Reflections on the Washington Torture Action

Ben Richmond hitchhiked all the way from Portland to join the Washington campaign against torture. Sister Caridad Guidote, a Catholic nun, brought her personal experience of what it is like to live under the repressive government of the Philippines. Tom Rutschman has friends who’ve been tortured in Uruguay. Judy Alexander wanted her two young children, Roger and Jenny, to understand that if you don’t speak out against evil, you become part of it. Bob Peters, attending a Mennonite college in the Midwest, reflected that Jesus too was tortured for siding with the poor. A member of Christ’s Community (a Christian Reformed house church in Grand Rapids) spoke of growing up in Asia and being struck on her return to the U.S. with American callousness at injustice. “How can Christians demonstrate against injustice,” Sharon asked, “but in a way that Christ would have it done?”

Thus we came, a core of 80 people, swelling on some days to 250, Christians from many parts of the world and many denominational backgrounds, but united in a concern to speak and act against America’s support for torture and repression.

The weather was cold and rainy, especially early in Holy Week. The basic action: six days of prayer vigils, marches, and other demonstrations, erecting “torture tableaux” in front of the White House, the Capitol, corporations and international banks. The aim: to show vividly the suffering going on in countries supported by U.S. military and economic aid.

Our preparation was a weekend of orientation, planning, worship, and nonviolent training, held at Luther Place Church in Washington, D.C.

Our culminating action: a “Stations of the Cross” march for seven miles through Washington on Good Friday, stopping at government buildings and corporations to reflect on how these institutions recapitulate Christ’s sufferings by contributing to the burden of pain in today’s world.

We reached out by distributing over 50,000 leaflets; being covered in the Washington Post and on NBC-TV; getting a personal letter directly into President Carter’s hands; conversing with some senators and representatives and many legislative assistants; discussing our concern for almost an hour with Governor Gilligan, the new director of U.S. economic aid programs; having many face-to-face talks with tourists and Washingtonians.

We realize that we have much more to do, and an even deeper commitment to make. For although we experienced the sometimes severe discomfort of rain and cold, we realized that a person tortured for a half hour suffers more than we did through the whole week.

Worship

“The worship was an opportunity to remember that we were not fighting the battle alone, in our own strength. It helped to develop a spiritual bond between campaign members. It offered an opportunity to relax and focus on joyous matters after the cold and wet of the day.” —Tom Lehman, 20

“I was glad to see Christ so much a part of the worship—that may sound funny, but so often the issue at hand becomes the object of worship.” —Ann Stanford, 25

“During the campaign, the passion narratives took on new life for me. They were never as real or meaningful as when read in the context of contemporary crucifixion and struggle with the responsible powers and institutions. Only when the gospel is taken into the street is its historical reality recovered.” —Marvin Wingfield, 36

“I’m glad we worshipped even when we were tired.” —David Fitch, 48

Reflections on the Maundy Thursday Candlelight Vigil and Easter Sunrise Service

As I walked through the raw spring air on my way to the candlelight vigil at the White House, I anticipated that the night ahead would be more a test of endurance for me than a means of bringing our cause to public attention. Lafayette Park, where we gathered for the preceding worship, was deserted. One by one we approached to take the bread and wine and light our candles from the flickering candle on the table. After all the candles were lit, we filed quietly out of the park, down the sidewalk, and across the street, the string of lights amber glints in the grayness. I warmed my hands around the paper cup that protected my candle. The heat, though frail, dispelled the feeling of hopelessness that gripped me as I gazed at the impenetrable whiteness of the house behind the black iron fence. —Lindsay Dubbs, 22

Every now and then a candle would blow out, and one of us would go to a brother or sister and rekindle our light—what a powerful symbol!

The wind was chilly. I knelt, and was filled with prayer. I prayed for Jimmy Carter, that God’s love would surround him and his family, and flow out through his life. I prayed for others in positions of power, whose decisions lead to so much suffering, that they, too, would know God’s love and wisdom in their lives and actions. I looked down at my candle flame, flickering warmly in the night. I prayed for the suffering. “Lord,” I said, “I hold it up to you, too, the tortured.” At that instant, my light blew out...

Our Easter sunrise service was fantastic. It was in a park surrounded by hills, so the sun didn’t actually rise until the middle of the Eucharist. It was colder than it had been all week, with a heavy frost on the grass. The guitar players should get some sort of medal. I didn’t have gloves, but couldn’t keep my hands in my pockets because I’m too much into lifting them up now to praise the Lord. And there was lots of hugging time, and some dancing time, too. It was a glorious resurrection celebration. —Jennifer Haines, 31

Community

What drew me into participation in the campaign was twofold. There was a need for someone to assist in childcare for the children of parents who had left their homes and jobs for a week to express their identification with those who are being tortured. In that short period of childcare, I saw some things about the kind of people who are willing to let their own children experience what it means to care in costly ways for those outside the immediate family circle—those who are in most cases unknown. The children were disrupted from their normal schedules and surroundings, and in some cases, this was difficult for them. But there was a very real sense in which those children who were old enough recognized what it means to respond to people who are hurting even if you will never see them. The other factor in my growing participation was the spirit of the group as a whole—a group which had never been together before the campaign. Had the spirit of those involved been primarily political and self-righteous, my sense of alienation would have overwhelmed me. Instead, I met people who came out of simple response to their own understanding of the gospel. The activities of the week were deeply rooted in reflection on Christ’s passion. —Karin Michaelson, 29

The Actions

I’ve spent most of my life in Uruguay, and know the amount of U.S. involvement in that country—mainly through friends who spent time in prison and were tortured (under supervision and training from the CIA). The issue is very close to me. And the torture tableaux really moved me. More than once I found myself crying—they were too real. Too many friends have described exactly the type of torture we were displaying. —Tom Rutschman, 25

I was particularly moved by being the victim in a tableau. This sometimes felt like acting—but other times I remembered that my coldness and slight discomfort were nothing compared with the sufferings of Jesus and the victims of torture. —John Donaghy, 29

During the campaign, the Lord took the weight of his agony on the cross and the anguish of tortured people around the world, and laid some of it on my shoulders, particularly when I carried the cross. By doing that, he also exposed the pain I carry within me. I’ve cried for the shattered world around me, for my own lostness and for the love that allowed Jesus to give himself for us. Through those tears and through the cross, God is opening doors to a deeper sense of his healing in my life. —Dawn Hunt, 22

Standing among these massive white buildings and monuments, I knew I was at the American Acropolis, a Parthenon—peak of worldly power. Genial Congress-people passed by in expensive suits, with their affable good humor and air of personal charisma. Yet they live in a space removed from ordinary humanity, and insulated by layers of bureaucracy from the human suffering at the other end of the bayonets—in slum, prison, and torture cell.

There were other faces, arrested by the sight of crucifixion on Olympus, by the realities of suffering brought before the realities of power. Wasn’t there shock on some faces and thoughtfulness on many and embarrassment in the eyes of Congressional aides? Were the same memories stirred in them as in me? Somewhere in the American psyche, isn’t there a recognition that the authentic Christian message includes the promise of a better world starting now, not deferred to the end of time when Jesus comes? —Marvin Wingfield, 36

Reactions

One man said he couldn’t take a leaflet “because I work for the State Department.” —Mary Hurst, 23

I had been street speaking for the first time in my life. A woman who had listened to me intently came up to me to talk afterwards. She had tears in her eyes. “How can people just walk by?” she asked. “I have to do something. What can I do?” —Diana Chiles, 28

I was impressed with the way in which non-Americans (or people with non-American ethnic origins) took the tableaux very seriously—stopping to study them, read signs, nodding in agreement as though they were more aware of the existence of torture in the world. Several Iranians stopped and verified our information about that country. A woman from the Dominican Republic hugged everyone on the White House vigil line to show her gratitude. Other people hurried by in embarrassment or with minimal interest as though they had to shield themselves from anything new they did not want to consider. —Arbutus Sider, 38

I overheard a woman tourist ask a policeman, “What’s going on?” The policeman, who’d been observing the tableau and talking to some of us, replied: “Our government is sending our tax money to governments that torture people. These folks feel that’s wrong and they’re here to protest it.” —Jim Wallis, 28

I was pleased by the positive response of passersby when I had the opportunity to explain what our campaign was striving for. One comment made by a member of our group, which helped and encouraged me, was that we must push for biblical justice whether all of the church is with us or not. —Tom Lehman, 20

An Iranian man said to me, “I want to express my profoundest gratitude for what you’re doing. I left my country two years ago because the torture is so terrible.” —Dick Taylor, 44

One woman told me I ought to be ashamed of myself. But apathy bothered me the most. At least that woman cared one way or the other. —Denise Giardina, 25

One day I walked toward the Capitol after parking my car. As I approached, I recalled having been there several days already, having gone through the underground mazes, and having talked to many people (visitors, Congressional Aides, Congresspeople on the run). I thought of the awed looks in the eyes of so many vistors, and immediately recognized that I’d gone through a process. Government had become “demythologized” for me. I realized that its power was limited—and that people could make a difference. —John Donaghy, 29

Dick Taylor was a member of the Philadelphia Life Center and a correspondent for Sojourners when this article appeared.