“I want you…,”part 1

By Skip Schiel, written June 15, 2005

“I want you to join the US Army.” Serve your country, great benefits, be all you can be, join “An Army of One.”

So went the plea yesterday, June 14, on the Cambridge Common when the Army held one of its so-called celebrations of its 230th birthday. But actually, an attempt to bolster recruiting. All branches of the military have failed to reach their recruitment goals, and this is consistent over the past several months. In addition, the military academies are experiencing sharply declining application rates, from about 15 to 30% drops. Perhaps a good time to apply for officer training.

Some date the founding of the US (imperial) Army to June 14, 1775, in time to evacuate the British authorities, and further, some say the Army began here, in Cambridge on the Common where many US troops were quartered awaiting Washington to assume command in July. A plaque in the rd commemorates him taking command.

For this event, the Army brought in the undersecretary of the Army, a parachute drill team, some Humvees, a field hospital, Iraq war vets, new National Guard recruits, and a range of displays showing weapons, uniforms, and other mementoes of earlier armies, back to the Civil War. A small staff of black women demonstrated, I believe, how they fed the Civil War soldiers. At the WW2 display, featuring a variety of automatic rifles, bazookas, mortars, etc, I was impressed, and remembered fondly my collection of WW2 ammunition that I'd proudly assembled and displayed when a boy of about 10, including my prize, a Civil War bayonet.

What I watched for mostly and photographed were the kids, the kids in Humvees, the kids wearing flak jackets, the kids looking at the rifles and hearing an explanation of a Civil War cannon. They were me. Besides the ammo collection I had amassed as a vulnerable tough guy wanting to prove myself, I sat in a tank near Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry, imagining myself running it, I walked thru old WW2 fighter planes stored for training purposes at the nearby Chicago Vocational School, I listened to my cousin Art regale our family with tales from his WW2 experience as an intelligence officer (did this mean interrogation, maybe even torture?—he promised me a Luger pistol that he'd taken from a dead German, but only after I reached mature age, which I guess I've not yet, since I don’t have the gun), and most profoundly I watched the entire Victory at Sea series in 1953, convinced my route was the  Navy, Chief Petty Officer, onboard a destroyer or cruiser. I came close, joining the Naval ROTC in college for 2 yrs before light illuminated me and I decided this was not my course in life.

All this swam thru my head, mostly subconsciously, as I scouted the grounds yesterday looking for more signs of how the military produces a show designed to convince young folks like I was to give their lives for the country, protect freedom, bring democracy and prosperity to the planet, and eliminate the enemy. 3 young recruits wearing Army T-shirts proclaimed a mystifying message: "An Army of One." This slogan was on literature, the recruiting truck, and elsewhere. What does it mean? Is this hyper individuality? The words and graphics show little of teamwork, and of course, nothing of wounded or dead soldiers, "ours" or "theirs," or civilian casualties or ruined homes.

Louise had phoned me that morning with the alert, so I made a point of walking thru early as folks were setting up, and ending my private student lesson early enough to reach the Common as crowds were assembling. This crowd included a large group of the noble resistance, drawn from the ranks of the American Friends Service Committee, Boston Mobilization for Survival, and a group I learned about later, I think named Direct Action Boston. We believe and are willing to express with some risks that the war is wrong and illegal, wasteful, that it generates antipathy toward the US and thus we might anticipate more terrorism, less homeland security. The war—militarism—is costly, shrinking the police and fire squads, but  diminishing schools, bridges, roads, public transport, medical facilities, and other elements of a thriving civil society. I could not not be present, as the luminary Dan Berrigan said, bearing witness.

At one point early I heard one soldier say to another, looking across the street at the First Church of Cambridge, 11 Garden St, where the resistance was gathering, “there's more of them than of us.” Near the start time of 11 AM most of the seats were empty, except for some old folks, some pudgy men wearing Army T-shirts, and many school children, some in white shirts suggesting a charter school. I learned later from Louise that a friend, a father, discovering that his child's class was to be taken to this event, a "field trip," without having the parents sign the required permission form, brought his child home rather then allow her to be subjected to the massive propaganda the Army and National Guard had organized.

After exploring the displays and crowd I joined the protestors—or rather the advocates of bringing the troops home, of acting in a civil manner—soon to walk with a group of Veterans for Peace around the perimeter, noticing how warmly police greeted them. Male bonding is a powerful factor in fostering the war spirit: we serve, we risk our lives, we are here for a higher purpose, we guys. The vets are effective, and I am proud of them. Then the resistance started walking across the grounds, toward the speakers' platform. I ran up onto it for a good vantage point, and while photographing, tried to show crowd reaction (which was minimal) to this display of posters countering the recruitment drive, I noticed several of the leading police officers talking with Joe G. Earlier, Joe had informed me that there might be some civil disobedience, "stick around," he said, "for some good shots."

And I'm glad I did. For what happened next brings me to one of my most momentous days, one that I believe will reverberate in me for a long time, resetting my course, helping me see the wisdom (and possible folly) of allowing myself "to be carried where I do not wish to go."

I came in real close, to show the faces of those arguing that we now must move. Of course, this is the Cambridge Common—a Common, for the common good—and by antiquated law the Harvard president has the right to quarter his horse here and we have the right to assemble here. This nation has proclaimed free speech, dedicated to bringing freedom and democracy to struggling nations like Afghanistan and Iraq, but let's get real, to stand here in front of the crowd as they are addressed by the undersecretary of the Army is over the top. Can't allow that. You must leave, now!

Would they or wouldn't they move? Would I? Especially when told, move or be arrested. Joe asked that this message be carried down the line so people could choose. I chose to move, and began moving when suddenly the tactical police force (TPF, sometimes known as SWAT), all in black, wearing gloves, shoved us hard. We bunched up, not able to move ourselves as a group fast enough for the TPF. I thought: photograph, and tried. I thought: I'm moving, why are you pushing me?

I fell. Whether pushed directly by a TPF or simply falling as part of the forced helter skelter motion I do not know, but the guiding factor here was the TPF shoving. They didn't hit, they didn't draw guns, but in their well-trained and seemingly efficient way they did force movement. Were they wise?

They arrested me. Me, for what? Didn't move when told. I was moving, but was shoved to the ground.

One man bent my left arm up sharply, hurting me. Put your camera in your bag. I can't reach it with only one arm. Try releasing my arm and I'll put it away. Several cops conversed, should we or shouldn't we, when a woman I vaguely recognized offered to hold my camera. Thank you dear soul, now at least my camera is rescued and with it, the memory card.

They cuffed me, with sharply cutting flex cuffs. After about five minutes, I said, “I'm losing sensation in my hand, could you please loosen my cuffs?” I said this twice, to two different men. Neither responded, nothing more than cold looks.

I realized I'd been arrested with Joe Gerson of the AFSC and Jamie Bissonnet, also of AFSC. I told them both, “I'm honored to be arrested with you.” I noticed some of my comrades like Kevin and Mike Prokosh taking notes. Kevin said to me, “I'll be your witness, I saw everything.” I only hope someone was visually recording this, photos or video, and I regret not being myself the recording witness. I was instead the participating witness, bearing witness to the wrong headedness of this nation in fostering militarism, and the wrong headedness of my municipality (in the most visible and culpable form of Mayor Sullivan) in allowing the military to invade Cambridge.

They photographed us, put us in a paddy wagon, drove speedily thru the streets of Cambridge with siren blaring—easily my fastest trip thru this crowded city. Then the booking and the holding cells and the arraignment and joyfully meeting others arrested like Patrick, Mathew O, Caroline A, a young black woman, and maybe one other, all from Direct Action Boston. But this is for later. The booking, the arraignment, the continuance, the upcoming Cambridge City Council meeting and hearing, and the precious support of Louise and my wider community.

About the event, thru the lens of the National Guard:

http://www.ngb.army.mil/news/story.asp?id=1622