by Anne Drissel
The invitation was simple: “Meet me this afternoon at The Peace March encampment to do a Peace Ceremony.” I had met this mysterious Native American weeks before assisting at a Mass officiated by the soon-to-be defrocked priest, Matthew Fox. He told me the group was going to march across America “for peace” but they are “not very peaceful yet.” Hundreds of activists participated in the “clearing ceremony” we conducted. Afterwards I knew I too was supposed to join this group – late but still in time.
The group was officially named “The Great Peace March for Global Nuclear Disarmament.” The founding vision was for a massive caravan of people, walking across America, awakening people to the increasing threat of nuclear war. Participants were activists of all kinds: doctors, lawyers, teachers, gardeners, students, journalists, families.
Why me? I wasn’t an activist and I was very late joining the group. I had missed their peace training. There were no more sturdy blue, green and yellow tents left so I set up my own little red tent at the fringe of the camp. An outlier. An imposter. I stood at the back of the food lines.
Disaster hit as we camped in the desert outside LA. The Organizers arrived in a helicopter to announce that the March was bankrupt. Participants were told to go home. Most found ways to leave. But 400 stayed. “We will organize our own March!” We did. Yoko Ono donated $25,000 to help. Churches gave money and food. Kitchen trucks and storage trailers, porta potties and tents were salvaged.
I belonged now. My gifts: years of public service. I knew how to organize. Native American friends had taught me about how “truth” lies at the center of the Wisdom Circle. We dealt with conflict and made decisions in Circles.
My car became a shuttle vehicle. I bought an old bus and outfitted it as “the CIA bus” – birthing the Community Interaction Agency as a center for organizing, structuring, setting goals, strategizing methods to achieve solutions, and serving as a mobile “office”.
I left the March in Chicago. I sold the CIA bus to a member whom some had identified as likely an embedded FBI agent. I thought I could make a more fruitful effort walking the halls of Congress to get attention to the “Peace” message. Instead, I found myself hired to restore a Texas psychiatric hospital and community mental health center where family members of key staff worked in the Pantex Nuclear Weapons Plant. I was there when the plant switched from manufacturing nuclear weapons to dis-assembling them.
A small contingent of walkers made it all the way to Washington. Some continued to carry the message to Europe and into the Soviet Union. Others wrote books or established an online presence to carry the message. Today, as global conflicts and authoritarian voices spread hatred and fear across the world, nuclear risk has arisen again. Women must figure out how they are “Called to the March.”
Anne Drissel is a writer, artist, musician, mother of four, grandmother to five, partner to one. Her callings have included 20 years in healthcare administration and 20 years in IT. What’s next?!