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February 29
by Janine Stephenson
It’s the last day of the month, and 13 more days until the New Hampshire primary. What will we do afterward? Craig says that no matter what, the campaign will continue. I wonder if we’ll be able to come along.
This is a picture of Mrs. Stoutmiller from December. When I told her that I wished I could take a picture of her, she gave me this one instead. I like it.
February 28
by Amy
The President went to Dallas yesterday. He kept his trip a secret. It was the first time Johnson traveled to Dallas since John Kennedy was murdered. The paper said that he would be 200 yards from Dealey Plaza.
Who wants to hear Johnson speak? Why would anyone invite that man anywhere? And what did he tell the National Electric Cooperative Association?
He sees a turning point in the war.
We see a turning point in the war. For some reason, I don’t think these turning points are the same thing.
February 28
by Janine Stephenson
I still don’t understand how the election process works. Is that bad? I used to think that all you had to do was vote. But if you’re really paying attention, there’s a whole lot more going on. And it all seems very sneaky.
For example, there’s the matter of parties. Some of the people who visit our storefront or help us are from neighborhood clubs. The Glencove Democratic Club, or something like that, brings refreshments over every now and then when we have lots of college students around. A member dropped off a cake and said that the club is hoping that students remember how nice Democrats are when it come time to register and vote. I thought that was an odd thing to say, because it made it seem like no one here was already a Democrat.
Besides, no one is going to remember that a Democratic Club gave them cake. Becca says if it makes the club feel better, maybe they could make us some fudge as well.
Then there’s the matter of delegates. Mrs. Stoutmiller is working at becoming a delegate. I don’t know what that means, and I’m afraid to ask her because it seems like something important. I should know what a delegate is and what they do.
Becca thinks that delegates and conventions are like a miniature Congress. Delegates represent the people voting in the state. Then the delegates go off and have a big party where they fight and argue and eventually come up with a nominee.
I don’t know if that’s true or not. Becca isn’t sure either.
Some people think that The Senator could get all the votes in the world and somehow the Democrats would find a way to weasel it out from under him. How cynical. If that was truly the case, there would be no point in voting.
February 27
by Amy
Lesley and I had our criticism session today. This is where we tell each other how we could improve our work within the Movement. Lesley taught me about it. Her group does it every week.
First you tell the person what you appreciate about them. Then, you tell them what they could improve.
Lesley told me today that she appreciates how I’m able to go to demonstrations. But she thinks I should speak up more and make my opinions known. Because what I say makes sense but I often keep my thoughts to myself. I told her that I didn’t see myself as someone who could speak up at meetings. I do in a very limited way, but I was willing to change it if it helped.
For her part, I am glad that people like her are in the Movement because she is so very supportive. Lesley is someone who lives her values and her “living group” – the people she lives and hangs with – are an example of what the Movement can accomplish. I also told her that I hope she didn’t lose herself in the group. Sometimes Lesley fades into group settings. While the Movement is a group, it is also a group made up of individuals.
She thanked me for saying that. In the end, it looked like our problems were similar. We both feel like we should stay in the background. You know, get coffee, type letters, file and answer the phone. But we’re going to challenge each other to accomplish more than that, since we’re both capable of making stronger contributions.
February 27
by Janine Stephenson
Before I went to bed last night, I called my Mother on the phone. I told her a bit about what was going on with the campaign. She told me that she was busy collecting my mail for me.. She spoke in a bit of a monotone at first. I tried to get her excited about all the things I was experiencing, but she wasn't having any of it. Instead, she told me in a very stern voice that I needed to be more serious with my life. Which, of course, is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.
I didn't tell her that. Instead, I let her prattle on about how I needed to work for a candidate who was going to be successful. If I was smart, I would meet someone who was on the campaign staff. She asked me if I met many boys who were worked for McCarthy. Before I could answer, she said that she didn't want me to meet boys on his staff since they weren't suitable.
Then she said that she saw Benjamin at the market. He's the boy I went to the prom with last year. He asked about me, but why should I care about that? If he was smart, he'd be here instead of back home buying milk and cookies. His complete lack of interest in the world doesn't surprise me one bit. He'll be drafted someday soon, I bet. That's the way things are. One day, he’ll wake up in the jungle and wonder how he got there.
I don't wish that on anyone. I'm sorry.
The whole conversation closed with me asking Mother why she was so anxious for me to find a boy. She said it was because she was worried that I wasn't working hard enough to find a boy on my own. I told her I was doing just fine. I'm a nerd, but not that much of one. Then, I found out that Theresa got engaged. She's our next door neighbor. After that, the whole conversation made sense.
February 26
by Amy
When will spring arrive? I can’t wait, that’s why.
I’ve lived here all my life and I still can’t get use to the cold. I wouldn’t mind taking a road trip to California. Wish I knew someone out there.
Of course, there’s too much work to be done and I can’t find a legitimate reason to go out there. The bitter biting wind gets to me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that the weather works for the government. Under the circumstances, it wouldn’t surprise me.
As Coleman told me yesterday, the big focus for many groups will be on the ever-changing draft laws. You could hear the collective gasp across America last week, as millions of American parents discovered how their children will become property of the US military.
It’s going to be a bitch for anyone to get a deferment. Anyone in his first year of college is screwed. Anyone not studying dentistry or medicine is screwed. All holes are screwed - shut.
There’s a part of me that says that people only rise up when they feel the effect of a disastrous policy. But that’s not true. We’ve proven that time and again, in Hattiesburg and St. Augustine. We are a compassionate people. We don’t like to see our neighbors suffering.
No one wants to see young people die. War is not a victimless crime.
February 26
by Janine Stephenson
Today was our day off. Becca took a drive with Craig to see New Hampshire. Actually, I think they did more interior sightseeing, if you know what I mean. She wore her white dress with knee-high boots. I thought the outfit was nice, even if it wasn't winter white. I asked her how she planned to stay warm in that dress and she said that Craig would keep her warm. And that they didn't plan on leaving the car.
Next to Becca, I’m a nerd. But what's worse is that I'm a lonely nerd. I'm not entirely lonely because there's always Mrs. Stoutmiller and she's never boring. When I become an old woman, I hope I'm like her. Except that if I have a daughter, I don't want to get into fights with her.
It's not that Mrs. Stoutmiller gets into fights. She's not the type of woman who yells or throws things. Whenever she's upset about something, she purses her lips together. And then all the air is sucked out of the room. It's quite a power.
About an hour ago, Mrs. Stoutmiller spoke with her daughter. She wanted to make sure that her daughter got a birthday card that she sent. I was there when Mrs. Stoutmiller picked it out. It was a beautiful pink card with cursive writing on it. It said something about how she would always be her daughter, despite their differences. Except it didn't say it like that. I was surprised that Mrs. Stoutmiller would pick out such a sentimental card, especially because she's not fond of Rod McKuen. I'm not fond of Rod McKuen either, but Becca and just about everyone else on the planet loves him. I think I may have mentioned that already.
Anyway, Mrs. Stoutmiller spoke very quietly with her daughter. She was hunched over the phone in a corner of the sitting room. She kept pursing her lips together, and I could tell that on the other end, her daughter was making waves. When she got off the phone, Mrs. Stoutmiller sighed. The whole room felt tense. And she said, "I really wish I knew a way to make things better."
I can't imagine not getting along with my Mother, but then, I'd be lying. My Mother and I don't see eye to eye either, on much of anything. I think she thinks that I should just shut up and do what everyone tells me to do. I'm supposed to be the quiet girl who waits for men to come back from the war, like she did. But I'm not. That was a different time. This is now.
Mrs. Stoutmiller wishes that she and her daughter could think the same way. But it's not going to happen. I told her that it's unfortunate that we were born into the wrong families. Her daughter and my Mother should be a family, and Mrs. Stoutmiller and I should be a family. I think it made her feel better. Then she said that if things were like that it would be too easy and life is never easy.
Our greatest teachers are our foes, for they reveal the worst in us. I asked her if that was a quote from a book. She said no, but that's the theme from a whole
bunch of them.
We spent the rest of the day making cookies and talking. When Becca finally did come back, her clothes were a little askew. We couldn't help but tease her about it. She denied that anything untoward happened but it seems to me that people don't take their clothes off when they're cold.
February 25
by Amy
Coleman dropped by my pad today to remind me that the draft is still going on. I told him something to the effect of “no shit.” He asked me what I was working on. I told him that I’m still tracking the Spock trial, as always. I decided not to tell him anything else. I’m not being paranoid. I just have to remember that he’s a journalist. Even though he’s sympathetic, I can’t go blabbing all of our plans.
I decided not to worry too much about anything. Lately I’ve been so stressed that I wake up in the morning with clenched teeth. Not good. Every time I pick up the news, it gets worse. Sometimes I don’t blame people for not wanting to hear about the war; not wanting any part of it. I understand it. Sometimes I don’t want to hear about it either.
February 25
by Janine Stephenson
We're wrapping up the weekend now. I'm tired. We had an official meeting with all of the committees and talked a bit about how it all went. But we didn't get very far because we're all so exhausted. I don't know how much sleep I got over the past few days, but it wasn’t much. Since I'm organizing the canvassing, I had to stay here and work. By 3 p.m. things got so slow that I wanted to go out back and take a nap. We have a mattress propped up in the closet that Craig uses when he works late. I almost took it out of storage to sleep on it, but then, I thought that it wasn't such a good idea. What if a reporter saw me?
We really ought to get rid of the mattress completely, but there are so many news crews around that we can’t throw it out. If we leave it outside for the garbage man to pick up, people will just think the worst. So now, we're stuck with a mattress that no one is using and no one wants. We'll have to sneak it out of here in the dead of night.
Our committees agreed that if we wanted to take off tomorrow, we could. Grease Pit stopped by and congratulated us on a job well done. He said he had no reports of troubles and there will be lots of positive stories from the papers. Then he showed the story where I was mentioned. The article explained how Becca and I came to the storefront and highlighted the fact that we were 18. The reporter only used just a little bit of what we said, but it was neat.
Grease Pit told me that AP stories show up in newspapers around the country, which means that a bunch of papers ran it. I called my Mom and asked if it was in her paper. She said that she'd been trying to get a hold of me all day and yes, I was in her paper. Our relatives bought a bunch of newspapers so they could see the articles too.
Becca very reluctantly called her parents. They saw it in the paper too. Becca talked with them for a long time. I let her have the room to herself. By the end of it, she looked like she had been crying. She said that her parents didn't agree with her, but they were still very proud of her. Since they don't get along, I knew how much that meant to her.
February 24
by Amy
Lesley and I have been challenging each other. I’d like her to be less afraid. She would like me to move out of my apartment.
I guess I should explain. Lesley lives with a group. I told her that I didn’t mind living in a community. I did it a year and a half ago when I was with that other group. We all lived together for a short time, until I found out they were assholes. She tells me that living in a group is a way to put my principles into practice. I tell her that I am already living my values and that I don’t need to live in a group to do it.
She thinks that this is some kind of dissonance. I can’t talk about community without living in community. Again, she doesn’t get it. I do live in a community. They're just not in my apartment.
Communal living is fine for extended actions. It suits some people. It doesn’t suit me at this point in my life. What is there to understand?
As far as her problems, I know she’s afraid. I’m afraid too. But I’m not as afraid as she is. She’s got some honest to goodness paranoia in her head. It makes me wonder what else is going on with her.
February 24
by Janine Stephenson
There's not a lot of time to write today. Our students showed up, bright and early. By 9 a.m. we had formed canvassing caravans. The older students were able to rent cars very easily and we rounded up enough local volunteers to drive other students around the area. Other volunteers gave out cards and tons of addresses. I'm not sure how many Democrats are in the state of New Hampshire, but I think we may have visited all of them already. And a few Republicans too, but those were by accident. I guess some of our information wasn't all that good. But our time was well-spent and we've had no reports of trouble thus far. Organizing the petitions will be a nightmare, but I'll worry about that another day.
It's hard to get used to the reporters. They're everywhere! I haven't seen television people yet, only newspapers. In fact, that news reporter dropped by few minutes ago to tell me that he filed his story with the AP. I asked what AP was, and he said Associated Press. It's going to be a big story on campaign volunteers and that we should look for it tomorrow. He can't guarantee it will be printed, but we should look for it. I didn't ask him if I was in it. I didn't want to be egotistical.
Tonight, we're going to have a social for the volunteers, it's going to last well into the evening. Maybe I'll be able to meet a boyfriend. See? I'm thinking positive.
February 23
by Janine Stephenson
The Pentagon released the figures for last week. Four hundred U.S. soldiers dead.
I just finished eating dinner. We had fish fillets with ketchup and fries with orange pop. It's going to be a long weekend. Bus loads of people have already arrived. There's a sleeping committee and an eating committee and even an entertainment committee. Mrs. Stoutmiller heads the Concord orientation committee. I'm on the canvassing committee and Becca is on the Helping Craig in the Office and Make Out with Him Committee. It's funny that we're all on committees now. The Grease Pit met with us today and told us that because we were leaders, that we needed to act like leaders. Becca asked him if that meant that we had to act like assholes. We all thought it was funny, except Grease Pit. For a brief moment, I felt sorry for him. But he said, no, that means we don't act like assholes even when other people are acting like it.
He said that the most important thing to do was to pretend that we knew what we were doing. For example, he pointed at me and said, "Blondie. I know you're intimidated by the Ivy Leaguers." I had to admit, the Grease Pit had a point. I am intimidated by the students from Harvard and Yale and even Princeton.
They all look so smart. The worst ones are the Philosophy majors. They just want to sit around and talk all the time. I don't even understand half of what they say. How am I going to tell them what to do? Grease Pit said that I was right. Those people are smarter than me - and him. And even if they weren't smarter than us they certainly thought they were. So it would do no good to tell them what to do. Instead, we had to guide them. They're smart enough to know how to stuff an envelope. And maybe they'll even come up with a more efficient way to do it. The point is that they aren't better than us and we're not the boss of them. Instead, we need to guide them. Suggest instead of tell. Show them and then let them do their thing. And we should enjoy how we're part of a big community now, instead of just being a storefront in a New Hampshire town.
It was quite a rousing talk. And even though Grease Pit is still an idiot, he was very smart about what he said. It made a lot of sense. Now, if only he would stop telling me to get his coffee.
February 22
by Janine Stephenson
Wow! We were just talking about Dow Chemical yesterday and it turns out that there was another big protest at State University of New York at Albany. It looks like they locked the company recruiter in a room. I can only imagine what happened there. How did they shuffle him out of the room? Did they ask him to leave, or did they threaten him? And once they locked him in the room, what happened? It doesn't say that he was assaulted, or even kidnapped.
Sometimes, I miss school. I've been thinking it more and more. Even though it seems like I'm having fun here, I realize that I'm missing out on normal life. I don't feel badly about that. I'm not complaining or anything, and I shouldn't even mention it. There are people just like me stuck in another country killing people. I bet they wished they were in school too.
I think the thing I like best about the campaign is that I don't feel pressured to be a part of something I don't want to be a part of. I would never tell anyone else this, but sometimes, people can feel pressured to do things that they don't want to do. It's easy to be swallowed up into a protest. Even if I agree with the protest, I don't always agree with what the protest does. Like what happened on campus. Becca and I were there when it all happened. Becca got caught in a fight and ended up pushing a cop. She knocked him down. I saw the whole thing happen. I thought we were going to be arrested.
It was an absolutely terrifying feeling. I felt like I was above my body, and my arms were shaking. The only thing I knew to do was run, as fast as I could. But before I turned around, I grabbed Becca by the shirt and we ran. Other people on the outskirts of the protest were just standing around. We looked behind us and no one was following us. I don't even know if the cop knew what hit him, or who hit him. We went into a building and took of our coats and pretended to be studying. Again, no one followed us. After a short while, it was apparent that we weren't going to be arrested. Becca put her hair up into a ponytail and borrowed my hat. We went back to our dorm room.
Becca wore her hair like that for about a week or two. I don't think she was being too paranoid.
February 21
by Janine Stephenson
A reporter came in today. We thought it was just a regular person. I never met a reporter before, so I didn't know what to expect. Craig usually refers newspapers to Manchester, so people like the Grease Pit can deal with them. Craig was picking up supplies, so I had to talk to the reporter. At first, I didn't think it was a good idea to say anything. So I handed the reporter a cup of coffee and asked him if he wanted to read some of our white papers. He said he already read them and could he ask me a question or two. I tried to tell him that I'm really not the best person to answer questions. I'm just 18 and it would be much better to speak with other people. But he said I was exactly the person he wanted to speak with.
I excused myself and went to ask Mrs. Stoutmiller if it was alright to speak with the reporter. She thought for a moment and then told me that if I was very careful about my words, I could speak with him. In fact, I should speak with him.
I got very scared after that. Because if I say something bad, then it would make all of us look bad. It's not even a matter of whether The Senator would look bad. He might, but it was more about how people my age would look. People think we're irresponsible or spoiled because we don't want to fight in the war and that's not the case. We work very hard and we care about society. We care about our country. If I said something that confirmed what people thought, then it would doom us.
So I walked back over to him and asked him if he wanted a glass of water. Not that I had a glass, but I certainly could give him with a Styrofoam cup. He laughed and said no, that he was fine. He took a notepad and pencil out of his bag and asked me a bunch of questions, which, of course, started with my name and age.
I explained how I came here from Madison, Wisconsin with Becca. I told him about the Dow Chemical protest in Madison and how our parents didn't think it was safe for us to go back to school. I told him about the Greyhound Bus ride and how long it was. I told him about some of the boys that we knew who were in the military. He asked me if there were more volunteers because of the draft deferments. I said that I thought there was. Then he asked me about the mood of the volunteers and staff. I said that I couldn't speak for anybody else, but we all feel very good. We're not just sitting back and allowing people to make decisions for us. I'm very proud to be a McCarthy volunteer and I don't think I have anything to be ashamed about.
He asked if the friend that I came with could speak with him. Becca was licking stamps for the mass mailing and was very happy to be relieved of her job. Like me, she wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to the reporter, but I told her I'd sit with her. And I warned her to pick her words very carefully. I sat next to her and each time the reporter asked her a question, she'd think about it for a moment or two and then answer. I was proud of her because even though Becca can be a loudmouth sometimes, she is actually very shy. I think the best thing she said was how we weren't doing anything special. That there are lots and lots of people just like us who are working to make this place better for everybody.
Leslie asked me what I was writing. There was a moment when I considered not saying anything. Research, maybe? I’m making a list of things to do. No.
I could’ve said that I was writing in my diary. Instead, I told her that I was keeping a record. I’m a record-keeper. Diaries can be stolen. Records are filed.
It’s about respect. Records are respected. Diaries are silly.
So I told her I was keeping a record of thoughts. She asked if it was official. I asked her if anything was official.
Then she finally got to the point: Are you writing about me? I asked her if it was alright that I write about her. She said no, unless I changed her name. Because my record could be found, or stolen, or used against her.
Leslie will now be called Lesley, with a Y.
My name will remain the same. And God strike me down if I ever become as paranoid as Lesley.
February 20
by Janine Stephenson
Becca knows, but she's not telling. She says it's personal and I shouldn't ask why Craig isn't in the military. I can't believe that she's not telling me.
She's not telling Mrs. Stoutmiller either. I guess I'd be upset if she told Mrs. Stoutmiller and not me. But she's not opening her mouth to anyone. I asked her if that means that we don't have to worry about losing Craig to the draft. She said she didn't think that we had anything to worry about. So that makes me happy. I like Craig, even if he's friends with the Greasepit. Still, I can't help but wonder why he isn't worried about the draft. All those reasons, and there's nothing I can come up with that would make him ineligible. I really wish I could find out.
In other news, things have sped up a whole lot faster. A ton of volunteers are scheduled to come in this weekend. It seems more and more people are coming now, from all over the east coast. We've even been told that there will be some from as far away as Washington DC. I wonder if any of them will be related to Senators or Congressmen. That would be neat. We could ask them all sorts of questions.
As we were talking today about all the people coming, we came up with a list of possible jobs for them to do. We have brochures and petitions for pickup tomorrow. The Manchester office will send us some organizers and supplies. We're told that the district maps have to be ready, because the large amount of people that will be headed here. We have to move them out quickly so no one is stuck with nothing to do.
February 19
by Janine Stephenson
The Senator is in Wisconsin today, and it makes me so homesick. I haven't thought much about school, but all of a sudden, I miss it. Becca and I weren't in school long enough to make new friends, though we're still in touch with some of the people from high school. I love Madison. The sun shines differently there.
I shouldn't be thinking like this, especially because we're so busy. We're doing a mass mailing now and in backroom, they've got all sorts of district maps spread out. Mrs. Stoutmiller is overseeing a few of the volunteers. She's become our official orientation person, when she's not keeping up with supplies. Craig is meeting with that greasepit, Ron. I'm sure they're talking about the draft. We still haven't found out Craig's status, though other people are far more forthcoming. For example, we discovered that the greasepit serves in the National Guard. So he's safe. Another local volunteer is trying to plead hardship because he has to take care of his Mother since his Dad died.
A bunch of petitions have been signed asking the Selective Service to rescind, and some volunteers are wondering if they should just volunteer for the military outright. No one is telling them not to do it because each person must follow their conscience. I can't imagine what that would feel like. If the government ordered me to war, I'd avoid it as well. I don't think I could take someone's life. If someone was trying to kill me, I'd defend myself. I think that's only natural. But going to another land and trying to kill someone? I don't think so.
I've heard some soldiers say that they didn't think they could kill anyone either, until they went to war. Until someone tried to kill them. But I think that if someone came onto our land, wouldn't we try to defend ourselves? And if that's the case, then those people fighting us, aren't they trying to defend themselves
against invaders?
I haven't said anything to anyone about all this, and I certainly won't say anything to my parents when I call them tonight. I'm trying not to phone them as often because I don't want them to think I'm a baby.
February 18
by Amy
What is your vision of the world? How do you see the world now and how you would like it to be?
Starting last week, we’ve been challenging each other to daily questions. This first started as a Core Committee project, but everyone is invited to answer. Whoever made up this question cheated because it’s actually three questions. But there are no rules, and we don’t have to answer any questions. No one is obligated.
These three questions have quite a few of us stumped. The word that jumps out the most is “your” which implies singular – not group.
You. Even though we strive for individuality, I’m well aware that we have problems with the mob mentality. Even now, as I’m writing this, I keep using the word “we.” It is always “we.” How are WE changing things? What are WE going to do about the draft? When are WE going to have another action at the park?
I like the WE part of the Movement. Life is harder right now. Death and war and people being arrested for God-knows-what. People are making decisions today that will affect everyone around them. Once you become a felon, you can’t go back. Prison follows you around forever. It affects your family, your friends, your community. “We” are all connected.
So who am I to have a vision without talking about it with everyone first? Having a vision, and then telling everyone to fit into it reeks of a dictatorship.
But then I went out for a smoke for a little while and decided that not allowing an individual to have a vision is just as bad as living under a dictatorship. We all have visions. So maybe the best vision to have is a vision that allows everyone to not only have a vision, but to live it out in the best possible way.
I answered two of the three questions with that last paragraph, so onto the third. How I see the world now… I see it as a very difficult place where no one is allowed to live their vision. I see men going off to a war they don’t support. I see people who can’t get jobs; who are told that they are too lazy or too uneducated… When in fact, they have the skills and desire to do the job, they’re just not given the opportunity. I see people who are trapped in a broken system, and the system is very broken.
A system that only works for a few people doesn’t work at all.
It’s a grim picture, the way things are now. My vision, then, is for everyone to be allowed to live their vision. Which is the way its supposed to be.
February 18
by Janine Stephenson
The Selective Service says that it'll be about 40,000 men a month. I can't even imagine what 40,000 boys looks like. How large of a crowd is that? Each month? How many boys are there in America? This just can't continue.
Mrs. Stoutmiller and I decided that we would let Becca and Craig sort it out. If Craig needed to take a leave of absence from the campaign, we understood. If he had to go back to school and all. But he's not saying anything and we're not asking. Mrs. Stoutmiller says its a private matter and he will speak of it at the right time. But I want to know, and so does Becca. I don’t blame her, after all. She's involved with him, so she really ought to know.
As for us, we're even more excited about getting out there to talk to the voters. More people are calling us, volunteering to help. When I first got here, I thought everyone would hate me. They would be like Gov. King and call us dirty hippies. Or communists. Or treasonous. Becca and I have been very careful how we look. We try to be very polite and not hassle anyone. And so far, no one has hassled us. They don't try and change our minds. There are people our age who try to provoke others into arguments. I don't think that's a good idea. Those people aren't changing anyone's minds. Instead, they're only provoking people and making it harder for the rest of us.
Some people don't want to change people's minds. They just want to destroy the people who don't agree with them. They think that they can fight an intellectual war in the same way that physical wars are fought. Kill. Kill reputations. Discredit the person, not the ideas. It makes me so angry.
But we haven't done that. And I think that's a good sign that the Governor is telling people that we sympathize with the enemy. He can't attack our ideas, so there's nothing left to attack. People in New Hampshire are smarter than that. I hope.
February 17
by Amy
Now it comes out. McCarthy, the “anti-war” candidate thinks that the government should draft high school boys. When all those McCarthy-ites find out that they’ve been duped… There will be hell to pay.
I have a terrible feeling about the future. It’s a foreboding, that things aren’t right. They haven’t been right for a long time. If they were right, maybe I would be a housewife.
Instead, I’m a 23-year old woman who hangs out at an office putting together speeches, research, typing applications and making calls. I don’t mind my life now. I feel powerful, on occasion. Sometimes I feel powerless. Always, it’s in relation to the world situation. What I read on the news, what I hear from others.
I have been plagued with the blues over the past few days. I tried to deny it to Coleman, but he can see right through me. He tells me to remember that its only the whole world we’re talking about. Then he laughs.
It’s just that, I wish I had Dave’s wisdom and experience, or Tom’s mind, or Rennie’s ability to mobilize, or Coleman’s ability to relate to people. I wish I had Leslie’s ability to quietly go about her business. If someone tells her what to do, she’ll do it. It doesn’t matter what it is. She’s able to put it together. I feel like I don’t bring anything.
I wish I had more wisdom, an ability to take elements and put them together in a different way. In a way that wake more people up.
February 17
by Janine Stephenson
The draft deferment rules are changing. Now, students in grad school are no longer exempt. Most of the men in grad school did it to avoid the draft. They can now be called up to go to combat. The only exceptions seem to be medical, dental students, who need to complete their education. I guess then they'll go to war. And of course, the undergrads can be called up now as
well.
I wonder what'll happen when they run out of men. Because they will. At some point there will be no more boys or men left. All there will be are women. And then what? Will women be forced to fight, too? Could we run things if all the men died in the war?
Craig let out a gasp when he saw the newspaper headline. Then he bunched it up and threw it across the room. It landed by the trash can. I know Mrs. Stoutmiller would've said something, normally, but this time we all just froze. Becca held onto her cup and watched him. As they always say, this doesn't affect us. We aren't the ones going off to war, men are. It directly affects Craig, and all the rest of the boys that come to volunteer.
After he threw the paper, he dropped himself into a chair and grunted. Becca reached over to him and mussed with his hair. Then, Mrs. Stoutmiller calmly asked him if he'd like to talk to us about it.
He didn't say anything for a moment. I wondered if maybe he was going to have to quit the campaign. But then, I wondered if he was still enrolled in grad school. If so, then he should be in second year, so he would be exempt. Maybe he took a semester off like we did. But if that was the case, then he'd have to check in with his draft board. He said he was a contentious objector. But maybe that’s not true.
As it turns out, he didn't say anything. He sighed, got up out of his chair and told us to get busy. That was the end of it, for him.
But the rest of us have been talking all day about what might happen with him. Becca is confused, and he wouldn't talk about it. He just kept saying that we only have this moment, and not to think about things that don't concern us right now. It's an odd thing to say, but Craig says that it's Buddhist. I don't know anything about Buddhism. All I know is that it's good to know what's happening with people. Becca promised us that she'd find out his status really is.
February 16
by Janine Stephenson
The Govenor of New Hampshire keeps accusing us of being communists. He uses words like appeasement and says that a vote for McCarthy is a vote for the enemy. "Joy to Hanoi" and all that. During this morning's staff meeting, The Grease Pit, also known as Ron, told us that The President's pledge cards have backfired. So now, we're getting the commie treatment. We should expect that they would hit hard and continue to hit hard all the way until the Primary.
We're not supposed to let it get to us. He's there to defend the status quo and tell us that the President is right. Anyone who disagrees with the President is un-American and un-patriotic and un-everything.
It feels like my Father all over again. Except worse, because I can't tell him to his face that he's wrong.
Februrary 15
by Janine Stephenson
Mrs. Stoutmiller and I stayed up until 11 p.m. I know this isn't late by most people's standards. We talked a bit about Thoreau. She read me passages of Civil Disobedience.
The big news is that Becca came home at 2:30 a.m. Mrs. Stoutmiller left the door unlocked for her. I only have vague memories of her coming home and slamming her toe into the bed post. She didn't take her makeup off, so this morning, she woke up with big raccoon eyes. I can only imagine what would've happened if she wore her fake eyelashes. We'd probably still be hunting around the room for them.
Becca reports that Craig is a delicious kisser. That's what she called him, delicious. I stifled the urge to ask her if the food caught in his beard was equally delicious. She doesn't appear to have any hickey marks, on her neck at least. I was a good friend and didn't ask her what base he might've gotten to. Mrs. Stoutmiller was nice enough not to ask either. I just expected that she would tell us. Instead, Becca wanted to know what she missed last night. I told her a discussion about Thoreau and the Winter Olympics. I don't think that struck any chords of envy in her.
February 14
by Janine Stephenson
It's official. Becca and Craig are an item. Craig invited us (meaning Becca) to dinner. We (meaning me) decided to go home and leave the two love birds (meaning them) to go off into the long, dark cold night together. I went home with Mrs. Stoutmiller and drank cocoa. I asked Mrs. Stoutmiller if perhaps she might consider spiking the cocoa with a Brandy. She thought about it and said no. Brandy gives her heartburn. As usual, no one bothers to think of me.
I don't want to turn this journal into a sob story, but when am I ever going to get a boyfriend? I'm not jealous of Becca because I think she's a nice girl, and I certainly would never want to ever date Craig. He's a nice guy but he's really not my type. I don't like men with beards. The fuzz on their face gives me a rash. I also think that food tends to get caught in all that hair and that's just plain disgusting. I guess Becca can look beyond that, but I don't know how.
Plus, Craig is too skinny for my tastes. He's downright scrawny. A girl likes to feel like the man will protect her and I get no sense of that from Craig. Though I think he would defend me in an argument. He is very smart.
Anyway, there was a big debate at work today because The Senator thinks that the US has a right to be in Vietnam. Everyone was upset that he said that because if there's a legitimate reason to be there, then the war must be right. How can you be against the war and think that we have a right to be on their land? It raised a whole bunch of questions. Was it ever alright to be in Vietnam? Was it alright to be there in 1966? 1967? When did it stop being alright? Is the war truly immoral, or is it just the results of the war immoral? Most importantly, is the war immoral because we're doing so much damage?
Everyone was arguing so much that Craig had to stand in the middle to calm everyone down. I didn't say anything because everyone was a lot smarter than me and I thought it was just best to listen. Mrs. Stoutmiller listened too, but I could tell she was very excited because we were all talking. She looked very alive. I felt alive too. She smiled at me as we listened. It felt like we were at church except instead of being preached to, we were finally talking back. This is what we think, This is the way we want to live.
What I liked best about it was that no one was trying to persuade anyone to think differently. We were all trying to make sense of it. It's like we were a big family. What started out very tense ended up very calm and peaceful.
Ron wasn't there, of course. He was in Manchester, eating poison pie I hope.
February 13
by Amy
I'm excited. Things are starting to come together for spring. Finally.
The tentative schedule thus far:
March 22-24 - National Conference
April 3 - Day of Resistance
April 21-30 SDS Ten Days of Resistance
We got word of Ten Days last week, but now we're fitting it in with the rest of the schedule.
There's been plenty of buzzing on Dearborn about all of this. Remember the group from last week? They now call us the "Core Committee." Core consists of five of us, including Dave by telephone. It will go out under the usual two names. I'm taking notes and Leslie will be coordinating the production of a paper, once everything is written. We're unusually organized, and I fully expect that everything will change ten minutes from now.
We're not allowed to speak to anyone about what we're doing. The reason is that they want consensus. They don't want the appearance of leading anyone, per se. So, it's like this: "Here's what I think. What do you think?" rather than, "Here's what we recommend and I'm going to persuade you I'm right."
Even those of us who are involved with taking notes or coordinating production are asked for our thoughts.
It's not unusual to see intense discussions by the mimeo, especially between the two main authors.
We all agree that this is one of the most important years in American history. So far, that's all Core has agreed upon.
February 13
by Janine Stephenson
Johnson's poll numbers are down to 35% now, which means that we don't have to persuade people that the war is wrong. We just have to show them that the Senator is right.
That's what Ron said. Ron, from National. He comes in wearing a suit with his hair slicked back. A greasy son-of-a-gun, I'd say. Generally speaking, I like people. It isn't easy for me to not to like someone, but I don't like him. Becca feels the same way, so we've asked Craig if we could go out canvassing when Ron is scheduled to come into the office. Someone else can do our mailing and take care of our other duties.
We should do more canvassing anyway. Becca has been working as Craig's personal assistant for the past week or so. I answer questions from volunteers, and there's more of them now than ever. I used to think that it would be better to work in the office, because of our skills. But now I think that we're good at talking to people.
Besides, who wants to hang around that grease slop anyway? We can't stand him. And for the life of me, I can't ever figure out why Craig is his friend.
February 12
by Amy
We have this picture taped to our bathroom wall. Last week, someone wrote in a big red marker:
What is he thinking?
All week, we’ve been trying to come up with clever responses. Everyone has been encouraged to add to the list.
But I can’t bring myself to write anything. At the risk of being called a sympathizer, I think he looks old here. Old and frail. Almost sad, in a way. Like he knows he’s fighting a losing battle.
Something tells me that this will be the year we win. He knows it. I can’t help but feel sorry for him.
I wonder what it is in his life experience that makes him believe the things he does. People who crave that kind of power are terrified people. Who was the first lawbreaker in his life? Who is he still fighting? Why is it always about fighting someone?
Does having all that power make him feel safe?
I can’t say anything about him. If you want to, that’s fine. Coleman will say I’m too sanctimonious, but I think he deserves pity more than anything else.
February 12
by Janine Stephenson
What's confusing about these pledge cards is that delegates have to sign cards pledging their support. I don't understand the whole process, and that's really bad because I'm working for the Senator. I have to know in case someone asks. Craig says that no one will ask because no one understands it. The only people who understand our election process are the people who are meant to understand it. In that way, our whole process is elitist and dishonest.
I don't know if that's the case because sometimes Craig is very cynical. He reminds me of one of those beatnik types who hangs out at a coffee shop wearing black all the time. Becca told me that I shouldn't tell Craig that because it would hurt his feelings. But Craig said that he likes coffee shops and should wear more black because it hides dirt.
Becca likes Craig. Alot. I don't know why she won't admit it. I sure wish I could find someone I liked.
Feb. 11
by Janine Stephenson
Over the past few days, we've heard about the pledge cards that the President sent out. A few days ago, someone came into the storefront with a card. At first, we thought it was just regular campaign literature. But then, when we looked closer we saw that the card was similar to a ballot. It had a name and address line and it said that they pledge to vote for President Johnson on March 12.
I guess that's alright, if people need to remind themselves who they're supporting. But the worst part is this: People are asked to send the card off to the Democratic National Committee and the White House. And that's not even the worst of the worst. Each card is numbered and tracked. So if card number 249 goes to Mrs. Smith and she doesn't send it right back, then they know that Mrs. Smith isn't voting for the President.
All of this is creepy. Becca says that people can still pledge to vote for the President and then not vote for him. But people here in New Hampshire are honorable. Craig thinks that if they sign and send it, they'll feel locked in to voting for him. He thinks that people will forget that they have the right to change their minds.
Mrs. Stoutmiller turned lavendar color when we showed her the card. Her lips clenched and tightened. She got very quiet. I thought she was having a heart attack, but evidently that's what happens when she gets angry. I guess it's true what they say about New Englanders. They don't show their emotions.
Around 4 o’clock last night we went down to the Induction Center. There was already a big crowd of people there. Seems like lots of people from all the various tribes were there. Someone from the Clergy and Layman group spoke about pacifism. We joined hands for a while and concentrated on releasing the negativity and military-like energy from the building. Then we started chanting.
Coleman came up to me and asked me why I was hanging out with Leslie. I told him I didn’t want to deal with him right then, but I would be more than happy to talk about it later. Leslie, for the record, didn’t show up. It doesn’t upset me that she didn’t, since it’s her thing. Again, if she’s too afraid to be arrested or whatever, I understand. Others should as well.
I swear that’s why people are pissed at her.
Anyway, the chanting got under the skin of the murderers in the building so they sent the cops after us.
Since we were gathered around the building, it was fairly easy to gather around us. Encircled by a ring of Chicago’s finest, we did the only logical thing. We sat on the pavement. Yes, it’s winter and damn cold. And we waited to be arrested.
But we weren’t.
Instead, the cops dragged people out into the middle of the busy streets and left them there. So people had no other choice then to get up or be run over by Friday evening traffic. Only those people who resisted being dragged into the busy street were arrested.
So the traffic was all backed up. I’m sure the Bob Smiths of the world were pleased to be late for their weekend martinis. People yelling out the window “Long-haired fucking freak” is par for the course, so it doesn’t deserve special mention.
Coleman and I ended up back at NIMBYS, where they were featuring an Evanston folk singer. More people were there who we knew, so we didn’t talk about anything else for the rest of the night. Nothing of any significance anyway.
February 10
by Janine Stephenson
Becca decided to stay late with Craig in the storefront. She’s helping him. That left Mrs. Stoutmiller, me and two mugs of cocoa between us. There wasn’t a whole lot on the TV tonight, so we sat around and talked. I asked her how she got into politics.
It turns out that her Mother was a suffragist, so she put up with lots of taunting from the townspeople. She attended church with her mother one morning and from the pulpit, the minister told the congregation that it wasn’t God’s will for women to vote. He glared down at Mrs. Stoutmiller and her mother and quoted from the Bible. He said that she was going to Hell for leading women astray. And after the service, her mother grabbed Mrs. Stoutmiller and walked right up to the minister and said that one day, he was the one who was going to be ashamed.
And they continued going to that church every week after that. Because they knew they were right. And they were.
That’s how Mrs. Stoutmiller learned to have courage and she learned that men didn’t always know what was right. And even if they punish you, you can still know inside that what you are doing is right. You are helping other people.
That’s why she’s so disappointed in her daughter and her choices. Because Annabelle is picking what’s comfortable instead of what’s right.
February 9
by Amy
I think I got it mixed up because the Induction Center event is tonight, not tomorrow night. I think I thought it was tomorrow night for some reason. I've spent the past few days thinking that today was actually tomorrow. Such has been the week.
Leslie might go. Coleman is definitely going. A few others from the group are going. There appears to be a mass consciousness thing that sometimes happens. Everyone is in agreement. We have to go tonight. There's excitement in the air about it.
Aside from the Spock thing, I'm going to start working on a position paper next week about the conventions. There's a core group of us, including Leslie... Five of us total... Which put together a statement by the group as to what we should do during the summer. I'm really excited about it. I feel like I've been lost over the past few weeks, smatterings here and there of different jobs... Keep your eye on this, get a consensus on that... I think the winter doldrums have hit most of us.
I suppose it's natural, after the success of last Fall, that things would ease off for a bit. Some of us didn't know what to do with it, I guess.
There's a certain dynamic I've noticed in my time in the Movement that loves the status of outsider. It's the difference between my earlier experiences in the Movement and what it's like now. Earlier, in that small group, they took a lot of pride in being outsiders, in knowing more than the "average person." They had a kind of group pride about it. They liked to think of themselves as being the common man, but you can't be a person among people and preach to them at the same time.
That's where the concept of rapping came from. Like, the time when my former friend came to talk to my Dad about philosophy. He didn't meet him on common ground. He wanted to preach to him, to tell him that his way of life and all that he stood for was wrong.
Now, when I talk to my Dad about politics, we talk like we're equals. He doesn't patronize me by stooping down to listen. Instead, we have an exchange. We meet eye to eye and talk about our observations.
I suspect that's what happens when rap sessions go wrong. No one wants to be preached at. Instead, it's got to be a simple thing, like this: "Hey, have you noticed that... is happening?" Let people come to their own conclusions. That kind of thing.
It'll be good to go tonight. Hope I see a few others I know. I don't plan on telling Coleman about the paper. He's been asking a lot of pesky questions lately. It's easy to forget that he's a journalist as well.
February 9
by Janine Stephenson
One of the odd things to come up during the campaign is Bobby. Whenever we go out to campaign, we are constantly asked if Bobby will run. Some people are holding out for him. I wish they wouldn’t. He’s said that he isn’t running, but everyone still begs him.
I hope he doesn’t run. He shouldn’t because he doesn’t have the courage. I would be working with his campaign if he chose to run earlier. But in the end, I’m glad he isn’t running. He’s too scared to run.
He’s going to wait until 1972 when the timing is good for him. It’s only about him, in his mind. What does that tell you about the man?
February 8
by Janine Stephenson
It’s still the same weather as in Wisconsin. Becca and I wish we could send for different clothes. I think I brought a bunch of stupid stuff with me to campaign. For example, I should’ve brought better shoes. I should’ve brought more pads to write in. I had no idea I’ve have this much to say about the campaign. I already lost one glove so more gloves and mittens to be certain. I also wish I brought a camera.
The stuff I wish I didn’t bring? My necklaces. I brought too many barrettes. I should’ve brought longer skirts, just so I could be warm.
Craig lives out of his backpack, so he’s all set. We talked today about how we should roll each sweater into a ball so we could get more into our suitcases. He thinks we’re silly for bringing suitcases. That’s another thing I wish I didn’t bring. I should have a backpack. Becca completely agrees.
February 7
by Amy
The summer is going to be a bitch here in Chicago. A riot they think. I don’t feel it, yet. Barring anything traumatic this year, I think it might be a whole lot like last year… Lots of expectations with no real changes.
This afternoon, a friend told me that she suspects someone here works for the feds. I hate that kind of insidious paranoia. I told her to stifle herself. We don’t need that type of talk here, but she was adamant. Something about some files missing. Again, that doesn’t mean anything because files go missing all the time. The space between Rennie’s desk, the filing cabinet and our bookcase is a Bermuda Triangle of paperwork. We’re not that organized where we can determine with any certainty that something is missing. Our filing system is non-existent.
The person who told me, and who asked me not to tell anyone – or at least not to use her name if I did tell anyone… That person told me that there were other indications that we have at least one fed here. I asked her why she thought that, but she wouldn’t elaborate.
“Tell you later.”
Right. And now, I’m completely on edge. She’s gone and I don’t feel like I can bring it up with anyone else. No one.
February 7
by Janine Stephenson
Craig has instituted morning campaign staff meetings where we basically hang around the coffee pot and talk. Sometimes, it’s to talk about the news and how we can use what’s happening right now in our campaign pitches. Craig will give us notice on when students are arriving and any problems that have risen up from canvassing. We now have a refreshment committee and a precinct committee and a bunch of other new committees as well. I can’t keep track of them all.
Becca and I are the Assistant Office Managers, which I guess means that we do everything. Craig says that it means that we are supposed to keep track of all the other little committees.
I also caught Becca and Craig holding hands out back during lunch. I pretended not to notice.
February 6
by Amy
When I’ve been arrested within the Chicago city limits, I’m treated differently because my Father is who he is. Being the daughter of a well-known journalist has its “perks”, although I don’t want any of them.
The cops put me off to the side, away from the others and then call my Father to pick me up. The charges get dropped and my Father swings by with an offer to go out to dinner and maybe a drink. We get home late and slightly buzzed. He doesn’t get upset. In fact, I think he’s secretly proud of me.
But I didn’t want to be the daughter of that kind of privilege. It’s not fair. It also takes away from the point that I’m trying to make, which is this: There are some values and ideas that are worth getting into trouble over.
I spoke with Dave about how I can’t get arrested in the Chicago city limits. We’ve decided to take a different approach. Since my Father works at the newspaper and I’m the daughter of a well-known journalist, then we could use all of that to our advantage. Turn a weakness into a strength.
It’s a complicated way of looking at things. If I can take my role in society – being my father’s daughter – and use it to shine a spotlight on the war, then that’s my duty. My dharma, as they say.
I have a difficult time accepting it. I don’t like setting myself apart from anyone. I don’t even want to acknowledge that I am who I am. I look at someone like Leslie, who is just a regular person. It seems that who we are shouldn’t matter. My voice should be equal to Leslie’s voice.
So yes, I’ve been arrested before. But never detained like the others.
There’s an action this Friday night at the induction center. I’m going to be there, again. Maybe I’ll get Leslie and Coleman to come.
February 6
by Janine Stephenson
We love Laugh-In. Our TV schedule last night was Walter Cronkite at 7 p.m., The Monkees at 7:30 p.m. and Laugh-in at 8 p.m. Then, we drink cocoa and talk. Mrs. Stoutmiller asked if we had a chance to read Thoreau. We did not. Yet. We will. Or at least I will. I can’t speak for Becca.
Mrs. Stoutmiller took out pictures of when she was our age. She said it wasn’t as long ago as we thought. She won’t tell us how old she is, except that she was our age just before the Depression. Which would mean that she was born around 1911 or so. Don’t tell her I’m figuring this out.
She brought up her daughter, Annabelle, again and told us that it was a terrible thing when parents and children fight over politics. We weren’t sure what she meant until she told us that her daughter’s husband is in the military. They live in Washington D.C. Becca asked her if her son-in-law worked for the President. He does. And as it turns out, he’s a hawk. Here's a picture of Annabelle and her husband talking to a someone at a party.
I would’ve thought that Mrs. Stoutmiller’s daughter, was a Republican, with the way she talked. But she isn’t. Instead, she’s a different kind of Democrat. That’s what Mrs. Stoutmiller called her. A different kind of Democrat.
I also would’ve thought that Mrs. Stoutmiller would be pro-war as well. Especially with a member of her family in the military. She supported Lyndon last time. That’s what she calls the President. Lyndon. It’s as if she knows him. Or has met him. I didn’t want to pry so I didn’t ask. But I think she’s met him in person.
Becca had all sorts of questions about her daughter. It seems like things worked out for Annabelle. She has a nice house and her husband has an important job. It doesn’t seem like Annabelle is worried about her husband all that much. She doesn’t have any children, yet.
It seems like Annabelle isn’t all that affected by what happens in the news. Mrs. Stoutmiller agreed. Her daughter lives in a bubble. She thinks Annabelle is selfish and she doesn’t understand how it happened. It’s not how Mrs. Stoutmiller raised her. Nor is it a time when we can afford to be selfish.
February 5
by Amy
Yes, I’ve been arrested before. There’s really nothing to it. Sometimes, all you have to do is step off a curb during an action and you get hauled off. It depends on the cop, the mood of the crowd and all other sorts of sundry elements.
One time I walked with Coleman during an action and a cop actually tailed us for 7 blocks. We tried losing him at one point. But every time we turned around there was the same guy, undercover of course. Coleman finally turned around and asked the guy what he wanted.
“Hey you lousy mother… Are you trying to hit on me or something? I got my girl here, get lost.”
It was the only time I ever allowed Coleman to call me his girl. But I’m not his girl, so don’t go thinking I am.
Coleman was arrested that day. For some reason, I got left behind.
February 5, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
It was a very good weekend. Becca and
I now have our routine. Craig is still sleeping in Mrs. Stoutmiller’s kitchen,
but he arrives back too late to talk to us. Becca doesn’t want to disrespect
Mrs. Stoutmiller, so she is very business-like with Craig. Though I did catch
them flirting with each other.
Becca isn’t a virgin. I guess I
should tell you that. She had a relationship with a guy named Josh in her
junior year that lasted almost nine months. She lost her virginity on impulse
one night. I call it impulse, but the guy told her that she was the one he
wanted to marry. So it wasn’t exactly an impulse decision.
She feels badly that it happened, and
especially how Josh broke up with her afterward. We don’t talk about it much and
I certainly don’t judge her for it. After all, it could’ve been me that
believed his lies. Because of all this, Becca sometimes feels like people are
judging her anyway. That if they knew what really happened, then they would see
she wasn’t as nice as they think.
I think that’s why Becca wanted to
know how Mrs. Stoutmiller lost her virginity. I wonder if Craig knows about how
Becca lost it.
February 4
by Amy
Our positions are fluid. My work within the Movement – literally the place I go to everyday – is different. Some days I am asked to monitor the media. Sometimes I make transportation arrangements for Dave or Tom or others. I’ve been known to type on occasion, but I stink at it. To get out of typing, I usually find one of the other girls in the office and trade jobs.
Today it was Leslie. When Leslie first started showing up, people thought she was a narc. She was shy, mostly, so she didn’t talk all that much. I might have been the first person she spoke with on a personal level and I think that was mostly because I’m persistent.
I learned that Leslie took part in a number of actions last year. Her last one was at the induction center two months ago. We were doing a holiday themed action, which turned rather ugly.
One of the guys dressed up as Santa Claus. We stationed Mr. Claus near the front entrance, so he would block draftees from entering the building. The police were called, of course. They arrived, as did the media. Santa put on quite a show that day, being dragged off by four cops. Photographers were there – it was quite the scene. I loved it.
The coverage of that event was far and wide. Brilliant. How many kids woke up to a front page of Santa being hauled off to prison?
Anyway, we laughed at the ingenuity and brilliance of the scene. And some of us got arrested. One of which was Leslie.
Since that experience, she’s a little afraid of actions. I can understand backing away and all. Putting her strengths into background work. She told me today that she feels guilty about being afraid.
If being out on the streets isn’t your thing, then you shouldn’t do it. That’s what I told her. Or maybe she could face her fear about being arrested.
February 4, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
A few of the students spent the night
at the storefront. They turned the lights down at midnight. The boys slept in
one room and the girls in the other. Craig stayed to supervise, along with a
few older volunteers. Nothing bad happened. I’m not sure why I thought it
would, but a part of me was very relieved. Maybe I’ve been brainwashed into
thinking that whenever there’s a group of students around, trouble is sure to
follow.
Today, we continue working. The
Senator is coming out swinging, according to the newspaper. He said that
Johnson is deceiving himself. Craig was happy. Most of the students will leave
tonight to go back to school. Ron, from National will come by tomorrow to stay
with us for a few days. Craig is nervous about it, for some reason. I wonder if
I should be nervous as well.
February 3
by Amy
I’ve been given the task of tracking the ACLU draft resister case. My job is to be able to explain at the next meeting how they are defining civil disobedience. I have also been asked to draw up notes for others on redefining the term.
This is a problem for me because we all have to follow our consciences. In that case, I can’t put down a hard and fast rule. When I brought this up, they told me that it wasn’t about rules. I was merely to report on the national ACLU’s findings.
The thing to know about all this is that national ACLU and state ACLU are having terrible fits over what to do with resisters. They can’t figure it out.
National ACLU says that we have to persuade people to change laws, but not by violating those laws.
State ACLUs says that we are not under a national emergency so the draft is unconstitutional.
National ACLU then goes on to say that defining civil disobedience as “the willful, nonviolent and public violation of valid laws because the violator deems them to be unjust or because the violation will focus public attention on other injustices in society to which such laws may or may not be related.”
So what’s does it mean?
National only wants to cover civil disobedience as it relates to racism. It doesn’t want to contend with issues around the draft. It wants us to try and persuade people that the draft is wrong. Meanwhile, more and more are getting drafted and killed.
This is what worries me. Everyone is getting angrier and angrier. The more we try and persuade people, the more entrenched they become. No one likes to admit that they’re wrong. It’s an act of humility, at the very least. It usually takes a traumatic event to make someone see a different way.
So now what are we supposed to do?
Source Notes: Differences of Opinion
February 3, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
All of a sudden, everything has
become more urgent. Everything is moving faster. More and more students are
arriving to help out. Thank goodness. Craig decided to give Becca and I a
chance to relax today so we don’t get too tired of canvassing. Instead, we
helped out the students who came to volunteer.
About eighty students arrived from
neighboring colleges. Amherst, Dartmouth, Boston University, and Mount Holyoke,
Emerson and even Vassar. It was like someone told all of the students that it
was suddenly alright to come. The Manchester headquarters was inundated with
Harvard students.
Some of them have decided to shave
their beards or wear their hair up so they could canvas. Mrs. Stoutmiller gave
a special talk on how not to insult New Hampshirites.
February 2
by Amy
Here’s a thought for you. If you were a photographer about to witness an murder, and it was in your power to stop it. Would you shoot the picture or would you stop the murder?
We’ve had a discussion about it here today. Should violence be on the front pages of the newspaper or does it contribute to the violence of society to actually show it?
Some people thought that running a picture like that appeals to man’s darker nature. I say, a society that is capable of such violence has an obligation to show the effects of it. Blood, brain splats and murder. It should be seen in its entirety.
Now, over the next few days, we’ll understand the intention of running the picture. If they continue to show the victims of the violence; if they reveal the horror of the aftereffects, then we’ll know that running the picture was moral.
But, if the level of coverage drops and they go back to showing only the heroic side of war, then we’ll know that they are completely corrupt and phony.
February 2, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
I don’t even know what to make of the
front page today. There’s a picture of a man being executed on the front
page of the newspaper. The South Vietnamese police chief is holding
a gun to a man’s head. The man is described as a Vietcong Terrorist. But how do
we know? Inside the paper, there’s a sequence of pictures of the man being
executed. The man flinches before the gun goes off. Then he is laying on the
ground with no blood.
Why on earth are we supporting these
people? Mrs. Stoutmiller let out a gasp when she saw it. Becca leaned in toward
Craig as he read it. How can something like this happen? Why are we letting
this happen?
Meanwhile, the intense fighting
continues. They say that it could continue for a few more days.
February 1
by Amy
It’s still going on, still fighting. We’ve moved on several fronts ourselves. We are tired of the war. We’re tired of a system that fosters this crap. We have to quit exploiting the world. NOW.
February 1, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
Intense fighting is still going on. Notice
I didn’t say just regular fighting. Intense fighting. We have the radio and the
TV turned on during the news so we can keep track of what’s happening. All
activity in the office stops during the news. Most canvassers try to make it
back to the office so they can watch it too.
The military is telling us that the
enemy is using the American public against them. The American people have
become part of the enemy.
Any arguments like that earn a
collective groan. Mrs. Stoutmiller shakes her head and clucks her tongue at the
news. Under any other circumstance, her reaction would be funny. But there’s
nothing to laugh at here.
Craig has been sleeping at the
offices. He says that his crash pad is too far away and he’d much rather work
late than go home and sleep. Mrs. Stoutmiller doesn’t think it’s a wise idea.
As it turns out, for the past few days he’s been living on peanut butter and
jelly sandwiches. He goes back to the pad during the day for showers. Mrs.
Stoutmiller told him that he needed a decent place to sleep if he was going to
make it for the long haul. So he came home with us and now he’s sleeping on a
cot in the kitchen.
I told Becca that I better not catch
her going downstairs to be with him. And he better not come up here. She’s
still pretending that she doesn’t like him, so she rolled her eyes at what I
said. But I also know Becca well enough that she just might try something.
I can’t blame her. It’s not that
Craig isn’t good-looking. He is. He’s got long, dirty blonde hair and he’s kind
of lanky. I prefer boys to be beefier. But right now, he looks so upset and
vulnerable when watching the news that I can understand why Becca would want to
comfort him.
It’s got to be scary, watching the
news and knowing that it all applies to you. That whatever they’re reporting
will have an immediate effect on you. The fighting in a distant country will
change your life.
