way toward more humane ways of living.  After the march, the National Organization for An American Revolution held a cultural event at Malcolm X Community College in Harlem. Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee emceed the event, introducing musicians and poets. Denise Levertov read from her newly published book Candles in Babylon. Sonia Sanchez had written a new poem immediately after the march and read it that evening. Here are her concluding words, reflecting the long struggles for justice, freedom and peace that offer our only hope of survival:

I have come to you because it is time

for us all to purge capitalism from

our dreams, to purge materialism

from our eyes, from the planet earth

to deliver the earth again into the hands

of the humanitarians;

I have come to you tonite not just for the stoppage

of nuclear proliferation, nuclear

plants, nuclear bombs, nuclear

waste, but to stop the proliferation

of nuclear minds, of nuclear generals

of nuclear presidents, of nuclear scientists,

who spread human and nuclear waste

over the world;

I come to you because the world needs to be

saved for the future generations who must

return the earth to peace, who will not

be startled by a man’s/woman’s skin color;

I come to you because the world needs sanity

now, needs men and women who will

not work to produce nuclear weapons,

who will give up their need for excess

wealth and learn how to share the

world’s resources, who will never

again as scientists invent again just

for the sake of inventing;

I come to you because we need to turn our

eyes to the beauty of this planet, to the

bright green laughter of trees, to the beautiful

human animals waiting to smile their unprostituted smiles;

I have come to you to talk about our inexperience

at living as human beings, thru death marches and cam

thru middle passages and slavery

and thundering countries raining hungry faces;

I am here to move against

leaving our shadows implanted on the

earth while our bodies disintegrate in

nuclear lightning;

I am here between the voices of our ancestors

and the noise of the planet,

between the surprise of death and life;

I am here because I shall not give the

earth up to non-dreamers and earth molesters;

I am here to say to you:

my body is full of veins

like the bombs waiting to burst

with blood.

we must learn to suckle life not

bombs and rhetoric

rising up in redwhiteandblue patriotism;

I am here. and my breath/our breaths

must thunder across this land

arousing new breaths. new life.

new people, who will live in peace

and honor.

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