Last night a friend and I went to Duke University to see the play ‘Speak Truth to Power’ by Ariel Dorfman. It is based on testimonies from 51 human rights activists collected by Kerry Kennedy in her book “Speak Truth to Power: Human Rights Defenders Who Are Changing Our World.” The play was performed at the Kennedy Theatre in 2001 by famous US actors including Signourny Weaver, Kevin Kline, Alfre Woodard, and Alec Baldwin. Then President Bill Clinton addressed the audience.

When Ariel Dorfman took on the project, he assured Kerry Kennedy he would include the voices of each of the 51 who gave testimonies. Raji Sourani, Gaza’s foremost human rights lawyer, were among those interviewed, and I was looking forward to hearing his story and feeling his presence on the stage with the 50 others.

The stage was set like the outline of an eye. There was an arc of chairs in the back, a reverse arc of podiums in the front, and two men (representing repressive powers and apathetic onlookers) standing on a platform in the center. Before they told their stories of oppression and resistance, the actors moved from the seats in the back to the podiums in the front. Once at the podium a spot light shone on them, and their name and country was projected on the back wall. A small handful of the characters did not approach the podiums and were not lit by the strong spot lights, such as with the actor portraying an activist from the Sudan who did not give her name in order to protect her life (in the book she is listed as “Anonymous”). The actor playing Raji Sourani also did not go to the podium. He remained seated, in the dark, and was only given seconds to speak:

We Palestinians are nearly a forgotten people, consigned to a second-class existence. No one needs peace—a just peace—more than those who are oppressed.

That was it. It was the shortest of the testimonies, and unlike most of the others it gave no specfics. His name was projected in a flash. If you had turned or rubbed your eyes you would have missed it.

I’ve written a letter to Mr. Dorfman, whose work I admire (tacked to a wall in my studio is an article of his regarding making art during times of war). I asked how he made his choices, and specifically how he made the choices regarding Raji Sourani’s testimony. I realize it must have been a daunting task to include 51 voices in a play. It may be that his choice to keep the Palestinian voice quiet, brief, unspecific, and in the shadow was for a reason other than political. However, even if this is the case, the play’s lack of representation of a Palestinian story of oppression mirrors its absence in this country.

Raji Sourani’s testimony can be read at: www.speaktruth.org/defend/profiles/profile_19.asp

There is a path Charlie and I walk every morning and evening in Paonia. It runs beside an elevated irrigation ditch on the North side of the town. In the morning, Christina walks with us and points out where the coal is mined, the gas station with three generations of gas station owners, the apple orchard, the Chaka shoe plant.

Yesterday a reporter from a local paper came to Christina’s house to interview the Wheels group. Charlie may have made more of an impression than the rest of us. “What kind of dog?” she asked while scratching his head. And wrote down my answer. The best kind.

When we went in the bus to take pictures, Charlie climbed into the driver’s seat. The reporter jumped off the bus and began shooting him from the street. “Hey, chould you open the window?” she asked, pointing to the glass beside Charlie’s head, “I’m getting a glare.” This happened once before. We left Charlie in the bus while I gave a presentation at a charter school in Denver. When Bob and I returned to the bus there was a group of kids standing by the front of it, taking pictures. As we got closer we saw Charlie, sittting tall in the driver’s seat, occasionally turning his head as if offering different poses.

Today we are heading to Glenwood Springs . On Friday, back to Denver and the end of the Wheels tour. A day or two of rest and Charlie and I will begin to head back to the east coast.

Kristina took this shot of Charlie and me on the irrigation ditch path. Charlie has a stick in his mouth that he has just subdued.

With Bea (tour manager) and Kevin (bus driver) about to leave Paonia

This morning we were at a high school in Alamosa, CO. Again, after our presentation, kids raised their hands to ask about the military. One had already enlisted and wanted to know how he might be able to get out. In all four high schools I’ve visited on the Wheels tour kids have shared stories of recruitment. One girl from Alamosa said, “They [the recruiters] are here all the time. They kind of pull you in. Ask a lot of questions.” She went on to say that a couple of her friends were being persuaded by the promise of a college education. In the No Child Left Behind Act there is a provision requiring public secondary schools to provide military recruiters not only with access to facilities, but also with contact information for every student. If they refuse, they face a cutoff of all federal aid.

From my friend Michael Berg of the Carolina Peace Resource Center:

Today, military recruiters have unprecedented access to public schools. The little-known Section 9528 of the federal No Child Left Behind Act of 2001 grants the Pentagon access to directories of all public high schools (supplying them with student names, addresses and phone numbers) to facilitate contact for military service recruitment. A student or parent wishing to protect privacy must actively contact the school to opt out and protect their personal information. In some districts, it can be difficult to withhold information specifically from recruiters, yet still allow this information to be used for other purposes that parents and students may approve of, such as honor rolls or school TV shows.

Candy standing with Dennis Apuan at Camp Casey in Colorado Springs.

A day off. Charlie and I went for a long hike this morning. Just two minutes of sunshine and they were spectacular. It was just as the sun was lifting above the horizon. It hit the Rockies making them glow red. And the clouds behind were stormy, grey, so it looked like the red light was coming from within.

It’s been a full week of events. My favorites have been high school classes. On Wednesday, the Wheels tour went to a charter school in Denver. After our presentations, a few of the kids in the class made it clear they were planning on enlisting in the military in order to go to college. One wanted to hear from Kelly that they could enlist without being sent into a war zone. Another lives in a rough neighborhood and said he’s likely to get shot there anyhow, so why not take his chances in Iraq and get the benefit of the G.I. bill.

Bob left the bus yesterday. Our new bus driver, Dan, has been to Iraq and Palestine and is more eloquent on the issues than any of us. He has a good sense of humor and often uses it to diffuses combative energy when it enters the dialogue. Candy, a vet from the Gulf war, also came on board yesterday. She mostly gets around in a wheelchair, wears a crew cut and “S-W-E-E-T C-A-N-D-Y” tatoos across her fingers. As she spoke last night to the group in Lyons, she listed a dozen ways her body and mind have “fallen apart” since the war, including intense pain in the muscles and joints of her legs which make it difficult to walk. She attributes many of her ailments to shots she was required to get before heading over to Saudi Arabia, including one that contained anthrax.

Tabling with Bea, Dan, and Candy at Columbia College

Dan

I’ve been on the Wheels of Justice Tour for four days. The tour pairs eyewitness accounts from Palestine and Iraq. I have been speaking with two women who have spent time in Iraq. Kelly is from the Colorado National Guard and served as an mp. Dahlia is an Iraqi American doctor with family in Baghdad and Basra. It’s been intense, listening to their stories and to the stories of those in the audience. I did an event on my own at the Best Charter School. The kids were great. We have a bus driver named Bob who is funny and loves Charlie. They often hang out in the bus together while an event is going on.

Dahlia (Kelly behind her) speaking to students at PS 1, a charter school in Denver

Students at PS 1 listening to Kelly tell her experiences as a soldier in Iraq

When we arrived at the lounge at Tivoli Auraria campus, where we were giving our presentation, there was only one vertical person. Dahlia is holding up a publication entitled “Sign of the Times.”

With students and teachers from the Best Charter School in Denver

With Bob outside Wheels bus

Everywhere we go, we find places for Charlie to be off his lead. Here in Loveland, Colorado, there is a section of a national park that runs alongside the back end of the farm. Each morning, while the moon is still in the sky, we walk our way to the top of the mountain, catching the sunrise and a view of Eastern Colorado. Charlie runs much of the way up and down, stopping to smell things and pick up branches. The larger and more unruly the branch the better. These are wrestled to the ground, the smaller branches he breaks off with his legs and mouth. And when it’s over, he is victorious and proud of himself. Head high, tail wagging.

Rain on the canvas above, cold air on my hands, warm Charlie lying curled up beside me. We are both under blankets on a futon, on the floor of a yurt, on an organic farm in Loveland, Colorado. I am visiting my friend Val who taught with me at the Ramallah Friends Schools in the West Bank (www.palfriends.org/). Yesterday we went to a biodynamic farm and harvested carrots. Today it’s raining and a perfect day to write.

It’s been a long while since I have been able to sit long enough to put words down. My four days in Columbia, Missouri, were packed with five events each day. Then it was off for a day each in Kansas City, Missouri, and Lawrence, Kansas. What stands out most from these places are the people I met, beginning with Iman Labadia, the main organizer of my events in Columbia. Her energy and organizing skills matches that of my friend Jim Harb in Knoxville, TN. She arranged events at colleges and highschools, a bookstore, a radio station, and a local tv station. Iman is one of those who never looses an opportunity to make a connection and I soon learned anyone she said “I should meet” I really should.

One of these is Ibtisam, a Palestinian poet and writer, around my age, who left Ramallah 15 years ago. She came to the presentation at Missouri University and eloquently expressed the generosity of the Palestinian people and the suffering of peoples everywhere, including that of Palestinians. “The Jews have perhaps been the most persecuted people in history….We, the Palestinians, were ready to share our land. Come, we said, come, this land will be a haven for both of us… But our land has been taken.” She has a book soon to be released about her childhood in Ramallah (details when I have them). And Chronicle will be publishing her first children’s book. We talked about collaborating on another book. It will tell the story of her first good dream, at 25 years of age, of a whale and a zippered pocket in his belly which she climbs into.

And, there is Carol, a woman who was part of a coalition of people who protested my coming to Columbia, and who came to the MU event so she could “see for herself”. Before the event started, she introduced herself and throughout the evening was closely watched me. At the end, she embraced me and the work.

There are longtime peace activists Robin and Paul whose home, The Peace Haven, I stayed in. Paul, who teaches classes on terrorism, made five star breakfasts each morning and Robin sent me off with a care package which included black seed tea and handmade soap from Prague.

There is Paul Sturtz who started a storefront theater in Columbia (www.ragtagfilm.com) and initiated the True/False Documentary film festival (www.ragtagfilm.com/truefalse/home.htm). Paul showed Iman and I samples of animated documentaries created by his students. After just a few minutes of watching, I knew what I am doing next. An animated documentary. Paul gave me a list of tools I will need and offered help in learning to use the equipment.

Paul and Iman at Ragtag Theater

There is Nanette a human rights investigator and community educator who came to three presentations. To one she brought her 11 year old daughter Kai Lee. To another, her friend Rebecca who had recently come back from Israel through Birthright Israel, a program which pays the airfare for Jews who want to visit.

There was a group of students at Hickman High School. Most of them were either from the Muslim Student Association or Amnesty International. “What can we do, now, here?” one asked. We talked and brainstormed creative approaches to education.

And there were shared dinners. I met with members of the Columbia Tikkun group at a vegan restaurant on 9th street. And on two separate evenings broke the Ramadan fast with Muslim families: one Palestinian American; one Iranian.

Group shot after Missouri University event

Presenting at Hickman Highschool

Students from Amnesty International and Muslim Students Association, Hickman Highschool

With Paul and Robin

Just sat talking with (mostly listening to) Mary Routh a Catholic Worker Catholic, feminist, and 8th generation Iowan. She told stories, mostly of her family. She’s got seven siblings that live within a 50 mile radius. She told a story of a sister who will soon be forced to move out of her house because she won’t be able to afford the rise in natural gas prices (it’s expected to jump 40% this winter). She told a story of her born again brother who is trying to save her and who supports Steve King, the Republican who represents western Iowa in the House. Steve King has been in the press recently for saying McCarthy was a “great American hero.” Apparently he was quoted as saying, “If you don’t think so, read your history”. And he is so popular in western Iowa that his seat is safe, he can say most anything he wants.

Just back from the library event in Ames. There weren’t many people, maybe 15, however we had a good time talking at the end. Sometimes a smaller group allows for a more intimate conversation.

Michael Gillespie from the Washington Report (www.wrmea.com) interviewed me before the event. I liked him. He was easy to talk with. He thinks, in addition to an article about the tour, WR will want to review the book and the American Educational Trust (which publishes the magazine) carry it. This would be a great help in getting the word out.

A good time in Minneapolis. Highlight: dinner with Jeanie.

With Jeanie in restaurant near University of Minneapolis

Back in Iowa, after four days in Minnesota.

A run with Charlie this morning. I was thinking of these days on the road, reminded of the stage in a marathon when all senses become focused on the running. I’ve run three marathons: Jericho, Boston, and Nashville Country Music Marathon. At the start of each, the first seven or eight miles, I talk with other racers, take in scenery, buildings, people, music. However, by the tenth mile the focus narrows, voices dim, including the one in my head, and there is just listening to the breathing, feeling legs and arms moving and feet striking the road. After three weeks on the road, I’ve hit a stride. Every leaving is an arrival is a leaving is an arrival. There is conservation of energy. During events, answers to questions have become more concise. Between events I am quiet and sometimes at a loss when asked simple questions. How do I like Iowa? ” I like it. The sky is so big here it’s part of the landscape.” ???? I call friends and family to stay connected and to hear their voices, however, I don’t have much to say. “It’s gotten cold here in Minnesota.” Most days, Charlie and I go for long walks. He keeps his nose to the ground and stops often to linger on a smell. I can get impatient, wanting us to keep moving. Yet later, when I am unsure of the way back to where we started, he turns us in the right direction.

In a couple hours, I will be heading to Ankeny and then to a library event in Ames. Tomorrow another library and, in the evening, an Islamic Center in Des Moines.