I returned from D.C. on the 24th all fired up to end the war.  I wrote about it.  And then I ruminated for a week or so, before our local anti-war group finally had their next meeting.  I’m still fairly charged about ending things in Iraq.  Somehow.  Through the collective power of the millions of us who want our government to stop the war.

But the actual mechanics of going to the anti-war group.  Well – to be honest – they bring me down a little.  I’ll tell you what I mean, if you join me, after the flip.
There are a lot of little things that make going to meetings with real people a lot different than blogging.  I am comfortable at the computer.  Clean thoughts.  Sometimes even crisp thoughts.  Drifting out my fingertips, into some electronic format I couldn’t explain for the life of me.  And all your thoughts drifting back in, through pixels and diodes and what not.  A good exchange.  Erudite.

But in a roomful of 25 people – even 25 pacifists – it is hard to connect or agree on much of anything.  A whole lot of time is spent jockeying for the limited bandwith that is available in the little church room where the group meets.  There is only one channel.  And everyone wants to have their say.  So there is some struggle for the bullhorn, so to speak.

Then there are the other idiosyncracies.  There is the moment of silence at the beginning and end.  Started by a woman dinging on her little xylo-bell or something.  Weird.  Especially for a particularly non-spiritual agnostic.  I mean, I kind of stare around – because I refuse to bow my head in imagination – and there are 24 other people meditating or praying.  And I feel like the Family Guy or something, because I haven’t got a fucking clue.  So that creeps me out a little.

And I have to tell you this.  The meetings are open admission.  So it doesn’t matter who you are.  Undercover FBI Agent.  Freeper.  Everyone is welcome.  And there is this part of the program, right after the opening xylo-bell where everyone introduces themselves.  Last night, as the name parade went around the circle, a guy said, “Abstain.”  An older woman said, “I didn’t catch that name.”  And the guy said, “Abstain.  I’m not giving you my name.”  The guy looked just like a favorite bartender of my youth, at a rough joint in the bad part of my home town.  It could have been him, only I know that bartender is still serving drinks ninety miles away, as this guy is here, asking the group to call him, “Abstain.”

Well.  I can live with it.  All for peace on earth, right?

But it gets a little bit worse.  When we launch in and start talking about ideas, “Abstain” busts in at the first opportunity.

“I think a lot of people are unhappy with what our Government is doing,” a nice young woman is saying.

Before she is able to go on, “Abstain” interrupts with, “When you say ‘our Government‘ I’m not sure who you are talking about.  That word, ‘Government,’ is just some concept that people want us to believe.  So they can go ahead with their plans.  That’s just how they got away with bringing down the towers on 9/11.  There were no Saudis.  And there wasn’t no plane that flew into the Pentagon….”

My mind kind of cut out.  I stopped hearing.  I started formulating a response.  “I don’t want to debate the merits of whether or not our government was involved with 9/11, but I really think that message is counterproductive if we are talking about reaching out and making this a broad based movement,” I didn’t say.

Now I don’t want to turn this diary into that debate.  I am open minded.  I haven’t personally seen evidence that puts me anywhere in the ballpark of believing anything like the concept that “Abstain” was talking about.  Still, I don’t want to cut off his right to speak (or anyone else’s).  But I have to say, the idea just sounded bad, with him as the spokesperson at least.

I don’t think I was alone, as most others in the group were happy to politely ignore “Abstain’s” treatise on the root causes of 9/11.

I guess the lesson for me was that activism is really, really messy.  Almost as messy as the movie A History of Violence, if you can equate the goofy/quirky meeting stuff with the blood and gore in the movie.

Anyway.  The good news.  I finally figured out how to get on the agenda for the next meeting.  And I am thinking about urging the anti-war group to a whole new level of protest.  They are extremely non-violent, non-confrontational folks.  So I might be stretching it.  But I am hoping I might convince them to take some “in your face” action against any local company I can find that is commercially profiting from the war.  I mean the anti-war group has been around since before the War began, and they are scarcely known.  So I figure it is time to ramp up the conflict-quotient.  Nothing gets readers to a story like conflict, huh?  We’ll see I guess.  I just don’t feel like I can sit on my hands.  Not knowing there are Cindy Sheehans in this world.  Coming up on 2000 of them.  And all those Iraqi parents whose children have been killed or maimed.  How are they ever going to forgive us, if we don’t stop the madman.  Me.  You.  The lady with the xylo-bell.  And “Abstain,” too.