Anti-War Report from Outside the Bay Area. The anti-war movement goes beyond mainstream

Sonora, Ca. Sat February 15, 2003
The Anti-war movement goes beyond mainstream.

It became clear after the massive protests in cities everywhere on January 18th that the anti-war movement had gone mainstream. So, when my sister invited me to this small town in the Sierra Foothills for a protest on Saturday, I thought I’d go and see what is going on out in the hinterlands anti-war wise. A little background on Sonora: This is a town of about 4,000 people in the foothills south of Yosemite about 21/2 hours from San Francisco. A conservative, church going, and almost completely white town. Guns are big here, as are pick-ups and hunting. This is a town that largely votes republican and has not hosted a protest in recent memory.

I pulled into town around noon and parked in the fairgrounds. I saw several dozen people getting out of their Subaru wagons, pick-ups, old economy cars, all carrying signs, and excitedly, but nervously, walking across the highway to the park across the street. I joined them, and as we were walking across the street, one car drove by and a woman yelled, "We love America!" Another car drove by and a guy yelled, "go home, hippies are dead." Soon, I reached a park that was full of all types of people milling around. People with strollers, people with dogs, young people, old people, toddlers, teens, professional types, veterans in uniform, a few young ones with dreadlocks and piercings.
A speaker listed the rules of the protest:
If there are arrests, don’t resist, do not use foul language, drugs or alcohol, do not block the streets, treat the police and the counter protesters with respect, do not engage with them. It was then that I realized I wasn’t in San Francisco anymore. (Counter protesters!) It was exciting and a little scary. We marched. People were greeting old friends, smiling, singing, drumming, and walking quietly. We walked in an orderly fashion the few blocks to the square near the courthouse. There was one woman standing on the sidewalk counting people one by one. I was number 493. I looked behind me and there were at least as many people behind me as ahead. We reached the square and there were loudspeakers playing songs like, "What’s going on?" and "War is not the answer." People were congratulating each other on the incredible turnout. There were more people at the rally than at the march, so final estimates were about 1500. Incredible really, in an area with a total population, including outlying areas, of around 10,000.

Across the street, in front of the Korean War memorial, stood several of the "counter protesters." There were maybe 25-30 people in this group, mostly men. There were a lot of American flags flying. Some of the men were wearing camo, and others white t-shirts with American flags. One man stood in the bed of his pick-up with a sign that said,"honk if you support our president" And, honk they did, while giving us the thumbs down, but many people also flashed the peace sign to our side of the street. Two men held one big, black banner that proclaimed alarmingly, "kill them all, and let God sort it out". Another banner said "peace through victory." Another, "better there now than here later." The same two pick-ups drove by over and over throughout the whole rally festooned with American flags and covered with giant poster board signs decorated with beer cans that said "pop one open, let’s whup some ass!" Presumably they’re looking forward to another televised war. Too bad football season is over. Seems like a healthier outlet for those types of sentiments. The most disturbing happening was when four boys, around the age of ten, walked across the street shaking their fists at us and one of them looked straight into my eyes, and pounded himself on the chest and said. "War… I’m going, I’m going to war!"

The peace side was equally interesting. There were no naked people, no signs saying, "queers for peace," instead there were signs reading "pro life, pro peace", "Iraqi children deserve to live", "Who would Jesus bomb?" "This is a fuelish war", "don’t do it George, daddy will still love you." The speakers were just ordinary people. No Bonnie Rait, no Alice Walker, no Danny Glover here. The man who organized the march told of his impetus, which came rather recently: It was an article in the SF Chronicle about the epidemic of cancers among Iraqi children as a result of depleted uranium and chemicals that the United States used in the gulf war. He looked at his own young son, and finally realized he had to do something to stop this war. He began calling friends only three weeks ago never dreaming his efforts would affect so many. Another organizer was my sister’s high school age niece. The principal of her school told her that she could not announce the protest over the school loudspeaker because it would appear that the school was supporting her anti-war views. Her question to him was, "why then are people allowed to make church announcements over school loudspeakers?" She managed to get the word out to the community’s youth without the support of her school. After she spoke, she and a few of her friends lit small, white candles and walked carefully across the street to the counter protesters to present the candles to them. Nobody would take the candles, so they just stood there side by side, next to the flag waving men, as people quietly began leaving the square to go home.

Today, for the first time, I feel like we might be able to stop this war. It was moving and inspiring to be among people who live in a community with next to no divergent views, but who still somehow manage to filter through the mainstream media’s message of fear, paranoia and pro-American drivel to reach their own conclusions. And, to take it one step further by being courageous enough to endure the discomfort that comes from disagreeing violently with those who are your near and known neighbors. People who may be your clients, your minister, your kid’s teacher, or your boss. To connect with people and build a movement one person, one dog, one baby at a time. In a small town, you can’t hide in the congregation of the converted. You have no choice but to deal with people whom you might have no common ground politically and perhaps to suffer for it.