I was hanging out with friends
Behind the pharmacy
Near the Campus Restaurant
Coming up the steps that hugged the building,
Parking lot to the left,
And there are three guys waiting for us on the steps.
Greasers (because they greased their hair).
(They wore their sleeves rolled up over their shoulders.
We were called "freaks"
Because long hair and bell-bottom jeans
With holes and patches
Were a new thing and therefore freaky.
We accepted the label, sort of enjoying
The negative attention.)
So there were three of them and three of us.
They had a leader, a big guy.
We didn't have a leader. We were just friends.
We are climbing the steps bantering.
They are waiting for us, smoking cigarettes.
They don't move but one of them pushes my friend Clark
Off the sidewalk.
We are used to being harassed
But it has always been verbal.
Now the leader is focusing on me.
I'm closest to the wall.
He pushes me against the wall.
Then he tells the smallest guy to hit me.
"Go ahead, hit him!"
He is holding me against the wall.
I can smell his hair and sweat.
The leader backs away
And now the little guy steps up to me
His face is a foot away from mine
Taking up my entire view.
(I'll never forget that face,
A little pudgy, a little boyish.)
The leader is egging him on.
"Hit him. Go on, hit him!"
I can tell he is afraid.
I have seen this kid at school
On the margins, kind of a punk with no friends.
Now he is being tested by his leader.
I can see it in his face,
That this is a big moment for him.
Will he disappoint his leader or hit the freak?
His obedience comes fast and unexpected.
He slaps me. Hard.
It stings.
I do nothing.
I am stronger than him and bigger
But he has just taken a huge step
Beyond words to physical violence
And now there is a great river between us.
I am on the side of my nature.
But I am also a coward.
They are done with us, jeering,
All pumped up, walking away into the parking lot.
I am ashamed. But 4 years later
I have filed with my draft board as a conscientious objector.
I am 18 and a pacifist.
I am willing to go to jail
For my convictions.
I am on a path on this side of a river.
On the other side of the river
There is war
And young men being encouraged by their leaders
To embrace violence,
To "hit him".
(He's nobody to you. He's a freak.
They are nothing to you. They are freaks.)
I have never forgotten the sting of that slap
And I don't know what to do about the river.
.............
What is the relationship between the path of non-violence and cowardice? If you look at who chooses non-violence as a way of life you will find those who avoid conflict because they are afraid of confrontation or of being attacked or assaulted either physically or verbally, where the injury would be subjective, In this poem I mention that prior to this confrontation on the steps, the clashes we had with these "greasers" were always verbal. When it became physical it was as if a sacred line was crossed, that I describe in the poem as a river that divided me from my attacker which was paradoxical because his face was only inches from mine and yet his violent act separated us by a mile. But it took me a few years and dealing with the draft to fully realize that my refusal to push back was not all cowardice, there was also something very empowering in my non-violent non-action. Here is a quote from Catherine Ingram's 1989 interview of Joanna Macy: "(Gandhi) said that nonviolence was not for the weak but for the strong. He would rather have someone engaging in violence out of conviction than engaging in nonviolence out of cowardice." (from: In the Footsteps of Gandhi)
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