24-year-old finds unity, hope in
demonstration
By MARVIN
GRILLIOT Special to the National Catholic Reporter
Just before I left for Fort Benning, Ga., a well-meaning friend
said, Do some good, but I hope you dont get arrested.
At the time, I knew I would participate in the demonstration to
close the School of the Americas, but I was unsure whether I would cross the
line and risk arrest.
Although I am a 24-year-old rookie at this kind of thing, the
reality of the SOA has been part of my memory since childhood. Family friends,
refugees from Chile, had suffered torture and exile at the hands of soldiers
trained in the United States. While working as a volunteer in El Salvador, I
witnessed the devastation caused by death squads trained on American soil.
Despite this knowledge, I left for Georgia uneasy about defying
the U.S. government by crossing the line. I felt uneasy about answering yes on
future job applications when asked if I had ever been convicted of a crime.
The first activity I took part in when I arrived on Friday was a
civil disobedience training session for anyone considering crossing the line
into Fort Benning. As the meeting began, people called out their home states.
Some had driven from as far away as the state of Washington. As I looked around
at the 150 people jammed into the room, I saw sweatshirts from many colleges. I
saw people who couldnt talk firsthand about Watergate and others who
talked about the old days, when compact disks didnt
exist.
On Saturday an estimated 1,200 people gathered at the gates of
Fort Benning to show solidarity with the thousands upon thousands of Latin
Americans who have been victims of atrocities committed by SOA graduates. We
held signs, we prayed, we sang, we shared our stories with each other, and most
of all we cried out with one voice for the closure of the SOA.
I was overwhelmed. Never had I encountered such unity of purpose
with so many people. I felt at home. No one smirked when I talked about why I
dont eat grapes and why I dont buy Nike products.
I was inspired as I listened to college students talk about how
their faith drove them to call for the closing of the SOA. It excited and
inspired me to be around people living what they believed. Students talked
about other protests they had participated in and the social activism they were
involved with back home. One college freshman said to me: I sometimes
wish I didnt know what I know. Life might be a lot easier.
On Sunday as the group that would cross the line began to
assemble, I felt powerful. The line was so long, I couldnt see the front
of the symbolic funeral procession that would deliver the nearly one million
signatures calling for the schools closing.
When I need a job, maybe one of these people will understand my
criminal record, I thought to myself.
Hundreds of wooden crosses had been distributed to marchers, each
one carrying the name of someone in Latin America who had died at the hands of
graduates from the SOA. My cross read Ana Maria Sierra, 23, El
Salvador. What had been her crime? Picking beans for 20 cents a day?
Teaching? Asking where her missing family was?
While listening to speakers cite horror after horror committed by
SOA graduates, I thought of my Chilean friends who will never be able to have
children because of the torture they suffered. As the son of a Chilean mother,
this reality appalled me.
Mostly I thought about the 120 orphans that I had the opportunity
to teach, learn from and live with in El Salvador. Many of them had been
orphaned by death squads during the 1980s.
This was not civil disobedience but, as someone observed, divine
obedience. How could I not cross the line?
Slowly, solemnly and to the beating of five-gallon buckets and a
litany of names of SOA victims, almost 600 people began to march into Fort
Benning. Our procession was halted by the military police and the Department of
Defense police.
Peacefully, we filed onto one of the 12 buses that carried us to
the bases military police station. All first- time offenders
were given a ban and bar order to prohibit us from entering Fort
Benning for a year. To my knowledge no ones vacation plans were
ruined.
After a few hours, the buses dropped us off at a bowling alley
outside of the base. As I said my farewells to my fellow criminals, I felt
grateful for their presence, their passion. In addition to my ban and bar
order, I carried home with me the spirit of the people I met at the
demonstration. I also carry with me the spirit of those who have been tortured,
raped, exiled, widowed, orphaned and murdered in Latin America by those trained
at an institution that I support with my taxes.
I am hopeful that we will not have to return to Fort Benning next
year. But if necessary, I will. And I know that I am not alone.
Marvin Grilliot, a National Catholic Reporter Publishing
Company employee, will leave in December to travel in Latin America.
National Catholic Reporter, December 5,
1997
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