The Observer, December 7, 2007
Volume XL, Issue 13
First Person: Protesting the School of the Americas
I would consider myself a hippie to some extent. I hug the occasional tree, have pet rats I saved from a lab so they wouldn't be euthanized, and I'm a pacifist, but the people at this protest were way more hardcore than I am. I love cows too, I just prefer mine cooked to medium rare with a side of mashed potatoes, and I'm all for spiritual exploration, but I do mine without the aid of narcotics.
Our differences aside, the other protesters and I were all united under one common goal: shutting down the School of the Americas.
The SOA is a U.S. Department of Defense facility in Columbus, Ga. where Latin American soldiers are trained in counterinsurgency techniques, sniping, psychological warfare, and interrogation tactics, to name a few. Its graduates are responsible for some of the worst human rights violations to date, including torture, rape, assassination, and massacre.
Before this summer, I had never even heard of School of the Americas. I was taking Spanish 370, Human Rights in Latin America. I walked out of the classroom those three- days-a-week dumbstruck by the atrocities still going on in the world and feeling so lucky to live in a country where I can state my opinion without worrying about me or my family being kidnapped, tortured, raped, and killed.
That is what this protest was about: being the voice for those who have none, whether it be because of fear, repression, or death.
It would be different if these things happened hundreds of years ago and we could ignore them, blaming our forefathers, but this is a problem our generation is still dealing with. Archbishop Oscar Romero was assassinated in 1980, and the official UN report confirms that two of his assassins were from the SOA. On Dec. 2, 1980, SOA graduates beat, raped, and murdered four American nuns in San Salvador. One, Dorothy Kazel, was an Ursuline nun and Cleveland native.
As soon as I heard about the vigil, I knew I had to find a way to get there. Case didn't have a group going, so I contacted the InterReligious Task Force in Cleveland and reserved my spot on the bus along with groups from Walsh, Wooster, and Ursuline. I met so many amazing and driven people on the bus ride alone. It was refreshing knowing that there were people out there committed to making a difference.
Friday was a rally at the gates, with tables lining the side of the road for an entire block,, for organizations like Veterans for Peace, 1000 Grandmothers, Vegan Action, Mission for Peace, even tables dedicated to legalizing marijuana and impeaching Cheney and Bush.
After hours walking from table to table, absorbing as much information as possible, it was to the hotel for bed. You'd think after a night on a Greyhound, any bed would do; try a $40-a-night hotel, sharing a room with three people you just met, pretty sure the room was used as the set of a cheap 90s horror film. I slept less than six hours over the two nights, but it didn't matter; I was too excited to sleep anyway.
Sunday was, without a doubt, one of the most fulfilling days of my life. The day started out with inspirational speakers – Dennis Kucinich was one of my favorites, along with some of the torture survivors and family members of "disappeareds" who spoke. Then came the march to the gates, a commemoration of those who died in the El Mozote massacre in El Salvador. It was led by a funeral procession, then different groups with banners. The rest of the protestors followed, carrying white crosses. People on stage sang the names and ages of the almost 900 men, women, and children who were massacred, and the crowd responded with "Presente" as we raised our crosses to the sky.
When we reached the gates, we placed whatever cross, sign, or flowers we were carrying in the barbed wire. That was the most moving part of the whole experience – passing everyone, eyes filled with tears, seeing grandmothers cringe as the announcers read off the death of mothers with their unborn children still in their wombs, and placing the cross that symbolized their life, their pain, in the gates.
It was an honor, being the voice for those who died at the hands of SOA graduates, and the experience was by far one of the most educational ones I've had thus far. I learned so much; how to fight exploitation by avoiding corporations like Wal-Mart and Burger King and how to make dreadlocks the natural way, but, most importantly, that there are people fighting for what is right. It's ironic, really, that at the gates of something so malicious and destructive, my faith in humanity was restored.
