Protests offer remarkable opportunities to practice humility and to practice walking toward conflict. I have found that grace, solidarity, healing, tremendous grief, rage, and hope reliably manifest in these birthing moments of change.
It’s exciting to hear civil resistance and direct action being taught and practiced in so many places, by tens of thousands of people-a wonderful unintended consequence of the current administration.
As many of us are learning, attending a protest is just one of dozens of ways to resist. (Read Nonviolence News to get inspired every week!) Being arrested is another.
When considering whether to attend an event, we often weigh the costs, including time away from other commitments and the potential for being caught up in something unexpected or violent. As more people consider what it takes to preserve and improve the United States, I’m sharing a story about my own experience with being arrested.
I’m inspired to write this after talking with my friend Miki about risk-taking, especially as part of getting older, earlier today. I told her about participating in one of the anti-fracking campaigns that took place in New York State, specifically a campaign to prevent fracking gas from being stored in salt caverns underneath one of the beautiful Finger Lakes of Western New York.
I was glad to put my white middle-aged self out there, knowing I am highly likely to be treated with more respect and care than black and brown citizens. Participating in certain kinds of direct action is another form of privilege. My cost for participation is likely to be a lot less.
Anyway, during the first protest my hands were cuffed in front of me. No problem. A few weeks later, at another action, standing by the side of a country road where we had been blocking the gate, the sheriff cuffed my wrists behind me. At the time, I had a shoulder injury, and that position was exceedingly uncomfortable. I stood by the side of the road silently freaking out at the prospect of being in that position for at least the next 2 to 3 hours while we were being transported and then booked in the nearby small town.
As I stood there (freaking out), my gaze settled on the stunningly beautiful Seneca Lake. I remembered my mother swam there eighty years ago as a girl. It is one of many in this beautiful part of the planet, made by glaciers 12,000 years ago. Lovely and scenic in every season, these lakes have been a presence all my life.
Suddenly, a peace came over me. To offer up this discomfort shifted what was happening to a moment of gratitude, to make another tiny rent payment for life in the most welcoming place in the galaxy. I breathed out the fear and did what I could to relax my distressed shoulder. As I was escorted to the police vehicle, I let the young officer know that my shoulder had been hurt and asked him if I could get in the car carefully. He agreed and buckled my seatbelt as if I were his own grandmother.
Showing humanity and care to people whose jobs are to enforce laws that protests disrupt is important. I know from friends who work in law enforcement that they are asked to do things they do not agree with. Creating connections with people inside these systems who can help to make change from within is yet another vehicle for transformation. Showering abuse or hostility on them strengthens what Marshall Rosenberg called ‘enemy images’ of one another, undermining the potential of future solidarity and reconciliation.
When I arrived at the station and saw the room packed with dozens of people who needed to be processed, fear flared. I backed into a corner to avoid having the shoulder jostled by the crowd, breathing, saying prayers, and reminding myself of our collective purpose for being there.
As acceptance grew, something amazing happened. The cuffs restraining my wrists came loose. I was able to get into a more comfortable position and stayed that way for the remaining hours. The experience reminded me of the opening lines of a Rumi poem, Zero Circle:
Be helpless, dumbfounded, unable to say yes or no; then a stretcher from grace will come and carry us up.
Protests offer remarkable opportunities to practice humility and to practice walking toward conflict. I have found that grace, solidarity, healing, tremendous grief, rage, and hope reliably manifest in these birthing moments of change.
See you out there and stay tuned! – Kit
