Heat and Laughter in a Blistering Tent
Hands sweaty and dripping over our keyboards, we begin another day of active activism. We are exhausted. No more make up, looking and feeling older. Just showing up for each critical day of “no more.” Camp Casey II is a large tent donated by a Dallas catering company on land that was donated for the month by the cousin of a local cowboy who shot his gun into the air some days ago. Called by the newspaper “a party tent” — this is no party. These folks are somber, serious. Many have children in Iraq, or, as one couple from Wisconsin told me yesterday, one son, a National Guard member, is already in Iraq, the other on his way. Special tables are reserved for military families, for Gold Star moms who have lost a child, for Veterans for Peace, for Iraq Veterans Against the War. All are represented. All are mobilized. Internet connection is rough here. Too many trying to use the limited bandwidth. We are being asked to rotate. Several are are blogging live from voice stream in the center of the tent, under the looming replica of a casket painted with American Flag beside the enourmous banner painted in the likeness of Casey Sheehan, the child whose death began this vigil outside of George W. Bush’s hideaway ranch in the hill country of Texas. But this is not about one person. This isn’t just about Casey. And it is not about Cindy, his mom. This is about truth, and lies. About a country that trusted elected leadership, and has been betrayed. As elders walk around in this 101 degree, 100 percent humidity, we all know that this is bigger than one person’s story. And it is clear that the Bush crowd is also aware. They come and go only by helicopter now, abandoning the roads that must wind through the Camp Casey encampments. The tide has turned. When the women say “no more,” some things shift. History bears that out. The Greek play Lysistrata informs us. It is happening here, and in a different way, the common people are saying, “No More!” There is also no doubt that this operation is being run by women. Col Ann Wright, former U.S. diplomat, has come to spearhead the organization of the hundreds who are arriving. Men are vital and involved, but the women “man” the cell phones, plan the events, make the grocery lists, prepare the food, and create the rather creative menus — creative because we have no refrigeration and must depend on whatever is available in town that arrives each morning. The actual meals flow from what is hauled in every morning as the boxes of produce, meat, etc. arrive — some donated and the rest purchased from donated funds. Yes, the women have said, “no more.” And the women have gathered. The tent is not full at the moment, because all of the veterans have gone to Waco to demonstrate at the VA hospital. They will return this afternoon.
Also arriving will be Cindy Sheehan, returning from the bedside of her gravely ill mother. Also arriving will be a truckload of 2000 sets of boots, from the feet of the fallen military in Iraq. There will, sadly, be no sandals of the Iraqi’s arriving here. No blankets that wrapped the babies, no scarves that covered the Iraqi mothers’ heads, nor handkerchiefs that wiped their tears. But they, too, are among us in our hearts. We have not forgotten them.
