Leafleting at a counter-military-recruitment protest in Brooklyn, NY, March 10, 2007. Photo: © Diane Greene Lent

I vigil for peace, never knowing the impact I have on passersby or anticipating the effect they may have on me. I am a veteran of Operation Desert Fox (the US bombing of Iraq in 1998)*, a divinity student, and the father of a two-year-old daughter. In the nearly five years I have been vigiling I have seen the ratio of one-finger waves go down dramatically, replaced by two-finger peace signs.

On the weekend before Martin Luther King Day in 2007, I brought our Veterans for Peace banner to our weekly Saturday vigil in Greenfield, MA. Because the banner is too big to hold alone, I asked my friend Ted to help. We discussed Reverend King's tactics. As a pacifist, I see the world differently than those who believe peace can be achieved by force. As we talked, a Marine private in uniform, clearly home on recruiting duty, walked by our vigil. I blurted out a "Hello" to him. Ted aggressively yelled in his face, "Don't recruit anyone today!" The private replied defensively, "Thanks for supporting me."

Disturbed, I told Ted, "Listen, when you hold a Veterans for Peace banner you represent VFP. It is not okay to yell at active duty members while holding our banner." It is difficult for civilians to understand that once one has worn the uniform you always remember how it feels. In a sense veterans never take it off.

As a former GI, it is not possible for me to be against the troops. Ted apologized and told me a story of being a hippie riding a bus in 1968. Four service members threatened to kill him on that ride. He was petrified the entire trip, and thankful when they got off at the stop before he did.

Later, I was surprised to see the same Marine walking back past us. He must be a brave young man. Before I could think, my feet chased after him. In the tone a sergeant would use, I said, "Hey private, can I walk with you?" and fell into step beside him. Pointing to the logo on my ball cap, I said I was a Persian Gulf veteran and a member of Veterans for Peace. I told him, "I don't want you to be angry at the peace movement. That guy has other issues that have nothing to do with you." He eased his posture as he looked at my hat and said his name was Chris and he was just home from boot camp and doing recruiting work to save leave time. I had done this, too.

A block up the street, at the Veterans Memorial, we stopped to talk. Chris said, "Those people don't understand why I joined the military. I didn't join to kill; I don't want to kill. I joined to serve, get a career, do something with my life. I needed to get out of this town. My friends are either working at McDonald's or in jail. There is nothing here for me. I want something different." I told him, "I thought the same things in 1991. That's why I joined."

I pointed to the Gettysburg Address on the Civil War Memorial and we read it silently together. I said, "It's the best stay the course speech ever written. It identifies with the victims of the war and says don't let them be sacrificed in vain." I looked at Chris and said, "Do we owe our allegiance to those who have already died, like those named here, who we can't do anything for? Or," pointing at Chris, "do we owe our allegiance to those who are still alive, like you?" I continued, "People die in war. I know what it is like to kill people, and it's not something you ever get over. You can learn to live with it, but you can't ever get over it. When you see war, after ten minutes you'll realize it's horrible. There's nothing manly about war. Being a man is about being emotionally connected."

After a moment, Chris replied, "You know all this because you served. You did it, why shouldn't I?" I responded, "I wish I could go back and change what I did. I can't, but I can talk to folks like you."

After a pause I said, "Look, as a Marine you will be going over in four-month rotations. If you reconsider on your second, third, fourth, or even your tenth time, we will be here to support you. You could call the GI Rights Hotline [4]. Veterans for Peace and this peace vigil will be here to support you." Chris nodded and said, "Thanks for talking with me, it'll give me something to think about when I'm over there." On parting I said, "Remember your humanity."

Our conversation lasted 15 minutes, but the impact on me was beyond measure. I wonder where Chris is, and how he is doing. Also, I wonder what might have happened if a veteran had said something like that to me. Ted has since told me that, upon reflection, he never again wants to treat soldiers as the enemy.

Being a member of the current peace movement and a veteran I feel that I am a bridge between war and peace. As human beings we need to work together beyond our differences for the good of all. I pray that we will find our way.

* the print version of this article incorrectly identified Operation Desert Fox as occurring during the first Gulf War, a mistake I entered into the article during the editing process. -- Sam Diener, Peacework Co-Editor