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Meghan Kelly

Our journey to Columbus, Georgia, exemplified what community means to me. The night before I left, the Sisters here in Wickatunk invited me and my community members down to a pray service to pray for the journey down to Fort Benning, Georgia. Even though I was very far from the sisters and everyone back at Collier during the protest, I felt a real connection between my community here while I was down at Fort Benning.

On our way to Georgia, it was easy to feel the sense of community building between all the different GSV communities coming together in sharing meals, snacks with one another, playing games, and just being a shoulder to sleep on during the trek. It was helpful to know we were all looking out for one another, and making sure no one was left at the gas station.

Once getting down to the Convention center and gathering at the gates of Fort Benning with all the peace activist, the sense of community was very empowering with over 20,000 people who gathered at the gates. Knowing we were there with not only our communities from back home, but also with all those in Latin American who are crying out for the violence to end, and a new global community to grow and heal. With the protest to close the School of the Americas growing every year the Moral Tipping point is being pushed further and further and soon enough the wall holding up our military infrastructure will fall, starting with the closing of the School of the Americas. Si se puede!"

Sarah Simons

My freshman year of college I took American Civilization with Professor Brian Roberts. We read many books that semester, but one struck me more than the others. It was written by a journalist who traveled to El Salvador and interviewed the sole survivor of a massacre that happened in a small village called El Mozote. He brought her story back to the United States through various articles and publications, and eventually put it all together to form The Massacre at El Mozote. At the end of the semester, I sold back every single book except The Massacre at El Mozote. The book touched me in a strange way—I could not reread it because it made me too sad, yet I could not bring myself to sell it back to the bookstore. So it has sat in my room ever since, both forgotten and unforgotten.

Four years later, I found myself at the School of the Americas Protest in Fort Benning, Georgia. When we arrived at the main gates, there was a giant portrait of a woman who had just passed away. Her name is Rufina Amaya. As speaker after speaker entered the stage and made various comments about her, I began to piece together her history and her connection to the School of the Americas. She was the sole survivor of a massacre in a small El Salvador town, a massacre carried out by graduates of the School of the Americas. The village where the massacre took place is called El Mozote. I quickly realized that it was Rufina Amaya who was responsible for so much of the content of The Massacre at El Mozote, the book I both deliberately kept and deliberately did not reread from my freshman year in college. I immediately felt more strongly connected to the cause of the School of the Americas protest as I thought about the reasons the book struck me in such a compelling way.

When I first read The Massacre at El Mozote I was not ready to accept all the social evils happening in the world. I could not reread the book because it was so troubling to me—it was easier to lock my knowledge of these problems somewhere deep in the back of my mind than to face their existence through further research and exploration. But now, four years later, I am ready to accept responsibility for the things I can do something about and the things I can educate myself about. Attending the School of the Americas protest helped me realize that. As one person, I can only do so much—but the combined knowledge and strength of many individuals can make for a powerful movement. Seeing thousands of voices united against the School of the Americas is a reminder that great things can be accomplished when many stand together for a single purpose. I am heading home for the holidays—and when I get there, I am going to reread The Massacre at El Mozote. And then I am going to share it with others

Laura Halley

As I had never been to this protest before, I did not have clear expectations for what it would look like and who would be there. One image that remains very clear in my head and captures a lot about the weekend is that of an army guard at the entrance to the protest on the last day. Here were thousands of long time nonviolent protesters trying to move toward the gates of Fort Benning, and this guard was standing there with his giant gun and a thin, square sheet of metal demanding to measure the wooden crosses that people traditionally carry in the protest. He was shouting, “If your cross is larger than this square, it is considered a weapon; please stand to the side and break it down.” So that is just what protesters (largely college students, veterans and grandmothers for peace, and nuns) were forced to do—move out of the way and break their crosses apart. Standing behind him a middle aged woman was fuming, yelling, “They’re just slowing us down; they’re trying to make us smaller.”

The weekend left me with many feelings I am still trying to sort out. Joining 25,000 peaceful protesters brought feelings of sadness but also hope. The day of the protest called us to remember and mourn those victims of SOA violence as well as celebrate the resilience of their families and communities. The road to the gates of Fort Benning was lined with kiosks promoting awareness of other causes and issues needing support. Though all the issues are related in one way or another, it can make one person feel a bit useless. Of course, there is no time to waste dwelling on that depressing thought. All we can do is dedicate ourselves completely to the cause at hand, be in genuine solidarity with those that have suffered and survived, and continue to fight injustice one day at a time.

 

Walter Ayala

¡Presente! Once again I was present at the protest of the School of the Americas. It was my second year attending the protest, and like before, I was awestruck. I was in awe at the amount of people who attend every year to protest. In awe at the number of names called out of people who have been murdered…

The protest of the SOA hits close to home for me. Growing up in Los Angeles as a Central American made the experience even more powerful for me. In Los Angeles I know many people who have fled their homes in Central America due to fear of being murdered by “los escuadrones de la muerte” (death squads). But, it also hits home personally for me; I am half Salvadorian. I remember the first time I ever visited El Salvador was in 1996 and I fell in love with the land and its people. I had never gone before because my family feared something could happen to us. Many friends had returned to El Salvador in hopes of returning to Los Angeles with the rest of their family; months later we would find out that they had been murdered. Being in El Salvador for the first time made me proud, but yet it was sad. I remember driving around the streets of San Salvador with my uncle. He was explaining to me how there were no men in the country. A whole generation of men had been exterminated over a senseless civil war.

So I once again was present to protest a school which murdered so many people in so many countries. Every time a name was called chills ran through my body. I saw many people crying, people cheering for the fact that someone had crossed the line, and everyone in unison “¡Presente!”

Attending the protest makes me angry and wanting to fight and speak up for those who cannot. But yet, at the same time, I leave feeling helpless. I feel helpless because after everyone leaves Fort Benning, most people return back to their lives and forget all about the SOA and those who have been murdered. How many of us actually keep on fighting? Nevertheless, I keep hope alive that one day soon this school will be no more.