Un-American Activity

Is the silence growing?

Plymouth residents Ted and Grace Curtin have been actively working for Peace for decades. They’ve been through some noisy times, but now they’ve taken a quieter path.
There was a time, not too long ago, when the word ‘peace’ itself was almost always followed by ‘demonstrations’: a time when hundreds of thousands of rowdy youth took over the streets of Washington D.C., blocking traffic, confronting the police.
It was a time of conflict, both between political foes, and philosophical concepts.
Is that changing?
Certainly there are those who still feel that the end to war, any war, will not come without action, without force, without conflict.
But there are also more and more people who believe that Peace can only be accomplished through peaceful means.
It certainly is a difficult, and an almost un-American approach: stay quiet, stand your ground, don’t argue.
The Curtins have helped to organize the local Plymouth Peace Vigil, and that group’s standing orders are to process in silence through downtown Plymouth, every Wednesday night.
Of course sometimes participants in the vigil do speak, spontaneously, forgetting themselves in the excitement of being with others who share the same perspective on the war.
Other times participants simply react to the comments –good and bad, from passerby.
Every week they are confronted by a group supporting the Iraq war, and who want nothing more than to ‘discuss’ the issues: the louder the better.
The local vigil organizers have gone out of their way to stay out of the way of those others.
As more and more people join in their vigil, it will become more and difficult to avoid clashes between those with opposing views; more difficult to hold their tongues, and to refrain from arguments.
And perhaps more and more important, that they do.

I have tried it myself; have participated in these weekly vigils. On those occasions the Curtins have always stressed the need to remain silent, and quietly scolded those who forget.
I have used the time, and the silence, to take a closer look around at my surroundings, at this historic part of town.
Ironically, where the vigil participants gather before processing -a small island between the Church of the Pilgrimage and the Court Museum, there is a stark reminder of our national inclinations: a plaque installed by Native Americans.
The plaque recounts how after an Indian insurrection was put down, its leader Metacomet –a son of Massasoit, was murdered, and his rotting head publicly displayed in Plymouth for over 20 years.
The vigil procession goes from the churches of Leyden Street, to the corner at Court, then slowly down the western side of the road until the intersection with North Street. There, on the eastern side of the street, the group takes up positions along the road.
It’s about 6:40 by then so, at this time of the year, it’s already dark: dark and quiet, save for the sound of street and the occasional heckler.
I find it relaxing: standing there, focusing on one simple if abstract thought.
It’s amazing how powerful the silence feels.
To those who oppose the vigil effort, even the silence is provocative. To those who are unsure where they stand, the silence is thought-provoking.
To those standing there, with their heads up, clutching signs or holding candles, the silence provides a kind of fleeting clarity.
You see the beauty of the area, the cobblestones, and the spreading limbs of the trees overhead. You note that almost every other driver going by has a cell phone stuck to their ear. You smell curry, and hoisin, and peanut oil-fried scrod. You hear the faint music of Ipods, the throbbing subwoofers of expensive car sound systems, the skitter and clack of skateboarders trying out new tricks and then, at 7, clock towers chiming the hour.
Time to move on, up the street.
“Ssssh!”: Grace Curtin reminds you.
By 7:15 back at Leyden again and the vigil is over, the quiet time ends.
Some move indoors for coffee, while others return to their homes and their usual noisy routine.
For those who stay for coffee the talk turns immediately to future actions, the next vigil, or the latest political news.
There is often a discussion of the reception that the vigil received that particular night: vague estimates of smiles, of upturned thumbs, peace signs flashed.
But it is impossible to gauge what effect this vigil, and others like it around the country, are having.
Peace is not something you can predict with a poll. Peace is a goal, an elusive, fluttering thing that seems to always remain just out of reach: something Ted and Grace have been chasing for nearly 40 years.
It’s frustrating for some: it feels, again, almost un-American.
We are a country that demands immediate results. We watch political conflicts like baseball standings: always checking to see who’s in first.
Is the silence growing?