When I was asked if I could host a group of 20 students from Guildford College coming down to protest the FTAA Ministerial meetings, I said Yes without hesitating.
By the day of the big protest march, my backyard looked like a miniature Woodstock minus the mud. Seventeen tents of assorted shapes and sizes flapped in the breeze. The kids were idealistic, well informed and respectful.
I talked to them while they waited in line for the bathroom. Sometimes the chats stretched to lengthy conversations about finding meaning in a society that seems to value money more than people. Some were from working-class backgrounds; others described their circumstances growing up as upper-middle class.
I had specified that, as a Quaker, I would provide hospitality only for nonviolent protesters. So I was surprised when perky, petite Debbie, with the hair, face and teeth of a Seventeen magazine cover girl, referred to herself as an anarchist.
''How do you define anarchism?'' I asked. ''There is no one definition; each group has its own way of thinking and operating,'' she replied. ''Are you nonviolent?'' I asked. ''Of course,'' she said. ''Why are you an anarchist?'' ``Because we don't believe the system is working any longer, and it can't be fixed the way it is now.''
''How do you expect to change the system?` I asked another camper. ``We have to educate the public, and that's what these protests do,'' was the answer. ''My Dad raised me to be a good Catholic,'' said Jason, the puppet maker. ``I tell him that I'm living my life like he raised me. I think he understands.''
Their eyes were opened, they said, during the the World Trade Organization protests in Seattle four years ago. They are concerned about the environment and the fact that multinational corporations are relocating to countries were there are no effective controls over pollution of the air, water and soil.
There's also the transparency issue. The WTO, the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank's business is conducted behind closed doors without public scrutiny; consequently, the people affected by their decisions have no voice in matters that affect their health and livelihoods.
Another issue is intellectual property rights. They are against agribusiness that ''discovers'' and patents seeds that genetically modify them to render them sterile, forcing farmers to buy new seed each year. This puts small farmers out of business around the world.
These are only a few of the issues they feel that the American public is largely unaware of because our media are more preoccupied with Michael Jackson's mental state than the well-being of people with whom we share the Earth. So they made their way downtown carrying signs and puppets and water bottles to protest the talks intended to extend the free-trade agreement between Canada, Mexico and the United States to the entire hemisphere. Although their spirits were high, they were apprehensive about the police.
Most of them had already experienced the martial atmosphere created by the police in downtown Miami. The day before, a small group was walking on a street near downtown. They were surrounded by policemen on bicycles. The young man in the group ''matched the description of someone seen carrying a concealed weapon,'' according to the police, and so he was searched.
When they returned to my backyard that evening, they were outraged at their treatment for peacefully protesting and worried about friends whom they had lost in the turmoil. Cellphones were ringing right and left. ''Tell Mom I'm OK,'' one girl said. Jane from North Carolina paced the kitchen. ''Give me something to do,'' she begged, ``I'm worried about a friend who hasn't made it back. May I wash those dishes in the sink?''
Exhausted, many crawled into their tents early. Others stayed up to talk about what went wrong. Debbie looked downcast. ''We should have stood our ground and not run away. We had a right to be there. We're trained in nonviolence. Running away was not what we were supposed to do,'' she said. Some conceded that they were intimidated by the tear gas, the rubber bullets and the fierceness of the police in pursuing protesters.
The next morning's Herald confirmed what they had complained about the night before. In the backyard, half the tents were gone. Some students had headed back to college. Others went to the jail where most of the detainees were being held. ''We need to show solidarity with the people inside,'' they explained.
By Saturday morning, most of the bail had been posted and charges dropped -- disorderly conduct and ''resisting'' arrest.
With the last tent gone, the only sign of where the camp had been was the flattened grass. The kitchen table, however, was covered with notes thanking us for our hospitality. An envelope from a health-food store contained a gift certificate for $40. Next to it was a tower of eight rolls of toilet paper.
As I gazed into my backyard, I felt a sense of grace. The world beyond my fence is fraught with problems. But for seven days, a group of idealistic, committed, young people determined to change the world brought hope to my back door.
Miami
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