Direct Action: A First Attempt

A woman behind me screamed. I turned around as she fell to her knees clutching her face. I pulled her up, urging, "Run, you've got to run." Twenty feet away a medic met us and pushed her down. I yanked her head back and forced open her eyes so he could rinse them with boric acid. She was still screaming and clawing with her arms when the cops came up. "We're helping her," I screamed at them. "She's hurt." With his nightstick in his other hand the National Guardsman pushed at her back. We grabbed her and ran a few feet, and then my face began to sting and my eyes closed. I held my face and stumbled away. I was forced on my back by a medic, who rinsed my eyes, yelling, "Get out of here, get out of here. Somebody get this woman out of here."

We fell back off of the storage lot and sat down around the edge. People were crying; some were shouting. After about 10 minutes people made peace signs with their hands, and everyone went quiet. I linked arms with Carol and a man next to me. My face had stopped burning. I was calm. We sat silently for two minutes and then began to sing softly. Two busloads of national guardsmen marched out to reinforce the line that faced us. I saw Adam and George in the front line and Sarah behind them. I knew they would passively resist dispersal and wanted to join them.

We were singing, facing the line of guardsmen who stood elbow to elbow grasping their clubs. Suddenly, at a signal perceptible only to them they pulled out their canisters of Mace and started spraying the people in the front. No warning. The front line turned and fled. The guardsmen kept coming. I lunged for Sarah, and we linked elbows and began to move back. She fell and I reached down to help her, as a New Hampshire state trooper, aiming at where her head had been, caught me straight in the face with Mace. Again I stumbled frantically forward, trying to get away from the clubs and the cops. The same medic found me and pulled me into the woods. As he rinsed my eyes, he yelled at the people around me "I told you to get this woman out of here, get her out of here."

We began to move back along some railroad tracks. After awhile I could walk calmly, and I spotted members of my affinity group. We hugged and held each other, most of us crying. The last to join us was George, who had been beaten. He told us Adam had gone passive, remaining in a fetal position, and had been arrested.

* * * *

The strength of this weekend's action was the avoidance of violent response by the protesters. We were Maced, beaten, hosed and poked. Each time, we rallied and stood together. People calmed each other, holding those who were hysterical, treating those who were hurt. When our goal to shut down Seabrook appeared unattainable, we adopted a more realistic one--to occupy the storage lot, to cost the state of New Hampshire as much as we could, and to get as much publicity as possible. Just getting arrested hadn't worked. Three Mile Island hadn't made enough people think. We had to attempt to stop it ourselves, and we would do it by our methods--peaceful occupation--and not theirs.

When the coalition lost sight of its collective goal, we lost our most powerful weapon--unity. When the goal ceased to be stopping Seabrook and instead became, as it did Monday, more random actions against the fence, we lost our power.

Each affinity group of a dozen or so friends sent one spokesperson to each meeting. Only the spokesperson could vote. A man and woman lead each meeting, and the positions rotated. Hierarchy was avoided; charismatic leadership squelched. It was invigorating to be a part of this form of decision-making. Each spokesperson had a right to be heard, and each man and woman were respected equally.

The problem was that decisions could not be made quickly. To gather spokespersons in a confused situation was nearly impossible. One meeting I attended lasted six and a half hours, and we reached no consensus on the next day's approach. The people who came to Seabrook opposed a hierarchical system that has abandoned concern for human life in favor of greater profits. The protesters did not allow their organization to mirror that of the system they condemned. To attempt Seabrook again, or an action like it, a method must be devised to make quick decisions.

I was maced three times this weekend, and I experienced violence. But I also saw people helping each other, listening to each other, and coming together for a purpose. For three days, I was part of a community of peaceful people who were scared of something and knew we had to risk getting hurt to stop it. But many people do not listen because they refuse to see the danger; the devastation an accident will cause is incomprehensible.

It was exhilarating. I can't deny that. I went to Seabrook partly because of the issue, but mostly because I wanted to see a major non-violent occupation take place. There are a thousand questions this weekend raises about the futures of non-violent direct action in America and the anti-nuclear movement. But there is one thing that is very clear: There are at least 2000 people in this country who believe they have a right to protect their health and that of future generations. They will try again.