I Love a Broad Margin to My Life - Maxine Hong Kingston [31]
one another, happy, we completed the ring
around our House. “… A troop gathers around me.
Some walk by my side and some behind, and some
embrace my arms or neck … thicker they come,
a great crowd, and I in the middle.”
The encirclement lasted for moments, then the crowd
cooperated with the police, who asked them
and ordered them off the street. They retreated
to the borders of Lafayette Park. There they
stayed, keeping an eye on the 25 of us
who stood at the curb of the White House sidewalk.
In the middle of the park, drummers—Native Americans—
drummed banging day and night; the President
won’t sleep til he calls off Shock and Awe.
Wave to the drummers, dance to the drumming. Sing,
and dance to our own singing, ululation,
and “Give peace a chance …” Wave
to the peace marchers, wave to the police, wave
to the children of Iraq. Everyone I saw was nonviolent.
The man with the bullhorn and the blowups of abortions
disappeared. Counterdemonstrators disappeared.
Everywhere I looked was peace. Each woman
cared for the women around her, and love grew.
Love, and love returning, love and returning
love, love reverberating, love magnifying.
I felt love palpable and saw love
manifest—it’s pink. Air and light turned
dawn-pink. The color I imagine Yin.
The color of aired blood, the pink mist
at explosions. I was desperate for miracle,
perhaps the reason I could open my arms wide
and gather up great big pink
balls of Peace, and hurl them east toward Iraq,
and turn and hurl them at the White House.
I’m not the only one. Other women
also threw pink balls of Peace
to the Iraqi children, to protect them,
and at the White House. “Catch, George.”
“Catch, Laura.” The many kinds of police
kept arriving—first, the Law Enforcement
Park Rangers, who I think are Federal Police;
then came the Metropolitan Police, which included
mounted police and motorcycle cops,
then SWAT teams / TAC squads. Easy
to practice nonviolence with the friendly
Park Rangers. “How about giving me your Code Pink
button, for my wife?” We petted and talked
to the horses. But the SWAT / TACs—one-way
glass over faces, everyone in the same
robot stance, a rank of robots, weapons—
any women? can’t tell—impervious to us.
The officer shouting and giving us
orders was a D.C. cop. “Get off
the street. Arrests will begin in twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes and more passed. He announced
again and again, “Arrests in twenty minutes.”
They didn’t really want to arrest us;
they hoped we would go away. We were
having a standoff. Without discussion,
we 25 women all together,
took slow steps backward through
the yellow tape. We waved our arms and pink
scarves and ribbons, waving goodbye
to our supporters, who stood witness on the 3
far sides of the park, waving goodbye
to the police; we are getting off the street.
We walked backward, broke the yellow tape,
up onto the curb, into the “restricted
zone (White House sidewalk).”
Slowly, imperceptibly moving so as not to provoke
violent arrest. Singing, “Salaam, peace,
shalom.” We reached the White House fence.
Two grandmothers ago, our ancestresses
chained themselve to this black iron fence.
I held its bars in my hands, laid my face
against the barricade, and felt tears rise.
The other women were crying too, and cheering,
and dancing. Now the police saw, we had
unambiguously broken a law. Time
to start the arrests. All the police came
to attention, the Rangers blocking the left side
of the steet, the TAC squad the right, and the city
cops in a blue line facing us, the width
of the street between. On the White House
roof, a man in uniform aimed a high-
powered long-range sharpshooter
rifle at us. He aimed it, put it down,
aimed, put it down. A van drove
into the cordoned area; I think the insignia
on it said Federal Prison. 2 or 3
cops unfolded a tarp, and taped it on to
the side of the van, covering over the words.
I got afraid. They’re hiding the place where
they would take us. They would disappear us.
They’re going to drive us through the streets