Displaced

Those of you who know me very well are quite familiar with my nasty habit of procrastination mixed with spontaneity. That said, you won't find it too surprising that when Dan and I watched Invisible Children last Friday night, we both decided that we wanted to take part in the large-scale war-protest-type-thing happening the next day, called Displace Me. After less than 24 hrs of planning (including buying lots of Saltines / painting red "x"s on various white t-shirts / signing forms / scavenging for cardboard, etc), we were on the road to our nation's capital, along with my brother, Paul, with my Dad driving.



(Exciting!)

The first thing I noticed when we arrived was how friendly the people were. The volunteers were way chill, and seemed psyched that they were there and psyched that we were there also. Dan had an identity confusion near the entrance (ask him!). We had arrived late according to the schedule, but there were lots of people coming late, so that was no prob. On the White House side of the Washington Monument, there was this great sea of bizarre makeshift cardboard huts, which we waded through until we found an empty spot to construct our own. We made a small tent-type thing, probably large enough to fit two people (though noone ended up sleeping in it anyway) which we decorated with various slogans such as "WAR SUX" and "ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE" (woo Beatles!), as well as two fabulous Dan-drawn portraits of Gandhi. That hut belonged in a museum.

While this was happening, there were cameramen filming the masses while they held various slogans. Dan and I hacked for a bit and we made some friends around our site. Dan and I started rockin' out to "You Are My Joy"— drew a bit of a crowd. Oh and be sure to ask Dan about his "free tacos" story.



There was this pretty rad speaker from Gulu, Uganda, who basically just thanked us for coming. For the next hour or so they showed a handful of testimonial videos from Uganda to coincide with activities that we would participate in. For example, in the Ugandan displacement camps only the men are allowed to harvest food, while only the women aged 18-22 can fetch water—and only for one man at a time (lots of trips). So we were to do the same. Men would stand in line to pick up three of the plastic Saltine packets each, hoping to trade a young lady for a water bottle. The interdependency was pretty sweet, and it was a cool way to meet new people. We also were to write our Senators and presidents, and call several of our friends to raise awareness.

Probably the most poignant moment of the night was the 21 minutes of silence. They showed a film about one boy of many with AIDS, who holds a strong ambition to train and become a doctor. We were asked to be silent for the next 21 minutes, one minute for every year in which Uganda has been in this war, in order to pray and to contemplate. The silence was complete and beautiful. There was power in it.

After this we were surprised to see a message from Laura Bush talking about how happy she is that we are doing this, which really made me question how effective this really is as a political tool. It was fun to make fun of her accent, though. :)



And then the drum circle. Crazy drumming. 100 crazy people dancing and chanting theirselves out. "No war in Uganda!" "Let this beat shake the White House!" and the ever-present "Pum pum pa-yay... shu shu mah-yah!" (uh, some type of African thing?) It went for hours.

It was about one in the morning when Dan and I made it back to camp with the guitar, and played "Stars." Within a few minutes, there were about six people gathered around, some singing, some listening. We played more Crowder, Jack Johnson, and some original stuff. Then we talked. Amazing talk. About politics and injustice and religion and spirituality. It was so, so refreshing and relieving to be outside the SDA culture. Eventually, one girl came by and asked us if we had any pot. We didn't, but invited her to sit and talk with us, and she did. In fact, she ended up staying with us all night. It was just such a beautiful conversation and experience. There was just this assumption in everything that we were all friends and all united. It made me want to join a group of hippies.


(check it out! it even has my name on it!)

We packed up and headed home in the morning, but I still wanted to stay, for this stuff to last. But even so, it felt really good to sleep in my bed again. I just feel bad for those we were representing who hadn't slept in a bed in at least ten years, probably never.