For 40 years, Penn students have traveled by bus to Washington, D.C. to use their voices and their bodies to try to change the world. Last Saturday, some 140 Penn students, faculty, and West Philadelphians went to do it again.
Penn Against War, a campus peace group, organized a full-day trip to protest the Iraq War in the nation's capital. Rose Levine, a young activist, tells the crowd on one of three buses: "We're setting a model, that's what we came to DC to do."
Why we march (and why we don't)
by Alex Jacobs and Vince Levy
The activists arrive at National Mall around noon. In the back of the buses are about 20 painted cardboard houses - symbols of the march's overarching goal: to "Bring the Troops Home." Over a megaphone, Rose calls out for volunteers to wear the houses and carry signs. But then she turns serious: "Normally at protests people chant, 'What do we want? Blank. When do we want it? Blank.' We don't want to pressure anybody to say anything."
She leads a practice call and response, but no clear answer can be heard.
It's a strange omen for the rally that follows. On the main stage on 3rd Street, a succession of politicians, celebrities, veterans, and activists make their case against the war. Of all the range speakers' chants - "Keep hope alive!" "What do women say? Pull out now!" - the most successful seems the most far-fetched: "Impeach Bush!"
The crowd, spread out between the stage and the looming figure of the Washington Monument, engages in the main rally sparingly- only the first third call back to the podium. Small groups attract more attention. One cluster of young men holding signs that read "9/11 Truth Now!" shout conspiracy theories from a megaphone. To the side, a man with a "Make hip-hop, not war" shirt freestyles to general acclaim: "Fight the power, kill the beast." And maybe 50 yards from the stage, young hippie types dance lazily, chanting "Give Peace a Chance!"
One popular sign reads "Another ______ Against Escalation," with responses as far-reaching as "Lord of the Rings Fan."
Besides general dissatisfaction, speakers, signs, and chants have little in common. Is this a rally for immediate troop withdrawal? Is this about Veterans' Rights? Is it all about Bush? Or is this a collection of wholly different agendas, all competing for the attention of the assembled masses?
More surprising than the variety of messages is the diversity of faces. Vietnam-era demonstrators and families visibly outnumber students.
The turnout prompts one aging protestor to reflect on the trips she made here in the early '70s from Albertus Magnus in Connecticut: "Probably at least half the campus came. It was all you talked about. It was the biggest, most important thing in your life."
One thing this is certain of Saturday's demonstration: this was not your parents' protest.
It's easy to be nostalgic for the actvist culture of the '60s and '70s. Students joined together in an unprecedented fashion to campaign for issues like civil rights, peace, and feminism. They took to the streets and organized sit-ins on college campuses. Though at the time their demonstrations were controversial, history has proven them strangely prescient.
Penn, though rarely radical, was not an exception. During the '60s and early '70s, sit-ins were a regular feature of campus life - the appearance, at least, of a politically engaged student body. In 1969, for instance, a six-day sit-in at College Hall precluded a University City Science Center (UCSC) expansion, returning land and funds to several thousand low-income African American residents of West Philadelphia. Student efforts also helped halt a military-funded chemical weapons program at the UCSC. The protest was entirely peaceful; dining services provided coffee for the demonstrators throughout. The Daily Pennsylvanian wrote, "You could tell these weren't hard-core revolutionaries, many were doing their homework. Sit-in tonight, go to class tomorrow." University President Gaylord Harnwell declared the sit-in, "a beacon of light amid the rather smoky battlegrounds of today's college campuses."
The magnitude of that sit-in, in the eyes of its participants, is best depicted on its initial flyer: "If America is to survive, this must stop."
Current Professor Ira Harkavy was a student leader of the '69 sit-in, chosen to negotiate with the University Trustees. He remembers that the issues at stake "were felt to be enormously significant decisions for American society and for the world."
At Penn, it's hard to locate that same idealism today. With the exception of a protest against a revised alcohol policy in 1999, there have been few mass demonstrations on campus, few visible ways in which students have engaged in issues like the war in Iraq. The relative quiet on campus has only cemented its reputation for apathy.
But is apathy really the issue? Dr. Felicity Paxton, of Penn's Center for Programs in Contemporary Writing, thinks students aren't sure where to begin. "We've got impossible debt, global warming, an illegal war in Iraq that has killed 3,050 Americans and hundreds of thousands of Iraqis, chaos still in New Orleans -- I can see why students would pick their heads up and go, 'Holy crap! I'm going back to my books.'"
Even the biggest demonstrations, like February 2003's anti-war march in anticipation of Iraq, seemed to have little real effect. Says Wharton senior Chris Bennett, "There's so much you want to change. You have these strong opinions but all you can do is voice it. You can't make a change." Though he opposses the war, Bennett didn't "see the point" to Saturday's march.
Wharton graduate student Ryan Burg, one of the founders of Penn Against War, recognizes a common disillusionment with protest: "One of the things I've experienced with Penn students is that they want to have a very clear pathway to change. They want to know exactly how any action they would take would influence someone or something. And protesting doesn't necessarily do that." Though he concedes, "I think it's a travesty that so many students have any hesitation in wanting to act."
At a school notorious for its pre-professionalism, the truth may be that students have concentrated their efforts in other, more practical spheres. Penn Leads the Vote, for one, had marked success in bringing Penn to the polls: 1,521 voted in the midterm elections, compared to 509 in 2002. Penn Democrats, now one of the largest, most visible groups on campus, has declined to endorse recent war protests, instead focusing on candidates who might affect change more readily. Penn Dems President Clayton Robinson emphasizes his group's efforts in helping elect Congressman Patrick Murphy, an Iraq war veteran who has "endorsed a timeline for bringing American forces home from Iraq." Or look at the success of local initiatives, like the West Philadelphia Tutoring Project or courses designed to reach out to the community.
Call it the New Activism - devoting energy to well-researched, concrete aims. For all the volatility of the '60s anti-war movement, its image may have come to be unfairly romanticized. Dan Berger, an Annenberg graduate student who has published a number of pieces on the history of activism, is mistrustful of the "apathy" label. "Often when people make that accusation, it's not that they're saying our generation is apathetic, they're saying that our generation isn't like the 60s."
History professor Alan Charles Kors, remembers the College Hall sit-ins as the product of an "unthinking herd mentality." In 1968, he refused to let demonstrations disrupt his courses, even holding class during the History department's "Day of Conscience" for the Vietnam war. "I think my generation often cared more about the symbolism of something than the substance of something."
Outside of the "handful" of people who sincerely believed in the sit-in form, "some kids went to sit-ins to get laid, some kids went to sit-ins because they heard the best pot was there, and a startling number of people went to such sit-ins and demonstrations without a clue as to Vietnamese history, the nature of the forces there, the choices facing the country. They didn't know, they didn't care. It was symbolism. 'Grown-ups bad. College students good. Let's sit-in.'"
Kors feels that today's student body, by comparison, is "rightly more cautious in how it reaches judgments, and more self-skeptical about whether a first impression is necessarily true and compelling."
Even Ira Harkavy, now director of Penn's Center for Community Partnerships, recognizes a shift in the activist climate. He gives credit to the University, through initiatives like the CCP and Civic House, for providing students with "academic work that links their idealism to their studies." During his protest days, "there weren't other avenues that existed, that encouraged young people to become engaged within their role of students within the University." Without an activist climate on campus, students' only recourse was direct action.
Paul Lyons, a Professor of Social Work at Richard Stockton College who has published extensively on Philadelphia activism, recognizes signs of New Activism as well. Without the convergence of the 60s movements - Civil Rights, Vietnam, and local issues all wrapped under one peace sign - Lyons feels student engagement has transferred to the micro-level, where it is alive and well. He believes that activists today are "more likely to work for a local Congressman, they're more likely to do Habitat For Humanity, they're more likely to volunteer to go to New Orleans, they're more likely to get involved in an HIV/AIDS campaign."
The micro-activist Lyons imagines might look a lot like College senior Adrienne Benson. She's a vocal member of the Penn Democrats - her Facebook photo is their most recent flyer - and she works in the Communications Department on EMILY's List, a political action committee whose focus is electing democratic women to state and federal offices. She served on the campaign for eight district Congressman Patrick Murphy, and before that, Senator Bob Casey. Ask her if she opposes the war in Iraq and you don't get a simple answer, but rather a detailed personal account of her thoughts on even the most recent developments. She supports yesterday's Warner and Levin's non-binding resolution in the Senate. "A little too much CSPAN," she laughs after the rundown.
Benson also represents an emerging dynamic in Penn student politics: the image-conscious activist. Despite her devotion to the Democrats, and support for Saturday's rally, she has never marched against the war in Iraq.
"As someone who works for, and often represents organizations and candidates, I'm less public about positions that can be construed certain ways," Benson said. She cited the 2004 incident in which a photo of Jane Fonda and presidential hopeful John Kerry at a 1970 anti-war rally caused an online media frenzy. "You have to be careful about being seen with a representative of other organizations, even if you're participating in separate activities."
In the New Activism climate, Dr. Paxton has one law: "The only thing that deserves criticism is doing nothing."
* * *
Numbers on Saturday's march remain unclear. United for Peace and Justice, the anti-war coalition that organized the event, put attendance at 500,000; the AP estimated something less than 100,000. But even with the biggest numbers, the tenor of protest has little in common with the 1960s. The urgency seems lost. Without a draft, the Iraq war can never be as immediate to college students as Vietnam. Thirty years ago, getting your diploma meant getting a rifle one week later.
Is the protest, then, only the product of the Vietnam-era mindset? Among today's generation of New Activists, is protest dead?
Penn's most outspoken activists defend the importance of the demonstration, though its purpose may no longer be confrontation and upheaval. For Matt Richman, a member of Penn Against War, the main goal is opening a dialogue. "The vast majority of people on the buses have not come around to events and meetings before. Hopefully this will be a spark that gets them into organizations so we can build on campus."
Faculty & Staff Against War in Iraq (FSAWI) works towards a similar aim. They helped organize the gravestone memorial on College Green last month, where each makeshift headstone commemorated 1,000 deaths in Iraq. Dr. Paxton, a founding member, says: "That memorial sparked countless conversations. and if people argued, that's fine too. That what we want to see: passionate dialogue."
The trick will be bringing more students into the fold. Paxton hopes dialogue will help combat the entrenched stigma of activism. "The real tragedy of our times is that it's considered rather uncool to be politically passionate.. People who speak out or camp out or march are seen as the crazies."
Ryan Burg echoes her sentiment. "What's missing from Penn activism is people dragging their friends into the fray."
Though its message may have been unclear, this weekend's protest signaled a step in the right direction for Penn's activist community. Sophomore Sean Bresslin, who describes himself as "politically opinionated," had never been to a protest before his friend convinced him to march on Saturday. When asked if he considered the protest a success, he gave the answer that Penn Against War wanted to hear.
"Yes, because it got me involved."
work that links their idealism to their studies." During his protest days, "there weren't other avenues that existed, that encouraged young people to become engaged within their role of students within the University." Without an activist climate on campus, students' only recourse was direct action.
Paul Lyons, a Professor of Social Work at Richard Stockton College who has published extensively on Philadelphia activism, recognizes signs of New Activism as well. Without the convergence of the 60s movements - Civil Rights, Vietnam, and local issues all wrapped under one peace sign - Lyons feels student engagement has transferred to the micro-level, where it is alive and well. He believes that activists today are "more likely to work for a local Congressman, they're more likely to do Habitat For Humanity, they're more likely to volunteer to go to New Orleans, they're more likely to get involved in an HIV/AIDS campaign."
The micro-activist Lyons imagines might look a lot like College senior Adrienne Benson. She's a vocal member of the Penn Democrats - her Facebook photo is their most recent flyer - and she works in the Communications Department on Emily's List, a political action committee whose focus is electing democratic women to state and federal offices. She served on the campaign for eight district Congressman Patrick Murphy, and before that, Senator Bob Casey. Ask her if she opposes the war in Iraq and you don't get a simple answer, but rather a detailed personal account of her thoughts on even the most recent developments. She supports yesterday's Warner and Levin's non-binding resolution in the Senate. "A little too much CSPAN," she laughs after the rundown.
Benson also represents an emerging dynamic in Penn student politics: the image-conscious activist. Despite her devotion to the Democrats, and support for Saturday's rally, she has never marched against the war in Iraq.
"As someone who works for, and often represents organizations and candidates, I'm less public about positions that can be construed certain ways," Benson said. She cited the 2004 incident in which a photo of Jane Fonda and presidential hopeful John Kerry at a 1970 anti-war rally caused an online media frenzy. "You have to be careful about being seen with a representative of other organizations, even if you're participating in separate activities."
In the New Activism climate, Dr. Paxton has one law: "The only thing that deserves criticism is doing nothing."
Numbers on Saturday's march remain unclear. United for Peace and Justice, the anti-war coalition that organized the event, put attendance at 500,000; the AP estimated something less than 100,000. But even with the biggest numbers, the tenor of protest has little in common with the 1960s. Above all, the urgency is gone. Certainly, without a draft, Iraq protest numbers will never reach Vietnam's. The prospect of any Penn dropout or graduate having a rifle in their hands a week later was reason for most to take to the streets.
Is the protest, then, only the product of the Vietnam-era mindset? Among today's generation of New Activists, is protest dead?
Penn's most outspoken activists defend the importance of the demonstration, though its purpose may no longer be confrontation and upheaval. For Matt Richman, a member of Penn Against War, the main goal is opening a dialogue. "The vast majority of people on the buses have not come around to events and meetings before. Hopefully this will be a spark that gets them into organizations so we can build on campus."
Faculty & Staff Against War in Iraq (FSAWI) works towards a similar aim. They helped organize the gravestone memorial on College Green last month, where each makeshift headstone commemorated 1,000 deaths in Iraq. Dr. Paxton, a founding member, says: "That memorial sparked countless conversations. and if people argued, that's fine too. That what we want to see: passionate dialogue."
The trick will be bringing more students into the fold. Paxton hopes dialogue will help combat the entrenched stigma of activism. "The real tragedy of our times is that it's considered rather uncool to be politically passionate.. People who speak out or camp out or march are seen as the crazies."
Ryan Burg echoes her sentiment. "What's missing from Penn activism is people dragging their friends into the fray."
Though its message may have been unclear, this weekend's protest signaled a step in the right direction for Penn's activist community. Sophomore Sean Bresslin, who describes himself as "politically opinionated," had never been to a protest before his friend convinced him to march on Saturday. When asked if he considered the protest a success, he gave the answer that Penn Against War wanted to hear.
"Yes, because it got me involved"
