Tuesday, February 7, 2012

An Encounter with Protesters

(Continued from Saturday . . . )
My mother modeled respect with her response to everyone she met. Her attitude led me to become quietly active in working for social justice. Yet as an adult, I realized the bigotry deep within my psyche. That led to my teaching in the inner city and then to graduate school.
            A number of important Civil Rights events occurred during the years between when I left the convent in 1966 and the fall day in 1969 when I first walked onto the campus of the University of Minnesota.

·      Huey Newton and Bobby Seale organized the Black Panthers in Oakland, California.
·      The US Supreme Court declared unconstitutional the ban prohibiting interracial marriage.
·      Stokely Carmichael, who popularized the slogan “Black Power,” became leader of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee.
·      H. Rap Brown proclaimed, “Violence is American as apple pie.”
·      James Earl Ray assassinated Martin Luther King, Jr.
·      Race riots broke out in Newark, Chicago, Detroit, and other northern cities.


            The winter of 1969, I sat in many classrooms. In one I learned about William Labov and African American Vernacular English. In another I studied the dark works of Nathaniel Hawthorne. In still another I learned the woeful history of slavery in the United States. It was in that classroom that I first encountered protesters wielding guns.
            The professor had just finished his mesmerizing lecture on the rebellion led by Nat Turner in 1831. He’d detailed its results: between 100 and 200 black slaves and fifty-five to sixty-five white members of the militia and mobs left dead.
            Prior to dismissal, he shuffled his lecture notes. Just then, two students rose from their desks. Each held a gun. The man aimed his at the professor. The woman held hers steady while turning slowly in a circle and pointing it momentarily at each student in the classroom.
            “That’s what you did to us and here’s what we’re going to do to you,” the man shouted.
            Screaming, two women tried to lie down on the floor. Cursing, several men tried to stand but the guns were immediately trained on them. One man stumbled to his feet. Knocked over his desk and fell on the floor.


            I looked around at my fellow classmates—those now trembling, those holding guns. The man closed both doors to the hall. I felt there was no way to escape. The woman kept shouting, “Quiet!” as the rest of us sobbed.           
            At the time, I was almost thirty-four; my classmates were between eighteen and twenty-two years old. In their eyes I could see that this was for them, as it was for me, their first taste of violent protest.
            The two protesters began to shout. They didn’t like the university’s admissions policy. They wanted the United States out of Vietnam.
            Their words came staccato, like bullets from a machine gun: The war being fought mostly by the poor. The number of poor blacks in Vietnam. The number of poor whites. America’s way of getting rid of the problem of poverty. American’s way of getting rid of the problem of blacks. Kill off the young men. Send them to battle. The university not doing anything about this. Not protesting. The university welcoming white students who came to college to escape fighting and then belittled the returning poor from the rice paddies of Vietnam.           
            The words fell like acid rain upon the rest of us. In the hall, we could hear the students who’d been waiting for the next class to start. One opened the door. Saw the guns. Closed it quickly.
            The man rushed to a window and leaned out, watching intently. Time passed. The woman walked up and down the aisles pointing her gun at our heads and then aiming at the professor. He was encouraging them to keep him hostage but to let the rest of us go. Repeatedly, the woman shouted, “Keep quiet!”
            The time came when the man shouted, “They’re coming!”
            Then followed the entry of a policeman into the room, his hands raised. Placating words. Negotiations. An agreement for a meeting with the deans.
            The siege ended. The man and woman handed over their guns and were led away.


            I went back to my apartment and slept for twelve hours.
            Two days later, the class reconvened.
            I never saw the two protesters again. I do not know what happened to them or for them, but they opened my eyes to a new realization about the war in Vietnam. On Thursday I’ll begin to blog about my involvement in that protest.
                                                                   (Continued on Thursday . . . )           

First two photographs from Wikipedia.
Photo of empty classroom by criminalatt of freedigitalphotos.

41 comments:

  1. I have a dear friend who graduated with a degree in Liberal Arts from the U of M with a major in Political Science. We talk sometimes about those days and he has often said that real change only happens at the end of a gun. Looking on history, he appears to be right. I do hope we are changing this, but when you look at other countries it doesn't seem to be and it worries me. How will we effect change in the political direction of this country? I believe social media is changing the way we protest and it has had some effect, but will it be enough?

    I found myself with goosebumps while reading your account of this time and what happened to you and am so grateful that you are recounting it for us now. These stories still have inherent value in them for the lessons still to be learned. Thank you.

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    1. Dear Teresa,
      Yes, when we look at history your friend seems to be right. Wars; protests; revolutions; riots. It's too soon to know if protesting through social media will truly bring about change.

      I watched the Occupy Protest for several weeks. Has it disappeared? I've seen nothing recently, so it doesn't seemed to have gather the momentum that the Civil Rights Movement or the Vietnam protest achieved.

      Do we only pay attention when faced with violence? That says something rather sad about us I think.

      Peace.

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    2. It says something very sad about us. I'm a hopemonger. I believe in being the change we want to see. I also just now thought about how your presence in that classroom may well have effected a more positive outcome for all. That's how real change occurs.

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  2. Wow! How shocking and scary!
    I had no idea things like that happened at the UofM. I was a vagrant on the streets of Anoka that summer so I heard no radio or TV for a long time. Lots of kids and young adults on the streets--drinking, fighting, sex, heroin, cocaine, acid, all kinds of pill popping...but no guns.
    Wow! You had me on the edge of my seat on this one!

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    1. Dear Rita,
      I so hope that you will blog on your story blog about your youth. You mention things in your comments that intrigue me.

      Peace.

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  3. Gasp! That is incredible. I know about these things but never was in the middle of it, like you were. I hope those protestors with the guns found a better way to deal with conflict, but I guess I will never know. If they lived, that is... :-(

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    1. Dear DJan,
      No, we'll never know what happened to those two young people. They were no older than most of the students in that classroom. I, too, wonder if they are still alive. So many die young, their lives cut short.

      Peace.

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  4. I am amazed that you actually heard--& RETAINED--the words that they were saying as they waved a gun at you! I was in a mall once where a gang shooting was taking place. My husband & I sat quivering in our car in Spain while hundreds of students (whom I believe were unarmed) blocked the intersection & were rocking cars. While I will never forget these two occasions, I cannot say that I actually understood what was going on at the time. That way of thinking is so foreign to me.

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    1. Dear Fishducky,
      I remembered, I think, because time stopped and sound magnified. I hope someday you post a story about the two events you've mentioned here.

      I've thought of myself as a pacifist who could never be violent, but I think is someone hurt one of the cats, or if I were a mother and someone threatened my child, I could claw that person's eyes out!

      Peace.

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  5. Fascinating.

    Youth is meant to protest and do something about injustice.

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    1. Dear Friko,
      I agree. Youth is a a time to protest injustice.

      Peace.

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  6. I too have found this post very absorbing to read.
    Yvonne.

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    1. Dear Yvonne,
      I'm so pleased that you liked reading this posting. We're never sure, are we about what our readers will respond to?

      Peace.

      Delete
  7. Another very interesting and thought-provoking post, Dee. From this side of the Atlantic, the almost casual reference to the use of guns is particularly striking. There were a lot student protests in the UK and Europe in the late 1960s, but I never heard of guns being used or even seen.

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    1. Dear Perpetua,
      Your comment made me aware of just how causal my mention of a gun was. I think we've just gotten just to people having them here. I'm strongly in favor of gun control, but the gun-control lobby is strong.

      Peace.

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  8. WOW! I can't imagine what that must have been like! I would have been terrified.

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    1. Dear Elisa,
      I was terrified, but I was also totally absorbed in watching those two student. Their faces, their mouths, their eyes. They were caught up in their protest and I saw that. I've always been an observer and those two really got me thinking.

      Peace.

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  9. There are less & less people who say: Keep me & let them go... I've found many feel sort of the other way.

    Fascinating story.

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    1. Dear Mary,
      It's sad, but you are probably right that fewer and fewer of us are willing to step up and take the place of someone in need.

      Peace.

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  10. That's fascinating and frightening, Dee. In spite of the many terrible historical events of the 60s and 70s, I am grateful I grew up during that time period. I was so aware of the fight for Civil Rights and protests against the war. It taught me a great deal about how to treat people.

    Love,
    Janie

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    1. Dear Janie,
      Yes, that's just what the Civil Rights movement and the Vietnam protests did for me also. Helped me become more deeply aware of the respect we owe one another.

      I hope to visit your blog today. I've gotten behind.

      Peace.

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  11. How frightening, Dee. And such was the reality at the time.
    People take such dark routes sometimes - even if in the name of right vs wrong.

    Patricia

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    1. Dear Patricia,
      Thank you for stopping by to visit and leave a comment. That was the reality of the time. I so hope those two young people live a contented life now. Perhaps, though, that's asking too much for there is still so much to protest.

      Peace.

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  12. Oh Dee: This is just so alien to me. Very few households here in Australia have guns amd their use in protests is extremely rare. It must have been such a frightening time for you - I suspect your 12 hours sleep was a reaction to the shock you had undergone.
    I hope those two students went on to proper in their lives. I really hope so.
    Thank you so much for another fascinating post.

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    1. Dear EC,
      I'm glad it's "alien" to you. There are so many guns here in the United States. I find myself afraid sometimes when I'm driving that I will annoy another driver who will burst into "road rage," pull out a gun, and shot me. I'm not afraid of much, but that fear does hover at the back of my mind.

      Peace.

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  13. What an experience, Dee! Through the South African Apartheid years there was much violent protesting here, but I was never directly affected.

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    1. Dear Des,
      As with EC above, I'm glad you weren't directly affected. It was scary and yet it also taught me new things. I'm always grateful when out of an experience that is apparently negative, I can learn something that helps me lives my life in a more grace-filled way.

      Peace.

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  14. Wow! I didn't see that coming, Dee. How incredibly frightening. Those were indeed turbulent times, but we weren't all exposed to exactly the same set of lessons and experiences. I was still in high school when MLK was murdered, and there were so many things going on in those years that it really wasn't until a bit "later" that I fully comprehended all that history had recorded. At the age I was, we students more or less reacted, but didn't always understand the context. It's interesting, but even now, each time I'm exposed to another person's individual experiences, I learn a little more. And you are continuing on in the role of that teacher. I'm very eager to read your Vietnam protest experiences. That is a very vivid era! Blessings, Debra

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    1. Dear Debra,
      Please see what I wrote to Desiree in the response above. It was frightening, but I learned from it. And that's what's important to me. I'm glad that you see me as still teaching. I so love to teach but the time came when I tired so easily that being in the classroom took too much out of me. Trying to walk in the shoes of each of your students and hear the word they don't say and feel what they are feeling is exhausting. Worthwhile, but exhausting.

      Peace.

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  15. You've taken my breath away with that account! I, too, wonder what happened to those two angry students. 1969 was a period of recuperation for me after a near breakdown due to the tensions of living in Washington, DC and the conflicts and emotions of that time. Now looking back so much of it all is a blur of conflicting emotions and moral indignation.

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    1. Dear Broad,
      I do so hope--as I said to Fishducky in my response to her comment--that you do some posting about those years. To be near a breakdown is serious. What helped you find your center again?

      Peace.

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  16. Thanks for coming to my blog. This is my first time on yours and I’ll come back to read more (now have to take my husband to the doctor.) What a story! We lived in San Francisco until 1970 so we walked on many protest marches. In 1969 we were in Amsterdam, Holland, and happened to be near a protest march. The police pushed us aside and my husband got a bit hurt and they broke his glasses, but I don’t recall any guns. I’ll be back to read the beginning parts of your post.

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    1. Dear Vagabonde,
      So glad that you stopped by. I've enjoyed your last two postings on knitting and pecans--divergent subjects that you made so interesting with text and photographs.

      Being in San Francisco until 1970 you would have walked on many protests. Were you there when the gay rights' protests began? They were so important. At some point in this series of posting I'm going to write about AIDs and my involvement in that.

      Peace.

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  17. wow. what a story. what a scene. can't wait to hear your tale unfold.
    agreed and liked your comment at jannie's place very much.

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    1. Dear Ed,
      So glad you stopped by. I'll visit your blog today or tomorrow to discover what you've been posting about.

      The story of my quiet activism began a few postings ago and will continue for a couple of weeks. I never landed in jail, I just tried to quietly speak up for what I believed with regard to social justice.

      Peace.

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  18. What a frightening thing to be witness to and held hostage. I did my share of marching for peace, in particular on October 18, 1969. There were no guns, just candles. I was in college for the first time, however, the protests held in our town were peaceful.

    I'm looking forward to the rest of the story.

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    1. Dear Sandi,
      I'd love to learn more about your peaceful protests while in college. I'm so eager to know what other people were doing then as I was stumbling through post-convent life!

      Peace.

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  19. I recognize the power that a gun seems to have. I remember well being held in fear because of one (Posts of Dec. 20, 2010, part 4). What is sad is we have taught that weapons are powerful tools and can get us what we want.
    For centuries this has been an accepted way to settle disputes.
    That will not change unless we set up new values and new ways to resolve issues and we seem more willing to hold on to those old ways. Billions use guns on gaming sites so how will we ever change?

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    1. Hello, I need to go to your Dec. 20, 2010, post today to learn about when you were "held in fear." I so agree with you that we need to set up new values and new ways to resolve issues. We need to let go of the old ways that simply don't work and have never worked.

      Peace.

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  20. Wow. You have led such an amazing life, Dee, and to think that it was your open heart that led you to it. What a treasure you are!

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    1. Dear Kari,
      I'm so pleased with your thinking I have an "open heart" that I can almost feel myself blushing. I was blessed with a mother who encouraged being open to all possibilities. Thank you for your kindness.

      Peace.

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