May 2004

Views expressed are those of the authors, not necessarily of the AFSC.

Reflections of a Con Con Peacekeeper

Lisa Graustein is a high school teacher who works extensively with Quaker youth and is a member of Beacon Hill Friends Meeting.

How do we confront a hate bred of fear and ignorance?

As a Quaker, a white woman, and a lesbian volunteering as a peacekeeper at the Massachusetts Constitutional Conventions ("Con Cons"), my tactic has been to stand in the face of the hate, smile lovingly at the person behind it, and simply hold it so others don't have to.

Using the spiritual discipline of separating the hate from the person while working to love the person is a political tactic that helps keep me effective as a peacekeeper, keeps me whole as a person, and creates hope.

Pausing to Breathe

Demonstrating for Same-Sex Marriage at the MA State House. March, 2004. Photo: © Ellen Shub

It is March, and the Senate and House are meeting to debate during the second Constitutional Convention sparked by the reaction to the Massachusetts Supreme Court's ruling that under the Massachusetts constitution, legal marriage can not be denied to same-sex couples. Legislators today are debating several proposed amendments to the constitution that would limit either the benefits or the name of marriage to mixed-sex couples only.

We're standing inside the State House, across from the room in which the debate is occurring. The political tactic of Mass Equality (www.massequality.org), the group under whose auspices I am volunteering, is to fill the hallway and sing "God Bless America," "America the Beautiful," and "The Star Spangled Banner" until the session votes or recesses. We started at 8:00 am - so this is a 16-hour day of singing songs many of us, for many reasons, don't usually sing. One man points out, "This is really under-utilizing our community's singing talents!"

I find myself explaining over and over again why we are singing these songs - many want to chant or yell. The goal of this strategy is to have a continuous, calm, and patriotic presence inside the chambers; to ensure that our voices are always there, insisting that we too are Americans and are asking for nothing more than the rights this country and Commonwealth recognize for most other citizens.

As the day progresses, buses from churches arrive full of members wearing "One Man, One Woman - God's Plan" stickers. They pray and chant this slogan as well. All but a handful of the pro-same-sex marriage demonstrators are white. Almost all of the "One Man, One Woman - God's Plan" folks are people of color. A woman of color who is demonstrating for same sex marriage and is standing behind me begins to cry and quietly says, "Those are my people." The chanting grows louder. These moments when people are divided by race, racism, sexual orientation, and heterosexism, are among the most painful parts of the day, for they will last long after this specific issue of marriage rights is decided.

By 2:00 pm when the joint session begins, the marble halls are packed to capacity. The two groups are pushing up against each other, jostling for the spaces closest to the session and the press. Against my back are a group of predominantly white college-aged women, singing as loud as they can. An inch in front of me is a group of primarily black women chanting and clapping equally loudly. Two women, one from each side, break ranks to talk about the whole notion of "God's plan," what the Bible really says, and civil rights. A well-intentioned conversation quickly becomes an argument, with others from both sides joining in. I interrupt and ask both women if their goal is to hear and learn each other's perspectives or for each to try and convince the other of her own viewpoint. They decide that they can't really listen to each other, recognize they probably aren't going to change each other's minds, and go back to chanting and singing.

Those around them have picked up the tension of this conversation-turned-argument. The intention of the singing and chanting shifts from attempting to be heard in the sessions, to attempting to out-do the other side. The body language follows suit. Just then I recognize Keisha, a former student of mine. I yell to her by name and we hug hello. The act of us hugging - across politics, across race, across groups, and across agendas - seems to surprise and calm everyone down. Keisha quickly rejoins her church friends after a few moments of catching up, and starts chanting again. Seeing Keisha changes who these women in front of me are - they become more complex and more dear to me, as Keisha and her classmates were to me as students. I am conscious of how she will not make eye contact with me and moves herself away from the front of the group. Demonstrating like this does not change people's views or understandings in the way that building relationships does.

The chanting side grows larger in the afternoon. A number of white men form a prayer circle and they are using the circle to try and push a group of pro-same-sex-marriage demonstrators out of the space where they have been. I am asked to stand with the demonstrators. I am back to back with a man a good foot taller than me. He is pushing back against me and praying aloud that the "sodomizing sinners will give up their demonizing ways, will repent and come to Jesus." I find myself tensing up and pushing back against him, railing in my head against his prayer. This is the first time today that I have gotten really angry. I pause and just breathe. I stop listening to the praying, the chanting and singing. I stop trying to push back. I try to align my breath with the man's breathing. With each breath I try to breathe kindness, compassion, and peace - for myself - and him. He continues to push against me, but we are packed in with nowhere to move. I simply stand, and end up leaning against him. I am no longer pushing, I am no longer angry, and, with the support of his much larger frame, lean there for the duration of the prayer circle. Eventually they give up and leave. We reclaim the whole space and continue singing.

Taking the Bait

I'm assigned to be outside today in front of the State House. The demonstrators for same-sex marriage are all over the space, with only a few opposition demonstrators.

A 30-something white man, dressed in suit and tie, walks into the crowd carrying a 4'x5' sign that proclaims that all homosexuals are possessed by demons. He walks through the crowd holding the sign above his head, yelling out Biblical quotations, and preaching against the sins of homosexuality. He is so inflammatory that everywhere he goes, people engage. These exchanges quickly become angry and heated yelling matches. Many demonstrators try to use their signs to cover his, which he then yells about, bringing the police into the conflict.

I end up being the peacekeeper who tails him all day, trying to keep people from engaging him and blocking his sign. This man, who won't tell me his name when I introduce myself, begins to call me the "devil's daughter" and "devil's watchdog." By mid-afternoon, he is irritated by my presence. He yells at me to leave him alone.

I respond that I am only making sure that people don't touch him or block his sign. He asks why I am doing this. I begin to explain that as a Quaker, I am committed to equality and peace. He interrupts me repeatedly, then tells me that I am not a Quaker. I fall for the bait and reply that I am. He continues to talk at me, his voice rising, almost yelling. I lower my voice and slow down, hoping to slow him down in turn. By this point a bit of a crowd has gathered around us. I find myself getting angry at him and want to argue back.

I am aware of those watching, many of whom I had asked earlier not to argue with this man. I tell him that if he continues to interrupt me, I will have to stop talking to him and start praying for him. He yells back and I fall silent and pray. He goes off on some sermon/diatribe about the sins of homosexuality and the evils of false religions. I stand there and pray for peace and wholeness for us both. He eventually calms down and leaves to take a break.

Looking Ahead

When I first sat down to write about this the day after the last Constitutional Convention, I found I couldn't remember the words of the man's large sign - even though I had spent more than 10 hours with him. The practice of letting the hate pass through had worked - I will remember him, the intensity of his emotion, and the gist of his message - but not his words that sought to deny me, and others, our humanity. His image, and what he represents, no longer elicits in me a visceral sense of fear.

If I had argued back, pushed back, engaged, I would not have been able to peacekeep at the Con Cons for the twelve or sixteen hours each one lasted. I would have left furious and hoarse and feeling ineffective. Instead, I left physically exhausted, but emotionally whole and sustained.

We lost this round, with the legislature voting to amend the constitution to exclude same-sex couples from "marriage" - but only by a margin of seven votes. Until and unless the con con votes discrimination into the constitution again next year, and then that amendment is approved by the voters in November, 2006, the Massachusetts Supreme Court's order stands. Same sex couples will be married by the state starting May 17, 2004.

I look forward to continuing to lobby for equality, and welcome each opportunity I may be given to witness to that of God in everyone.

Previous Article    Next Article