[Man.  I didn’t realize that the whole story wouldn’t fit in one diary.  So here is part two of part two. You can get the first part of the story here.]

Real Counter Protestors
Real Counter Protestors finally did arrive.  Around the noon hour on Friday.  An older man with a U.S. flag and a woman with a cardboard sign that said ” win.”  They were accompanied by a yellow Labrador retriever, who gave no outward manifestation of support for either war or peace.

We decided to ignore them.  We didn’t want them to join our ranks.  So we were thankful that they took their place across a side street.  They said nothing.  We said nothing.  The horn honks carried the day.  And as with the entire week, it was pretty obvious how the public at large feels about this war.  They largely want it to end.

Dennis and Destiny showed up right after the counter protestors.  And then a few others.  So that our picket looked far larger.  It was very good.  The counter demonstrators left after a short time.  They looked disheartened to me.  It must be very difficult to stand and see so much disapproval for your message of war.

I was very happy.  Except for the Labrador retriever.  They are usually such friendly dogs.  I figured he would have liked to join us.

Dogs and Counter-dogs
Dogs for peace outnumbered the dogs of war by a margin of three or four to one.  Sprocket came often, and braved the cold weather well.  He is a pit-beagle.  A laughable mix.  Friendly.  He likes milk.  And he had a cape that asked for peace, so I imagined he was the leader of the dog peace movement.  Though he will have to contend with Monk the peace dog, who has been going to the continuous Friday vigil (a vigil that has met continuously for over three years now) at the Capitol for years.  (Monk, a lab, was born on 9/11/01 – and now wants peace in the world).

Two or three other peace dogs joined our ranks throughout the week.  They were non-violent and quiet protestors.
Locking Us Out – A Metaphor for the War
By Friday afternoon, the power of our non-violent resistance to this war was becoming apparent.  The flowers were driving Rogers’ staff wild.  As I said, we delivered around fourteen dozen single flowers.  Something like five flowers an hour.

And of course there were the flowers from BooTribbers.  The bouquet from Australia was greeted with a cheer on the line.  As were the flowers from Norwegians in New Jersey, and from Pennsylvania and Oregon.  The delivery person stopped and told us about your orders.  And your kindness.

The delivery person also told Rogers’ staff that they had better save the flowers, because they were working hard to make the arrangements. (Bankcrofts actually donated two dozen yellow roses to the cause on Friday — and they were beautiful).  At first the flowers were being collected in a vase, and we could see them as they were delivered.  But after the first few dozen, they were just placed aside on the counter, to disappear.  We later saw the staff taking dozens out of the office.

Sometime after noon on Friday, the staff locked the front door.  People trying to deliver the flowers knocked on the door, and a staff person would come and say that they were not allowed in except for official business.  They were told to put their flowers in a recycle bin in the outer entryway.  Some constituents demanded to be allowed in, and were reluctantly allowed to the front desk to deliver their flowers.  Others just waved flowers from the window, and dropped them in the recycle bin.  One man balanced his flower on the handle of the door, and the angry staffer scurried out to remove it.

In just two days, with less than two hundred flowers, we had broken their spirit.  You can imagine the effect of hundreds of thousands of people pouring into the street.  This is how we will win peace and justice in the world.  Government can only govern with the consent of the people.  When enough people withdraw their consent, even in the most polite way, government cannot continue.  This is a very small example of non-violent conflict, but it was so powerful to see.  It is the message I will take away from this event.

The locking of the doors was also a powerful metaphor for what is going on in this world.  The people want this war to end.  But our government persists.  It is locking us out.  Refusing to hear us.  And we must band together in numbers and insist on being let in the doors.  Insist that they hear and act on our collective wisdom.

I do not know how many faxes of flowers or calls they received from BooTribbers, but I’m sure you had an impact as well.  That staff was absolutely frazzled by a protest of between 100-200 people.  Imagine if every honking soul or well wisher had taken the time to park and deliver a flower.  Or worse to march on the street.

Old Professor’s for Peace
Near the end of the protest, I was joined by my old professor from Michigan State University, Al C.  He first taught me about critical theory.  It was through his teachings that I came to question the status quo in America.  He was an activist during the civil rights era, and Vietnam, and afterward.  A powerful thinker and lecturer.  And our paths have crossed frequently in these last months, as I’ve gotten acquainted with the anti-war community.

It was good to talk with him on the picket line.  He had been at the lecture on non-violence, and had actually called my home to get me to attend, though I was already on my way.  We talked about the Rose Revolution, and the power of non-violent conflict.  It was a very good way to spend the last hours.

Some very smart people want this war to end.

Venerable Applause
A very old woman drove by Dr. C. and I as we spoke.  She drove slowly past.  She did not honk.  But she turned and silently applauded us through the window.  That was the first applause I had seen.

Meeting Mike (Part III)
As the hours counted down, the honking became non-stop, and very loud.  It was rush hour in Lansing.  People returning from a week’s work, to their homes.  My wife, an old advertising person, told me later that people have to see a message three times, on average, before it penetrates their consciousness.  She said that the late honking was just the effect over time, of the peace car and the picket.

Our ranks had really swelled.  Twenty.  Then thirty.  Then forty.  It was large enough that it was hard to count at the end.  Between thirty and fifty at all times would be a very safe bet.  The largest crowds we had seen.  The impromptu chorus was singing softly.  And it made my aching body feel a little lighter.  Beautiful voices.

Around five-thirty or so, Mike Rogers came out of the office by himself.  They had locked the outside door at five, so we just started piling the flowers up in front of the doorway.  Mike struggled with the key in the lock, and when he finally got the door open, he bent down slowly, and picked up the flowers.  He looked as tired as I felt.  He tossed the flowers in the recycle bin and walked out the door.  A couple of people from our group tried to greet him.  One of our number shook his hand.  But he was trying to leave, headed to the back lot.  His security person hustling up to meet him.

The chorus turned to him, singing “We Shall Overcome.”  I was near the street.  Soaking in all that had happened.  Watching this scene before me, and I called out to him, “Mike, you can stop this war.  You can do it, Mike!”  And he walked away.  Tired.

The End
We gathered in a very large circle.  To share a last moment.  And someone pointed out that a young boy had just joined our picket.  He wanted to see what it was like.  So we marched around once more, just for him.  And we chanted.  Bush has got to go.  Rogers has got to go.  It was jubilant.  And it took a long time to make the circuit with so many people on a little walk way.  And I think the boy got an idea of the power of people.  We gave him applause, and I told the crowd that he would be our young leader one day.  Maybe he will.  Maybe that is his destiny.

We said a few words.  And I said my peace.  “I came here to witness what my government has done in taking us to this war.  To aks that it stop.  But in my time here, I’ve had a transformation.  What I ended up witnessing was the power of the community.  Not just the peace community.  But the people of Lansing.  We are powerful.  And we can stop this war.”

I write these words with far more composure and clarity than I delivered them on Friday night.  I broke.  I cried.  Because the power of these people is great.  Too great to witness with a dry eye, or a steady voice.  We can stop this war.

We had a moment of silence for the fallen.  My God I hope we can stop this war before June.  Before that young man I met must go to Iraq.

We went and had pizza for peace at a local restaurant.  It was standing room only.  Someone bought me a nut brown ale brewed locally.  It was sweet.

I gave Josh a ride home from the restaurant to the shelter where he was staying.  He had to squeeze into the peace car, because there is almost no room for any passenger.  But he is a thin man.  He wants to be involved in future events.  He said I could find him at the shelter.

My God this war has to end.  We need to take care of our people.  Of all people.

Thank you for listening.  Thank you for your efforts.  Remember the power in each of you, and how it grows when you join with others of like mind.  It is amazing to see.