My humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together.
- Desmond Tutu
This week marks the 20th anniversary of our illegal invasion of Iraq. I cannot speak of the Iraqi experience or the military experience. And I will not (however tempting) rage about the corporate media or the Bush administration.
What I want to reflect on are the marches and candlelight vigils held around the world in the days and weeks leading up to the invasion. Millions and millions of us gathered in the streets to say NO. Americans pleaded, “Not in our name.”
On one particular day, February 15th, 2003, the largest worldwide protest in human history was held. It’s astonishing to think that this could happen without the tools of Twitter and Facebook. (Personally, I remember seeing flyers stapled to telephone poles. I remember it being announced at my karate dojo and food coop. I remember friends telling friends about where and when to gather.) The word spread within countries and communities and we, millions of us, got out into the streets.
It was an uprising of humanity, for humanity, on behalf of humanity. And yet, the Powers That Be did not listen, did not care. They wanted the war, and nothing could stop them from getting what they wanted.
The 20th anniversary of the invasion has hit me hard and I’m trying to figure out exactly why. Sure, there are plenty of reasons to grieve (an astronomical amount of reasons, in fact). But there’s something about this collective voice being ignored that particularly pierces my heart.
The unelected President supposedly claimed that God told him to invade, that he’d been “praying for strength to do the Lord's will.” Conveniently, God’s will was very similar to his own will, very similar to the will of his co-conspirators. (Or maybe God was getting some sort of kickback from the military industrial complex that I don’t know about.)
Here’s a question I wanted to ask our so-called leader 20 years ago:
How can the heartfelt pleas of millions & millions of human beings across the planet not be the voice of God?
In the past twenty years, there have been more marches of epic proportions. Occupy Wall Street, Black Lives Matter, Standing Rock, the Women’s March, the largest worldwide climate protest in history, marches for gun regulation, marches for healthcare, marches for abortion rights, marches for labor rights, marches for LGBTQ+ rights. I could go on and on.
We the People are in the streets. Together. Of humanity, for humanity, on behalf of humanity. As I said in my “clues in the overwhelm” piece, “Not everyone is an activist or need define themselves in that way. But we are all citizens of the world.”
I was in lower Manhattan on the morning of September 11th, 2001. Several people over the years have asked me about my personal recollections of that day. One thing I always mention is that, on the long walk back to my Brooklyn apartment, I felt incredibly safe. Even though the streets were jammed with people. Even though we were all traumatized and in shock. Even though I got lost and had no map. Even though a strange cloud of smoke dominated the blue sky… I felt incredibly safe because I was in a sea of humanity. Strangers were embracing one another. Families who lived near the bridges were handing out water to those of us on foot. The question “Are you okay?” was being asked again and again throughout the city.
Perhaps these tears of mine are not only from the grief of the ignored collective voice, perhaps these tears are also in admiration of that collective voice. I mean, even when that beautiful collective heart is willfully dismissed, I’m so damn glad to know that it’s there and beating strong.
As a way to honor the 20th anniversary of those worldwide marches and vigils, may we all tune in to that collective heart. May we all be ready the next time she calls us, together, into the streets. May we all keep asking, “Are you okay?”
Peace.
** for paid subscribers, the audio of this piece is available here **
A beautiful, moving post. I also remember the people standing all over the world, even in small towns, holding candles, praying for peace...not being heard by the powers that were. Your questions are my questions. Let's keep asking them. Let's keep opening our collective hearts.
praying and crying....thank you.