Una'a excellent diary on non violent response to bullies brought back a memory of a true event I'd like to share with you, that happened many years ago. It was one of the most powerful events I have ever witnessed and it permanently changed my life.
It was a beautiful summer day during Pride Week, and the huge urban park was packed full of women gathered to celebrate their right to love who they chose to love. I had come with a lesbian friend, but I had not come out yet, even to myself. I was in very early recovery from end stage addiction, and had lived in small town USA all my life, where women's roles were strictly dictated by men, which of course is one of the reasons I ended up a full scale alkie.
I sat under a tree where I could view the whole hillside full of woman and couldn't believe my eyes. Everywhere I looked there was groups of beautiful, strong women of all ages sitting on blankets, having picnic lunches with their kids and with each other, freely exchanging looks and gestures of affection and love. I was fascinated by their ease of body language, how they moved so gracefully and naturally, how at home in their own skins they all seemed to be. No cramped, stilted, "proper" postures or movements. No hushed and proper voices, but raucous, full throated laughter and shouted joy. It was like stepping into an alternative universe I never knew existed.
Along the lake shore there were many stands where women were selling their hand made crafts and art and foods, a kaleidoscope of colorful creative energy that seemed to vibrate the air all around them.
Then a tall black woman took the mic on the big stage, and the festivities began. Women performers, musicians, comedians, it was so glorious to see and hear the uncensored creative energies of powerful women on stage.
Then the tall black women took center stage again, and asked for everyone's attention in a strong, calm, authoritative voice. She said there were some men down by the craft booths who were harassing the women there, and asked for help from the crowd.
I swear it was like the whole hillside rose as one, as women slowly got to their feet and began calmly walking toward the shore, in total silence. I couldn't see the craft booths from where I was sitting, but soon after the women got down there, I heard the clapping: a slow, measured clap..clap...clap.. in unison. There were no other sounds: just the clap..clap..clap.
Then I saw the men appear, followed by literally hundreds of women slowly clapping them up over the hill, all the way out of the park. The men looked literally terrified. The women looked calm, strong, and in total, complete charge. Because they were. It was the most beautiful. most powerful thing I had ever seen.
Later I learned that the crowd was well infiltrated with women well trained in non violent responses to harassment, who could lead the others if trouble came, as it nearly always did, in some form. They knew their real power rested in their numbers and inner strength and commitment, not in violent re-activeness. So did those men.
There was no more trouble that day: the day that literally changed my life. Just a few years later, I was a part of a DykeWalk at a Take Back the Night Protest that succeeded in closing down one of the main arteries leading into the city for over an hour, in spite of hoards of police cars attempting to force us off the street: waves of us would simply surge right back to where we were.
Near the end, a large group of us came face to face with four policemen blocking the crosswalk so we couldn't cross to the place where the march was ending. We simply smiled, kept on singing, split ranks and walked right around them. There were way too many of us for them to try to handle.
In a small way, being a part of this made up for the 60's, when others were on the streets protesting, but not me, because I was still back in that small town trying to succeed (and failing miserably) at being a good Christian Wife and Mother. As far as I knew then, thanks to my fundie cult upbringing, that was the only life path I could take and not land in hell itself.
There is incredible power in numbers, and in strong, silent resistance. Even more so when that resistance is accompanied by music or performance art. Take that lesson from the Raging Grannies or the Solidarity Singers in Wisconsin.
Oppressors and bullies WANT us to react with violence, to justify the escalation of their own. But they don't know much about how to handle strong people standing in solidarity who refuse that rancid bait and fling songs at them instead of fists.
I can't march anymore, but how I wish I was close enough to the Wisconsin Capitol to sing with the Solidarity Singers, and use my spiffy black scooter to challenge that wingnut former politician who was trying to run over their toes the other day to a good hearted demolition derby!