Monday, January 1, 2001

07. Young buck, Moonstruck, Close call, Good luck...

Moonstruck
From the American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, 4th edition. 1. Dazed or distracted with romantic sentiment. 2. Affected by insanity; crazed. From the belief that the moon caused insanity....

About the end of May 1969, after about a week in one side of the federal lockup, 4 tiers of cells full of mostly black men, buried deep in the bowels of the Baltimore City Jail, I was released on bail, raised by movement friends in Maryland and D.C., thanks in large part to Mary Moylan, a nurse and midwife who I came to know in early 1969.

As we planned our action, I moved out of Blair House, a commune chock full of draft resisters including especially Chris and her husband Rick, Les, the O'Mara brothers, myself and others, and supporters just inside the District line, and into St. Francis House at 1620 S St, NW - Mary lived in NW Washington as well. She had taken part in the Catonsville draft-board action in 1968 which had been planned in part at St. Francis House, the first action at which draft files were burned to cinders using home-made napalm, and also the one to put draft-board actions on the movement map.

For our action, we decided to steer clear of napalm, since we were walking into a cultural monument and were not going to take a chance on someone getting hurt. Our action was also more of a demonstration, than an attempt to destroy large numbers of files. We asked Mary to help us "donate" our blood, and she did, probably on my 18th birthday - about a pint from each of us (ouch!) - which was poured onto draft files a week later. Thanks largely to Mary but also other members of the Catonsville group, bail was raised for me within a week. Of the other two who took part in our action (we were known, in rarefied circles, shortly, as the Silver Spring 3), the eldest, 22 years old, already had a 5-year sentence for refusing induction, while his brother, 17 at the time, got a suspended sentence. This was back when Americans thought 17-year olds were children and 18-year olds were adults.

I had some explaining to do
From the first day out of the Baltimore City Jail, I began to speak publicly, and I think the first time was at Georgetown University, about why we had poured paint and blood on draft files, knowing we would go to prison for it. I took every available opportunity, at teach-ins and demonstrations, outside supermarkets, in public squares, at libraries, to hand out our statement, together with a primer on the draft, and to explain my action, and why I thought a point could be so important to make as to give away years of my life in prison.

And it was about the honor of law-breaking in the face of tyranny - a patriotic American tradition from the Boston Tea Party onward - and about civil disobedience, another revered American tradition. And it was about the draft being the life-blood and the death-blood of the war, about the racist and class-conscious core of the war - the rich man could get out on a note, or on a deferment, or by simply leaving the country, while the poor man was issued GI gear and a number.

It was about how unprovoked and illegal wars of expansionist aggression like the one in Vietnam have forever been fueling the American Dream of more, and ever more. Above all it was about conscience: I had been exposed to unusual teachers and teachings: Teilhard de Chardin, in whose "...future, the greatest event will be the sudden appearance of a collective humane conscience...", whose words I first read in a prescient birthday present (The Future of Man) sometime in my early teens; Thomas Merton, ("The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings"), whose life and works I was learning about just as he was found dead in Asia; Martin Luther King ("Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted"). And it was about individual choice, about the sanctity of life over property, and ultimately about the Universal Soldier in each of us bearing responsibility for the acts we commit and the acts we silently allow others to commit in our names.

I explained how easy some steps of resistance are, how difficult some can be, that raising your voice can be done in relative safety when done with others, that it is vital to find your comfort level: prison bars are not for everyone. I pointed out that it is important to not avoid the issue simply because you will never achieve the peace-crazy stick-to-it-ive-ness of an antiwar hero of ours, Phil Berrigan, who having already risked everything for his country fighting in Europe during World War II, spent over a decade of his life - thousands of 24-hour days - in prison cells, thanks to his unflinching willingness to put his life on the line to call attention to the senselessness of war and "war-preparedness".

I wasn't clergy, and although Latin masses were still second nature to me by then I was no longer more than tangentially Roman C, but the Catonsville people befriended me, and they turned me on to a crazy and infective sanity, in part engendered by their experiences in other subjugated cultures, and their reasoning reverberated in me. I borrowed freely food for my own brain-roof chatter, especially from Phil's brother Dan: "Our apologies, good friends, for the fracture of good order, the burning of paper instead of children. … We could not, so help us God, do otherwise."

It is indeed a special sense, that I'm sure friends who have spent time on the inside of the crazy equation we were fast approaching all will recognize, the sense of having arrived at a moment, at a point of commitment, past which there was no turning back, the realization of an impossibility for most of us, that had now become a searing truth - moving as peacefully, non-violently, even lovingly, and forcefully as possible against the war machine had magically transformed from an act observed in our heroes to our only ethical option - transubstantiatio!

Moon launch, July 1969
A few weeks down the line, probably early July, I was approached after a speaking event by a very pleasant man named Philip Burley, who said he and his friends really enjoyed my talk. They would really like to meet with me and hear more, would I like to come along to their place for a bite to eat and a chat? I had no particular plans for the evening, so I agreed. We were driven in a minibus to a huge old house in the nicest part of northwest Washington, a building I was told had housed the Liberian embassy. Enormous, building style 1890's, less ornate than Victorian, and it might have been newer.

They offered me a sandwich and a cup of tea in one of the front rooms of the house, that may have been a living room once but was being used as a classroom. I can't clearly recall the exact technique Philip used to ease me into his spell, which is what he did. After a while it was just the two of us there, and he began to tell me about how he and his friends - like me and my friends - were concerned about the evil rampant in the world today, and how important it is to stand up as an individual for what one believed in, and to move in the direction one's conscience bids one to move.

So far, it all sounded just fine. He eased carefully into a talk about prayer as a technique for self-examination and self-renewal, which also made some sense, though I was no longer a praying kind of person, though I knew quite a few who were. Having spent a lot of time with priests and nuns in my life, the concept of contemplation and prayer was not foreign to me. He described prayer as a method for cleansing oneself "for the important work there is to do". These two ideas - "prayer as cleansing" and "important work to do" - this is where he stayed that evening. I vaguely recall that he prayed openly with me there, but I don't recall the prayer.

Prayers answered
His prayers were probably answered, since he managed to convince me to return the following day. The next 24 hours are a blur, but suffice it to say that with the dramatic and orderly review of hitherto unseen cycles in history, together with the overarching importance of emotional honesty, and lastly the dangerous work needed in order to save the people, in fact the planet, he sucked me - 18-year old sucker with a martyr complex - right in. I was already there: I had guaranteed myself a federal prison sentence and all I expected in return was that my act in some way be able to interfere with the war in Vietnam and thus hopefully save some lives.

The menu of the feast of ideas Philip Burley served was called "The Divine Principle", which in my memory is a general introduction to the notion that evil looms large in the world, in the form of The Devil himself, who has been like messing things up big time ever since the world was created about 5,973 years before, more or less, and the only hope for humanity is the Messiah, and luckily: Philip knew him personally. Astounding news!

This Messiah, the 2nd incarnation of Jesus of Nazareth his very self, was none other than Sun Myung Moon, a Korean individual of the rabidly anti-communist persuasion, according to reports a badly mistreated (by Godless Communism) prisoner in the Korean war, during which time he was tortured but also fundamentally changed by a fantastic thing: in visitations by the Blessed Jesus His Almighty Self, Moon was brought up to speed with the fact that he was in fact the Messiah V.2.0, and that he had come to Earth to save us all from Satan's fire when we had gone astray, oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy...

Taken in
Going on my 2nd month as 18 year old, having grown up in Washington, D.C. and Maryland, in relatively comfortable circumstances, as circumstances go here on the planet, I was relatively protected from most of the realities of the world outside of the D.C. metro area not to speak of the American mind-bubble, but thanks today to the perspective granted by my special interest in the matter of distinguishing between psychosis and transcendence, dependence, compulsive disorders and so on, I can understand how I was sucked into Philip's spell, but though he was incredibly good from the point of view of the youngster I was, and being able as we are to read his relatively current writings on the web, still it is hard to admit that I didn't see through him at once, even at that tender age.

Although I was younger than anyone else in the place, I was asked to move into the house, which at the time was the home of the Unified Family in Washington, D.C. - a.k.a. the Moonies, though that more Californian instantiation of Moon-related hustling had not erupted onto the Washington scene - which was in short a house and a group of devotees that ostensibly served as Sun Myung Moon's most important forward base in the United States, the foundation from which he intended to establish his hegemony over hosts angelic and otherwise, beginning principally in the United States of America.

Big plans
I vaguely recall sensing that Philip trusted me, though I also know that people with the unusual conjunction of propensities he exhibited have an uncanny ability to incite trust in others, to gain their support and cooperation. He had me completely for a while. By the time I left the house for the last time, which took a few weeks, Philip had confided in me that he had been chosen by "True Parent" Moon to one day become President of the United States.

Toward that end, and the other political and spiritual machinations Philip explained would be required to cause those drastic changes in the course of human history Moon envisioned (Heaven on Earth), the Moon people - the Divine Family - in Washington, in particular Philip and a small group of others, had been carefully grooming a number of individuals in the military and in national politics, and while I recall no figures, nor any names, Philip claimed that an appreciable number of influential individuals at the Pentagon and in the rest of the U.S. government were aligned with Sun Myung Moon, many of them openly, and more were to come, and all of these would be taking part in the planned takeover of the country.

Evangelical sucker
I took part in prayer meetings a number of times - it was discovered I could play guitar, which was put to use at these meetings, during which some evangelical music-making or other was going on. I took part in many such meetings, often populated by military people and others who arrived with their chauffeurs - these were formalistic, even ritualized, though the public praying during the meetings was more akin to pentecostal let-it-all-hang-out get-togethers.

Some of the meetings I attended were of the outreach variety - for instance visiting Baptist and other congregations in Baltimore and other parts of Maryland and D.C., even appearing on television with them, guitar in hand. At one meeting we watched some 5,000 Pentecostal True Believers getting it on at a huge hotel - may have been the Washington Hilton - replete with singing in tongues, casting out devils, holy rollers rolling in the aisles, the great raging spirit of some almighty power overflowing, threatening to take us all down with it - many of the details have mercifully slipped into oblivion, though images remain.

Bottom line
It took more than ten years for me to even notice a personal issue these memories describe (see Conflagration), in short to do with the core of my commitment, and more to the point: exactly what of my having taken part in the action against the draft board had survived this onslaught of a simplistic, almost simpleton, view, of history, and of the mechanism of change in human reality? I had moved effortlessly from what supposedly savvy folks would have called left-wing activism to what I not much later learned was an activism about as ultra-right as it comes!

Had my own participation at the level of commitment required to carry out an act of civil disobedience entailing a federal crime - not a one-night stand kind of thing, repercussions being counted in years behind bars - been the result of some distortion in my personality? Extremist by any means necessary? Was it only the ghost of true conscience, a cheap copy of the real thing, a specter finagled into life by my having seen and seemingly understood the example of experienced souls like Mary, Phil, Dan and the rest - people who had been around the world and experienced decades of the dismal realities that spurred them to act?

I saw my act of civil disobedience, before I ever acted on it, as something requiring understanding and backbone. It required stick-to-it-ive-ness as well, and an important corollary to acting was following through: to speak about one's action, to use the interest inspired craziness might generate to point up the contrast between on the one hand the violence of a criminal regime commanding young men - at the threat of prison, or exile, or worse - to pour burning napalm onto the bodies of exquisitely beautiful Asian children, and on the other hand the "violence" of pouring black paint and our own blood onto a drawer full of papers. And after it all, there I was, flirting with reactionary flat-earthers, themselves flirting with not-so-bright brass and like-minded movers and shakers of the scourge America had become.

But these thoughts did not enter the equation for me in the aftermath of what would turn out to be the singularly costly act of conscience I committed in 1969. A few doses of reality, some as comical as my Moonie fling, did strike home. In April of 1969, I fell deeply in love with Diana. Or at least - I fell deeply into bed with Diana - it certainly felt like - love. I was also Diana's hero - we shared a bed in the basement of St. Francis House, before and after the action. A few days after having been DP'd (Divine Principled), I enticed Diana to come along to the Unified Family's D.C. headquarters, where Philip B & Co gladly took on a new aspirant. Diana was hooked in an instant - they had obviously come up with something especially attractive for us 18-year olds.

I was oh so happy, and after Diana had bought it all hook, line and sinker, which took an evening, we made our way home - I was still living at St. Francis House, but spending about half my time at the Unified Family's residence. On the way there we ran into a hermeneutical conundrum, and it was a biggy. The Unified family you see had many weird ideas, the principle one being that absolute chastity for a number of years after having begun one's journey back to the True Parents and etc was, well, de rigeur. And as it turned out, Diana was keeping her part of the bargain with our dear lord, meaning: no more carnality, not for a few years.

What - no more carnality?! Such top-notch carnality, and no more??!! I was flabbergasted, not to say blown away. I worked very hard on Diana, I really did - my recollection is she went along with a session of astoundingly good (now that even forbidden entered the equation) carnality - for old times sake I guess, or maybe it was a mercy jump. But that was it: the gates of heaven-for-the-moment were now officially closed.

Well, the business with Diana was almost the last straw. Somewhere along the way that summer I had a talk with someone else in the Catonsville group - might have been the Melvilles, though I'm not sure, who talked me into something of a corner with the Unified Family stuff, and I began to come to my senses. Experimentally, I pulled my things out of the Unified Family residence - Miss Kim, Moon's resident Korean, was not unhappy to see me go, though Philip was - and I began to live full-time at St. Francis House.

Within a day or two we had an FBI bust - they charged in, might have been 15 agents, guns drawn, and held one against the head of a small child of one of the residents (Ann S?), and I think they proceeded to arrest someone for refusing induction. I had had enough of D.C. for a bit, and lit out to the west coast. That adventure entailed a visit to the residence of the Unified Family in San Francisco, whose address I'd gotten from Philip Burley

I was breaking bail by being outside of D.C. and Maryland, but had taken part in some discussions about the relative merits of actually doing one's time or not, and had begun to feel a little bit of doubt creep into my general awareness. I had thought to give myself a break for a few weeks from the D.C. scene, and after having been told that nobody would get too badly frazzled economically if I did not return to Baltimore at all for my court hearing, I was vaguely considering leaving for Canada. An argument would later make the rounds, to the effect that accepting one's time, though once part and parcel of the civil disobedience bargain, was a little like aiding and abetting the miscarriage of justice it entailed, and its toes were wiggling, vaguely visible behind the curtain of Thoreauian respectability.

When I got to San Francisco, I went first to see the people at the Unified Family, who also lived in incredible surroundings - beautiful old Victorian mansion, about the size of the D.C. place, but much classier. The ambience however was very different - very hassled, very uptight, lot of suits walking around, each more important than the next. They took me into a room and we talked, and although I had a written letter of introduction from Philip Burley, after having told them my story and asked for some help for a few days so I could sort my head out about what I wanted to do, they made it abundantly clear that they would do no such thing, "Good luck, buddy, but get out!" They would give me five minutes to make tracks before they called the police. So I made tracks. And that was the end of the Unified Family for me, True Parents and all.

Freaky fundamentalist trance now ended, I had a couple contacts in the Bay area, one of which led to a beautiful nun and via her to an old monastery on Stanyan Street, where I stayed a few days. She was waiting on tables and go-go-dancing to send money back east to support draft board actions, and she took me to the monastery. Girls were definitely not permitted, but when the brothers woke up one morning to a kitchen full of fresh pancakes and bacon, they let her hang out.

It was at the Stanyan Street monastery that I met Bernie, friend of friends in Ohio. Bernie was an incredibly generous and funny priest from Cleveland, and he let me tag along for an amazing journey, that originally was going to go to Vancouver. Riding up the Californian coast from San Francisco I had a lot of time to walk and think in pristine nature: I was getting cold feet in the face of possibly-permanent exile, and by the time we reached Seattle, streets still slightly cluttered with police in riot gear, after some antiwar something-or-other, I had re-oriented toward taking up where I left off when I'd been derailed by the Moonies - it must have been around the time "The eagle has landed!" hit the airwaves. So I ended up heading back east with Bernie, but not before a week or so in the wilds of the Rockies, Glacier National Park, Cutbank Pass, incoherent snatches of radio about some disaster area in upstate New York ("Where's Woodstock?"), herds of wild horses, eagles, scouting for forest fires on horseback, fat trout competing to take our hooks, sleeping out in Montana canyons lit up by that same Full Moon, and bats, coyote, marmots, deer, a few late night birds, huge moths - every instant crystalline, reverberating in my brain cage yet today.

In the East where the Sun comes up - there lies prison - what was I headed for?

Copyright © 2008 Michael Bransome

08. Rats in a maze and other sorrows

Black White
Mr. White, a very dark black man from Baltimore, had just exited the room after a smoke call. We got to "blow o's" about three times a day - little enough that one of the side attractions in the two mass-breakouts in which I took part was expressed hate for the lock (crack!) on that cigarette cabinet.

"Cracker!!" I raised my eyes in time to notice and flinch, but not avoid, a softball, which according to the wikipedia was moving as much as 100km/hour when it intersected with the side of my face. The "softball" was named by a man who never had one land in his face, or maybe he did catch one that way, and went crazy. CRACK!! it declared, as it stopped moving right next to my ear.

Nowhere land
Let me just say that the noise and the pain were indescribable. Crying was losing it completely, which I did, where I was, which was nowhere-land: youngest guy in the "cottage", a euphemism for one unit of the Towson, Maryland Loch Raven School for Boys, a euphemism for a brutal youth prison in the Maryland Department of Corrections, another euphemism. I was one of two "crackers" in a group of 35 juvenile delinquents between 15 and 18 years of age. About half were there for having stolen a car, the rest for other petty crimes - though not one had been accused, tried or convicted in the ordinary sense in accordance with those largely Anglo-Saxon rules of jurisprudence that America adopted from the start (presumption of innocence, due process, a defender worth the name, right to a jury of one's peers, right to appeal).

Runaway habit
I was there because a court in Rockville, Maryland had deemed me "incorrigible". According to my mother, she and my father lost custody of me on the 12th of December, 1966. Why? I had never been charged with a crime, despite several attempts at petty criminality, but like many American children from the late 1800's on, I grew up on Mark Twain (how many have blamed that yarn-spinner for their delinquent dreams?) and dreamed of freedom and adventure: I was a habitual runaway. Not the kind of problem you'd try to solve by locking someone up with a bunch of genuine juvenile delinquents.

I don't remember how many times I lit out before the court determined that I was incorrigible, but let's say it was five times, maybe a little more. Early on in my career as runaway (about once a year for a few years) it was believed I should see a shrink, and in fact met with three mental health professionals off and on for a couple years; at least one was a psychiatrist. Barry was his name, and his last name was approximately Grief, but rhymes with "strife".

Barry explained to me once that a good psychiatrist could only be that after having gone through some sort of crisis and emerging in better condition than before. Despite this kernel of wisdom, a basic tenet of our talks was that running away from home was wrong, dangerous, wrong, thoughtless, even heartless, and wrong, not to speak of wrong. It wasn't until 1982 that my gestalt therapist would say "Well, I guess that means you didn't want to live there any more." The inner searching that this conclusion enticed changed my mind about much of what had happened, back during my "childhood". More clues in Looking for Michael.

Delinquency for dummies
Don't get me wrong on the delinquency : I had done my part, however little, before being locked up in a youth prison at age 15, to qualify as a member of my present unlucky fraternity, though nothing quite as dramatic as some of my confreres in our mini-den of mini-iniquity. For example (confession): I have placed pennies, never more than one at a time, on the railroad track near my home in Kensington, Maryland, even early enough not to be sure it wouldn't derail the train.

I hoped it wouldn't, and had the testimony of other boys in our neighborhood that it not only wouldn't derail the train, but in fact I would get a much bigger penny, which sounded attractive enough. They always were - oddly none survived into my adulthood. I have also been known to snitch more than one Dubble-Bubble (which celebrates its 80th anniversary next year!) from the drug store in old Kensington. Peaches and plums, even mulberries were easy pickings back when invisibly scaling a ripe fruit tree was the most rewarding science, with its important sub-specialty to remain and gorge ourselves on whatever fruit, still without being discovered.

And there were more dramatic moments, like the stolen toys from Seabrook, MD - once a few of us chanced onto a huge garage-like building, about a mile from our houses in Kensington. It looked like it had been unused a long time, and we could just make out a motorcycle and a car hidden under tarps inside, so we had to get a better look. Someone incapacitated a lock, and once inside we discovered a gold-mine of toys, plastic models, slot-car parts, leather goods, an entire small airplane apparently re-assembled in the attic of the structure, several motorcycles, what looked like a brand new old Rolls Royce. We decided this was stolen goods - most of the toy boxes were marked with the name of a toy store in Seabrook, MD - and declared it free for all. Lots of things were removed, over a couple weeks, until one day some of us were caught in the act, but they never called the police.

Alarming
Another ridiculous event was the convoluted incident of the fluky fire alarm. Pedro, Carlos and I sold subscriptions to the Evening Star, once one of DC's two main daily papers. We were good at what we did, and had learned the hard way that in fancier apartment buildings, usually good for a few subscriptions (at a dollar a piece in commission, they were worth all the walking), the thick rugs covering the long corridors we had to traverse built up a magnificent charge of static electricity. We learned to lightly tap every metal object on the way from one end of the corridor to the other, to discharge in increments, instead of all at once.

Once I tapped a fire alarm less lightly than I wanted, and it fell to the floor. I picked it up and put it back - FIRE ALARM! FIRE ALARM! FIRE ALARM! Shit, I had sent a false alarm and I couldn't turn it off. Quick, down the hall to that cleaning closet I passed, in and shut the door just before I heard voices from people emerging from their apartments, talking about it, and leaving the building. It was winter. Yikes! I shuddered in silence in there for a good half hour, heard voices returning, even comments on "that paper-boy".

A while longer and I could hear no more voices, so I finally dared to show my face, and slithered down the stairs like the creep I was, right into the arms of a local Fire Chief. From there it was a short trip to the police station (can't recall where, but probably a Maryland suburb of D.C.), a pick-up by my thoroughly pissed off father. This kind of criminality was right up there with the penny incidents, and luckily they believed me. Turned out the fire alarm I had hit had lost a screw, and the matter was dropped.

Another time, I convinced a friendly developmentally delayed gas station attendant to give me some of the money in his cash register, since he had so much, and he thought that was cool, though the sheriff didn't. That was in Schuyler, Nebraska - probably worth its own story. But it added to the picture of a boy on the labyrinthine path to perdition.

Back to Towson
I knew the word racism when I went into youth prison, but it was there that I learned what it is. I remember about six faces, but only four names:

Mr. White, brutal, psychopathic head of "the household" in that particular cottage, heavy-set, but not fat: people weren't fat, on the whole, in the United States in 1966 - 1967.

Mrs. White, his wife, short, wiry, nasty to one and all, sharp as a hawk, who took every opportunity to rat on the rest of us prisoners - a single hair out of place and she went tattling, and Mr. White showed up in a jiffy. If you were lucky, and he wasn't in a nasty mood, which he usually was, punishment might mean no smokes, or no dinner, or ECD (extra cleaning duty), or even RCD (ridiculous cleaning duty) - ever try to polish a floor with a toothbrush?

I am ready to testify: you can make a floor shine like burnished gold with a toothbrush and a spare week. If you weren't so lucky, Mr. White barreled down several flights of stairs and into the room like a steam-roller, maybe swinging a leather lanyard to whip your back, or a size 12 tennis shoe to whip your backside.

Father Edward J. Murphy, who we called "Ned" - a Jesuit priest, not completely through with his education but nearing completion in the long journey to full vows in the Society of Jesus.

Waymon P, very friendly and very short black guy from Baltimore - I won't set his last name out: he or his boss might read these lines and he might not like that.

Then two faces that come with no names: here's the "crooner", a long tall guy from Baltimore, blacker than most of the other African American guys that made up the majority of inmates at Loch Raven: he could do an intensely good imitation of anything Motown, but he really lightened up the winter of 1966 with an unforgettable rendition of "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas".

Lastly there's the head of the print shop, a man in his 50's or 60's, that used us as free labor for his moonlighting for odd jobs - wedding invitations, fancy certificates. He taught me to hand-set lead type from California job cases, and to run old-time printing presses, and I got to use a linotype. Learned how to gild fancy documents in an oven. The last step was to be offset, which was new for that level of technology, and he was going to teach me that too, but I might have missed it anyway, since our third mass breakout - something we planned even though the Man had told us that anyone caught this time would be put permanently into Patuxent, which we were told was a mostly underground facility for the criminally insane - was scheduled for the 3rd of June, the day after I actually ended up leaving. Thus I never took part in that breakout, since I got out on the 2nd of June, 1967, thanks to a cab driver and a trellis.

Crack of dawn
Back to the crack at the ear of this cracker: I looked up "softball" - wikipedia explains what it looks like, and what you do with it (when not attacking young crackers), but it doesn't say why "softball". Sure isn't soft, and it made quite an impression on me. I never discovered who delivered it, and the weird thing is it was one of those few acts of completely senseless physical violence I've ever experienced, right up there with the times Keith S who lived with his two bigger brothers by Plyers Mill used to mug me on the way to Wheaton Plaza to play pool, especially when I wore a cast on a broken arm one summer. Or that alcoholic that kicked me down the stairs in the hotel in Schuyler, Nebraska, not to speak of the gang that attacked Pedro and me in downtown DC, when we escaped by throwing coins and running. But: I'm getting both ahead of and behind myself.

Only two of my anti-homeward journeys were truly memorable (though the first time lingers vaguely), and they were the time before and the time after youth prison. The time before Loch Raven germinated during the summer of 1966, when my next younger brother Bobby, lately known as Thunder, and recently deceased, was given a punishment of some sort for a now forgotten infraction. He mentioned for the first time the idea that he might be leaving, and would I come along. The deal was quickly made, and the date set: Halloween. And we needed money.

The dream was San Francisco - we had a hunch, even though Scott McKenzie's hit was still a year away - and we had all kinds of plans, but we never really got it together, except for some money, and the day before we were to leave, he jumped ship! Still, I was determined to make it out there, to see what the fuss was about, so I split on time - early morning, Halloween of 1966. Hitched a ride into D.C., got to Union Station, bought a ticket for a train to Winchester, then took a bus from there to Harper's Ferry, and was just about running out of cash when a guy on the bus offered to loan me enough to pay my ticket through to St. Louis, where he said he had a car and could drive me to where I was going: Omaha, Nebraska. So that's what we did, and in Omaha, where I was supposed to pay him back after a couple days but never did, I spent a night at a Salvation Army shelter, on a wooden pew among snoring old men.

He ain't heavy, Father
Next morning I headed west again. I was almost penniless when I got to Boy's Town, where I explained I had run away from my foster home in Sacramento, California, where my evil uncle made me work long nights at his filling station, short-circuiting my dreams of academic achievement. The monsignor that interviewed me told me curtly that during the decades he'd been there, only a couple of the stories he got from runaways had turned out to be true.

Right then he was called out of the room for a minute, and I took the opportunity to scoot out of his window and across the fields, where I hid among corn rows until late in the night. State troopers flashed by on the highway for a few hours, but nobody actually went into the fields to look for me. I moved parallel to the road for a few hours, then dared my way onto the road again and hitched a ride further west, arriving at nightfall at Schuyler, Nebraska.

Popcorn
Schuyler was a small town known at the time for a few things, and one of them was popcorn: "Popcorn Capital of the World!" I read on a calendar in the main office of Schuyler Mills, where I worked for a couple weeks taking silo temperatures (milo, popcorn and others), helping to move freight cars, loading trucks with chicken manure, gathering eggs in mornings and other odd jobs.

Gathering eggs in a building housing some unbelievable number of hens (noise! stench!) bright and early is a lot harder than it sounds. Hens back then had more space than they do today - as I recall Schuyler Mills had only one or two in each cage. After egg-hunting it was time to do the rounds of the silo-thermometers, requiring an amazing amount of climbing ladders - I think I knew already then that the pressure in those silos together with microbiological growth processes could raise temperatures to the point of combustion, so they were keen to have that done right.

A couple weeks down the line, in some pretty unclear situation a drunk guest at the hotel I lived at knocked me down the stairs, and I hurt my back enough so that I couldn't go to work for a couple days. That cost me the job, and I got my paycheck and was asked not to come back. It wasn't enough to get the ticket to Frisco, and it was then that I tricked an attendant (with a developmental disorder) at a gas-station to give me some of the money in his cash register. It was enough to buy the ticket, but before the train arrived - I could hear it coming, somewhere down the track - the sheriff arrived and asked to talk with me. The money was returned, and while there were no charges brought, I was placed in the courthouse cell-block, and for a week claimed I had run away from my evil uncle in Sacramento. They never managed to find this uncle, and I recanted, and a couple days later my father picked me up and we drove home. This was near the end of November 1966 - a couple weeks later, I was in the custody of the State of Maryland.

Bittersweet release
That stay at the tax-payers' expense lasted about 6 months - I was finally released on the 2nd of June 1967. My father, inhalation therapist at NIH (in today's terms roughly similar to an anaesthesiological nurse, which didn't exist at the time) by day, taxi-driver by night, who had a pre-existing heart condition, was overweight, diabetic, and smoked, tore down a rose-trellis from a derelict house to give my mother, and got chest pains - 12 hours later he was history. The juvenile court in Rockville released me to my mother's custody - I didn't have to return to Loch Raven!

My last split from my family of origin came in early 1968. I had been playing bass with a new band for a few months, thanks to my mother, who had given me a Hagstrom bass and Univox amp for Christmas, and had finally had it with the straight and narrow, and I moved out for the last time.

My mother called the police again, but this time my resources were better, and I moved to the home of a friend of one of the band-members, in Garden City on Long Island. I spent a few weeks there, and finally called my mother and asked her to call off the police, so that I could come home to Kensington but not have to live with her any more. And she did, and I did, and we made peace, and the band played on.

Copyright © 2008 Michael Bransome

09. S

Pen pals
S and I met in person for the first time in May of 1970. Born and raised in Kentucky, S was a dreamy-looking part-Cherokee lady. By day she worked as secretary to the manager of a defense plant just outside of Boston. By night she was an anti-war renegade, into macramé and tie-dye clothing, vegetarian and macrobiotic food, organic growing, meditation, rock music, wild dancing, country living, the antiwar movement. Tiny, dark-eyed, quick, her straight-as-an-arrow dark hair fell down to her waist, and to keep on keeping-on she drove a metallic green GTO sporting a heavy duty suspension, 4 on the floor and nearly 400 horsepower.

S and I started out as pen-pals! During the Christmas season of 1969, her greeting card stuck out among the hundreds that showed up at the Robert F. Kennedy Youth Center. The Quakers had put an effort into publishing lists of "Prisoners for Peace", including most draft offenders, deserters, draft board raiders, corporate headquarters raiders and others, and cards and letters had arrived in my name in disturbing numbers: there were guys in Morgantown who got nothing at Christmas.

One of the cards came from Boston, a town I really liked the few times I'd been there, back during high school, back when things looked like easy street in the shape of partial scholarships to Boston U, or Northwestern, maybe even Harvard, and I'd been there to get a feeling for the town, in fact just before I was asked to stop coming to high school.

S and I struck up a friendship via cards and letters. Originally we were to meet in D.C. during my furlough from prison. A problem turned up during the furlough and she couldn't come as planned, and of course had no idea I would not be returning to prison. At that point I wasn't even sure myself that I would go through with the disappearing act, since while the death threat was real, it was "only" a threat - there might be a way out - while the threat of a 5 year sentence for escape from federal prison was no threat at all: it was supposedly a sure thing.

Boston, Mass
As it turned out, Boston found its way onto my itinerary underground, and S and I took a chance at meeting - a very chance-y move, considering that the prison by then certainly had gone through my things and noticed all the letters from her. In fact she was contacted by the prison officials in Morgantown a number of times in May and possibly June, trying to convince her - in case she should hear from me - to convince me to return: they promised they hadn't alerted the FBI and promised not to transfer me to another penitentiary, as long as I showed up very soon.

Things didn't turn out that way. Eqbal Ahmed was not happy about the meeting between S and me, and insisted I keep to his rules about modes of transport, telephone usage and so on, and so we finally met around the time of my birthday in May of 1970. It was something of a blind date, and while the attraction was clear, the general ambience - fugitive draft-board raider meets beautiful young defense-plant employee - had its complications. But we stuck it out, and met again, and it began to be clear that we were onto something.

At one point in June or July we got to borrow the keys to a fantastic apartment, taking up the top floor of a tiny centuries-old building in the heart of Cambridge, Mass. We walked out into a sunny afternoon one day to get some food, and I spotted that bright green GTO parked near the flat, and I freaked! I scolded S, told her I had to split, and did so - quick. I thought maybe the stress was getting to be too much for her, or even worse, that she had been convinced to stretch our rules, like never parking near where I happened to be staying.

I assumed my cover was blown and followed Eq's instructions in case of a breach, which set in motion a chain of events leading to my being moved to a safe place. This particular time it probably entailed New York City again, and once again Jesuit Missions, with Rose's Jamaican cooking, late-night debates with Ned, Ed McG and others, now and then even more lavish dinners at Woodstock College. It may instead have been in an old house where I spent a couple weeks, right down the street from the original Sleepy Hollow in Ossining, new euphemism for Sing Sing, in New York.

This scene, this "underground", for going on four months, had meant taking part in retreats to help plan further non-violent "actions", and debate generally on strategy, though my voice at those meetings, while listened to - a courtesy in part I assumed, due to my having already paid my dues, having taken part in an action, gotten arrested, tried and jailed, and now escaped - hadn't a lot of influence, nor value: I still was in every sense a kid. And yet I was welcome to take part in some sort of discourse none of us really knew how to approach.

Resource or liability
As the summer wore on, it became apparent that I was at least as much a liability as a resource for all these tremendous friends and co-conspirators, being a real and tangible burden, so while it somehow felt cool, I imagine - to my budding 19-year-old late 60's early 70's way young and certainly a little stir-crazy and strung-out and sure-let's-make-a-revolution kind of mind - this existence was getting just a little heavier than expected.

Families in Massachusetts, Maine, New York, Pennsylvania, D.C., Ohio had opened their homes to me, to Mary Moylan, Dan Berrigan and others in roughly the same situation, thus exposing themselves to the risk of extreme consequences. And remember: Nixon and his murderous hacks had all the high cards, at least it seemed, and were in any event calling the shots, back when three was a crowd.

Power of non-violence
1970 was in all a pivotal year for our micro-movement: we were in some sense all of us pacifists, absolutely dedicated to the non-violent approach to revolutionary change: we understood to our core the nearly invincible strength of determined highly visible non-violent resistance.

Dissenting views - in the wider movement - existed, but didn't trouble us. On a humorous note, I recall a short sort-of-argument with Ned Murphy's little old mother in the Bronx. She had been a Red Cross nurse during the Irish war many decades earlier, and now that she had more than one like her son in the same room, she made her standpoint clear: "You're all a bunch of sissies - I say pick up the gun!" Ned was 33 at the time, and his mother must have been around 70, perhaps more. Ned told me after we left that an important part of her nursing work 50 years before entailed hiding guns under the floorboards of Irish ambulances.

We could laugh about her experience, which wasn't laughable, and her views, which weren't laughable either, but whenever any of those voices in the movement which believed violence was a useful method had tried to impose their views on our group and our approach, they met compact resistance, since our beliefs were not a construction, but a deduction, and the result of a calculated risk that obviously has worked miracles in many cases, as it did in India, as it did in the Deep South of the United States, as it may one day do in Tibet.

An important element of the non-violence equation was - then as now - objective media exposure, and while large parts of mainstream media were anything but supportive of the antiwar movement, on the whole it was far easier in those days - before internet and the blogosphere - to figure in mainstream discourse regarding the war and its relation to poverty, racism, sexism, and other elements of American domestic predatory politics and culture. An entity as venomous as Fox News and its belligerent co-conspirators did not figure then, and while the Smothers Brothers and others like them finally did go down, on the way down they had effects almost unimaginable today.

COINTELPRO
The summer of 1970 was also a watershed for violence apparently issuing from, but mostly directed against, various parts of our wider movement for social equality, for racial equality, for gender equality, for sexual freedom, for inner freedom, for an end to the war and an end to war-making in our names. While the documents removed by "The Citizens' Commission to Investigate the FBI" from the Media, Pennsylvania FBI-office, in March 1971 (and don't look at me: I was already in Toronto, with Jesuits, or maybe Quakers) finally proved the existence of a pattern of secret government subterfuge not completely understood until the decades-long COINTELPRO programs were finally admitted to publicly in black and white, at the time in 1970, nobody could be sure who was committing the few really violent acts being directed against symbols of the war machine, like bombings. We hard-liner pacifists were convinced that it wasn't anyone on our side. As it turned out, groups which threw bombs, once caught, inevitably turned out to include government agents as well as crazies.

Since it has been proven through FOIA-releases and those documents taken from the FBI's Media, Pennsylvania office that Hoover's COINTELPRO efforts, which never have been completely exposed to public view, included a great deal of illegal activity including lethal violence as well as financial support for violent anti-antiwar groups, in fact COINTELPRO together with its CIA-counterparts (see Secrets by Weir and MacKenzie) might very well have been behind most or all of the violence which took place back then. In societies not experiencing war right in their own streets and fields, anti-war people are not the enemy, and in such times and places they do not make bombs, nor do they carry guns.

There's something happening here
In the summer of 1970, Black Panthers were being assaulted and killed, even openly assassinated, and even less extreme political leaders were being assassinated. Ordinary people were being framed, draconian laws were being perpetrated all over an unsuspecting country, and the Indochinese war was raging unabated, swallowing large chunks of my generation, yet swallowing endlessly larger numbers of natives to SE Asia.

Many of us who survived this era recall a pervasive atmosphere of threat, a sense of imminent and real risk, a general tone of paranoia, made all the more pervasive by design, as we have come to discover, by COINTELPRO, by the CIA, by their yet-unknown counterparts, and desperate moves suffused the entire world in which we found ourselves. Our very survival was threatened, as was our micro-movement and the larger social movement to which we adhered, a movement which was way too splayed out to function well as one, was yet too large, too extensive, too wide-spread, too just in its demands and righteous in its views, but simply too determined and too committed not to succeed, yet look at what it was costing.

Expectant
During the stay in Ossining, S communicated that she had an important message for me. Like many parents-to-be I had dumbed myself into not knowing what was coming. I had to get up to Boston and see her. A few days later I managed to convince my contacts to arrange a meeting with Dan Berrigan - I needed advice. Just before this, S told me the news - a baby was on the way! This had not been on our agendas, and we worked a lot to get our heads around it. Friends at Women's Lib in Boston tried to persuade us to terminate, but neither of us could speak that language. Options weren't rife, if we were to be a whole family: I would need to either remain "underground", but leave the Catholic Left, take a new name (I already had a new name), move to a new part of the country, and establish a new life there, or flee from the United States. The same options applied to S, who in the one scenario would also need to change her name. After an agonizing confrontation with these less pleasant elements of the new situation, we decided to decide what to do in another week.

Dan and I met just days before he was arrested by the FBI on August 12, 1970, since I saw his smiling face and peace sign while being escorted by the FBI in the news soon after our meeting. We met at the home of an influential educator and author just outside Boston, and the only persons in the room during our talk were Dan, myself and our host's young child. There was a lot to talk about, since while he had some access to information on developments above-ground, among the group loosely called the Catholic Left, I had spent four months in that group, and Dan hadn't taken part in any of the retreats I had attended.

The key issues in these meetings revolved around questions of strategy for effective non-violent resistance to the war, and as noted earlier, particular attention was being paid to the difference between "stand-by actions" and actions in which the participants either didn't make themselves known at first, or even at all. In fact, this alternative to "stand-by" actions made the complications it entailed evident right in the name: "hit-and-run". Dan had opinions on the subject, and I recalled his opinions having been actively defended at the retreats.

On the situation in which S and I found ourselves, Dan used his singularly Socratic approach to help me discover that either of the options mentioned above would be fine. Not choosing one of them - for instance in order to stay underground and continue taking part in the planning of actions - was not an option, but he mentioned specifically that there were Jesuits in Canada that would help us if we were to go there, and seemed to feel leaving the country would be a good idea. Dan and I got back together with our hosts around now and shared some refreshments. On the way out, Dan gave us his blessing, and I felt invigorated by the new purpose and direction our meeting had helped uncover.

Escape velocity
S and I got together again the following day, and decided I would travel to California, and decide the rest there, probably continuing up to British Columbia. We still hadn't given up entirely on the option that entailed settling down somewhere else in the USA with new names. Later the same day I got to New York City, where I shared the news with Ned. He had just been granted extra money for traveling by his superior, and we began to plan the trip. We would get bus tickets to Cleveland, where someone could drive me further west.

According to the plan I would probably continue out to California and then make my way straight to British Columbia, having anticipated that my movement across the border might be problematical, but less so there than in the east. S and I would meet in BC and decide the next steps from there. The plan was somehow for the move west and north to be leisurely and pleasant, all things considered, but this was not to be...
Copyright © 2008 Michael Bransome

10. Man Without a Country: Death of a Patriot

A good day to die
My name was no longer Michael Bransome, and little did I know, waking up to a brilliant Ohio (was it Cincinnati? Toledo?) sunrise, Wednesday the 12th of August in the year 1970, that this would be the day that I die. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

Might sound like snitching from a cross between "Crank" and "American Pie", but Jason Statham's character wasn't to have his hair-raising hour-to-live for three and a half decades, and even McLean's song didn't get airplay until the day I got to Stockholm, Sweden, on June 26, 1971. That was Midsummer's Eve in Sweden, and Stockholm's Arlanda International Airport - wispy waif of an airport in those days - was nearly locked down, together with the rest of the country, preparing as she does at that time each year to re-affirm the rightful place of natural man and natural woman in Linnaeus' natural order of things, so honestly: how could I have been inspired by either of these, whether a year or half a life earlier...

Go (even further) North, young man
From Canada, preparing for my ascent into sub-arctic heaven, we hadn't a clue about Swedish Midsummer - midsummer schmidsummer - how could we know of the mountains of food and the buckets of mead, or the music and the dancing, not to speak of the wild cavorting of her blonde and blue-eyed minions that sunny day and sunny night each year? My friends - I mean my friends in the Canadian Friends Service Committee, Nancy and Jack Pocock principally (absolute saints, together with their daughter), but others as well - had prepared as well as could be expected.

Canada's Minister responsible for immigration had made clear to my lawyers and our allies in Parliament that the government would strenuously oppose landed immigrant status for me, and in fact would deport me if I openly asked. They were assured of success, then in the wake of the "FLQ-crisis", after which support for anything left of center was beginning to lessen, and the RCMP and the FBI were cavorting in their own way, as certain of our exiled number disappeared from Canadian streets, only to show up in American court-rooms and military stockades - so the only option appeared to be to leave Canada, most likely for Sweden.

Algeria was apparently on the map, and a ticket via Newfoundland to Cuba's sugar-fields was offered me more than once. But I'd heard that those sunny fields of cane and rum also contained Weatherpeople on the lam, and while it might have been somehow the same sort of struggle, the non-violent ethos to which I was dedicated was not their trip, and guns were not mine, so I skipped Cuba. And there were things about Sweden (not just that Noxzema girl) that got my attention, like being the only country outside of Canada which openly accepted Vietnam war resisters, including - unlike Canada at first - deserters.

My first attempt to flee to Sweden had been badly botched. I had no ID at all, and at the SAS desk in Montreal, they wanted my passport, something I'd neglected to get before the draft board demonstration, and probably couldn't get afterwards, not as things were in 1971. [Btw, a reminder, just in case, to those of you with a conscience and a possible future among the ranks of those without a country: if you have no passport, don't relax until you do - nobody could have convinced me in 1969 I'd ever need one...]

Anyway, I clammed up at the SAS desk in February, and though they apparently tried Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Finnish and several other sort-of-local languages (like Latvian), this was obviously not going to work, so we cashed in the ticket and returned to Toronto. For next time around in June 1971, getting a genuine false passport was somehow too difficult, but someone knew someone who put together a military ID that I intended to use, since American military ID passed as travel documents for American soldiers, at least back then. Funny thing though: second time around in Montreal, the SAS desk couldn't be bothered with passports or IDs...

Dying, over and over again
Anyway, back to the day that I died, a kernel it has taken a few years to flower. My demise, an event fugitive in the extreme, in the main scheme of things, that day decades ago, will surely come as a surprise to many, and might have been expected to bring a tear to an eye or two, though there are those who would delight in this confirmation of a conjecture they long have nurtured, not to mention propagated.

Even for those needy few lacking ethics or the brains to choose, this crumb is close enough to the lies they fantasized and spread, so that it must come as rather a relief: "There, you see!", or "Serves him right, grimy rat...", ad nauseum. I think of those two, one of them a childhood acquaintance, in the Einstein High School Class of '69, at our 10th reunion in 1979, the same one that appears to be in law enforcement in the D.C. area, who confided in our classmates that my absence at that affair was due to the unutterably regrettable fact that I had been killed in a drug bust in Chicago, a place I in fact saw in reality a single time in my life: in the middle of a November 1966 night, having just been retrieved by my father from the hands of a dutiful Schuyler, Nebraska sheriff, but that is another story...

But, regarding the day that I would die: was it really when I entered Toronto airpace, clad in black, priest's collar in place, and the new moniker: Father Richard Lee Murphy, Detroit a few minutes behind us, the 12th of August, 1970?

Or was it June 26, 1971, in Sweden (remember: it was Midsummer, Sweden's biggest holiday), another day bathed in warm sunshine, when I surprised a 60-something-year-old customs official, who obviously hadn't seen this much activity in a while, with something on the order of this: "In accordance with Article such-and-such of the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees to which your country is a signatory, I respectfully request political asylum in the kingdom of Sweden"?

Might it have been in August of 1971, when Olof Palme and his cabinet managed to have me accorded Refugee Status in the sense of the Convention, thus according me political asylum, the only Vietnam era American exile accorded that in Sweden, a factoid I didn't learn until some 25 years later?

Or was it already in May 21, 1969, when I crossed the threshold to the Jesup-Blair Draft Board, not entirely unlike Tom Sawyer perhaps, a can of paint in one hand and a plan in the other?

Or might it have been that January morning on Inauguration Day in 1969 when a police baton intersected with my noggin?

Might it have been much later instead, for instance in September of 1980, when for all intents and purposes I had "lost it" (another story altogether) entirely? Was it when I re-emerged from that soul-ar conflagration, 3 years later? Or was it some other time? Was it simply after having imagined with John Lennon, that there are no countries?

Come clean
Coming clean though, a little, what I intended to write is just this: while for reasons an astrologer might wager a guess at, or an alienist might prescribe a powder or two for, I have (how shall I put it) more than once (habitually, even compulsively some have said) – Taurus that I am, though I can't blame only my stars, which are said to incite but not compel – not hesitated to lower my horns on the final direct approach to whatever material object, from governments to mountains, that happens to have located itself in my appointed path (“Chop it down, with the edge of my hand…”), yet on the whole I have learned after decades of false starts, unexpected stops, predictable catastrophes, and ultimate arrivals, that the ticket to survival, in this movie - particularly when death (the only immortal who treats us all alike, Clemens held) is the danger at hand, even if only apparently, for the moment - is to have really good cards in the hole, and to play them all as well, not to speak of play them well. I am advised that bluffing is pointless at that juncture, while outright cheating is supposedly not even possible. So I am advised.

Navigating the stateless state
In my youth, in the late 50s it might have been, or the early 60s, I was obviously touched by a movie I only recently re-discovered. Funny that it slipped my eye a few years back (late 70s), those years when thoroughly enjoyable studies at what is now known as the Dept of Cinema Studies at the University of Stockholm required me to imbibe several hours of classical cinema four to five days a week, 40 weeks a year. I might have looked for it then, sandwiched between The Heir to Genghis Khan and Kuhle Wampe, Cary Grant and Raquel Welch, Hitchcock and Bergman. Called "Man Without a Country", Warner Brothers released it in 1938, the year it nearly received an Academy Award for something or other - my birth was 13 years in the future.

The movie Man Without a Country, from a short story written by Edward Everett Hale who died in 1909, is an entirely fictional account of the vicissitudes of an American army officer who commits some relatively minor transgression. Hale's saga never makes it entirely clear, but intimates that his protagonist Philip Nolan committed a military transgression in cahoots with Aaron Burr, Vice President under Thomas Jefferson, perhaps to do with Burr's supposed treachery against the U.S. government, for instance his rumored plans to annex parts of the Louisiana Purchase and declare himself King, or perhaps invade New Spain in the West and declare himself Emperor.

Nolan is tried by a court martial. At the end of the proceedings, when it is clear he will be convicted, but of no particularly heinous crime, he is given a chance to lessen the seriousness of his conviction by indicating in what way he always had been faithful to his country, but instead he seizes the time, with a bold “Damn the United States! I wish I may never hear of the United States again!”

Hale's fictional figure is granted his wish, and the rest of the story, and the movie, show the carrying out of his sentence: he is exiled from the United States forever, and specifically is exiled to naval ships in official traffic, and is never allowed to set foot on American soil again. Not only this, but Hale’s anti-hero is allowed all the on-board luxury his rank would normally afford him - personal state-room, private weekly dinner with whatever Captain happened to have charge of him at the moment, access to visiting officers and dignitaries - while all who surround him, mostly other officers, are instructed never to mention the United States by name. Books, newspapers and the rest are available to him, though all go through an excision of all references to the United States.

Probably I saw it in a darkened cafeteria at Holy Redeemer in Kensington, Maryland, 16-mm quality and all, though I only vaguely recall the movie, which I think ended unlike the short story in dark images of the futile attempts of a relation, perhaps a doubly fictional wife, or sister, years later to get him a presidential pardon. That I know the details of the story today is because just yesterday I read Hale's short story in the original, for the first time, on-line here: Man Without a Country - not an incredibly compelling read, but pertinent here, considering how things have turned out. In fact I read it aloud to my partner of the past 25 years, and she gives it a robust "5 Tears".

Thread by thread
This ebullient re-discovery touches on two threads in particular: 1) my exile - in many respects self-imposed - and the quantity of let me call it dissatisfaction not to say displeasure, or sorrow, or even suffering in the extreme that has thus been engendered in my life - though as I write these lines, my mind's eye summons up the figure of Kim Phuc running, her napalmed limbs burning an indelible image in our hearts, who can be discovered today smiling at us 40 years later, and the figure of Nelson Mandela, himself a famous smiler despite decades of imprisonment, and such images put things quickly in perspective - and 2) my ultimately permanent disregard for anything reminding of countries, my fervent hope in fact that they might all cease to exist, now, please, or as quickly as possible, in as non-violent not to say peaceful a manner as can be managed, considering that they most likely - most of them - will not go without a struggle.

A reference to Point 1 figured in at least one incarnation of my various applications for presidential pardon or clemency, for instance the most recent instance in 2000, in which I related some ideas shared by my insightful and experienced mother-in-law, still, despite her retirement, on duty as a federal judge in Sweden. It was with regard to the goals her years on the bench taught her were implicit in sentencing a law-breaker to imprisonment, of which a principle one was to punish, to quite simply hurt, to cause suffering to occur in the actual perpetrator of the crime in question. Well, consider it done, even well-done. Though, once again, and recalling Kim and the multitudes of her Vietnamese kin, everything is relative.

Point 2 emerged into my sensorium only gradually, and in the beginning there was really rather a lot of resistance, having in fact entered teen-hood as I did determined to emulate my mother's brothers, both of them pilots and war heroes, one in the Air Force and one in the Navy: I determined early on that I would attend a military academy, train to be a jet pilot, and do my best to do my duty to God and my country, be square and obey the law of the pack - in short to help protect the earthly bastion of liberty and justice for all.

Point 2 ("Imagine there's no countries") faded in slowly, as unruly ghost-images of the snippets of facts about Vietnam first given me in 1966 and 1967 during History class at Loch Raven (see Rats in a maze and other sorrows) proceeded to distort the still unsullied picture as it were, back in the 60s, just before the first effulgent rays of my own adult morality exposed history to be unexpectedly ongoing, as the Vietnam war exploded into the American psyche, which back then included my mind, with specific unsavory future repercussions for aspiring heroes, your author included.

Makings of Good Soup
Between Christmas of 1967 and New Years Day 1968, hanging out with a group of people who changed my life, among others, in many ways (they know who they are: Bob, Craig, John, Jill, Bobby and Kathy, others too numerous to expose in this way), I found an issue of "Good Soup", an anarchist magazine from New York City that impressed me deeply. Only recently did I learn that I had read the only issue of that magazine to ever see print.

Its pitch (many strands, among them something on the order of War is over if you want it), together with that of Emma Goldman and other anti-draft and antiwar voices, began to simmer, and then percolate, finally reaching a rolling boil in my still-a-child's mind, and one after another they filed past: Albert Camus, Franz Fanon, Angela Davis, Noam Chomsky, Benjamin Spock for crying out loud, a litany of others, infiltrating my mind-set, and the patriotic veil was slowly and by stages penetrated.

At the first real mass demonstration I ever attended as a participant, in D.C., possibly the one protesting Nixon's inauguration (talk about unfair: not giving the guy an honest chance to prove what a criminal liar he was), a single not-so-gentle police-baton-knock-to-the-noggin during that demonstration settled it for me - no more flip-flopping here, and the last vestiges of blind patriotism were history.

I was now a new kind of patriot, intent on taking back the country from the gang in power. Little did I know that it would take decades, nor how many roads I'd have to walk down, before whose country it is or was no longer mattered, and I could in one respect at least simply let it be.

So, this is I suppose at least marginally and certainly long-windedly some background to the noted demise of your author, in his incarnation as patriot - it was short, it was sweet, and though I once loved it, and certainly did leave it, let no man hold that I did not do my best to save my country from going down the tubes - in this, clearly, I failed.

And so, nearing the beginning of my seventh decade, I rediscover myself finally and utterly, a Man Without a Country. Something to be.

Copyright © 2008 Michael Bransome

11. Happy 40th

40 years ago, on May 21, 1969, a sunny morning in Silver Spring, Maryland, I walked into the open front door of the Jesup-Blair Draft Board, Local Board #53, and proceeded to deface draft files using black paint. My co-conspirators used our blood to the same end. During our act, journalists who had been alerted that something would be happening documented our act. We had planned to remain - as calmly as possible - on the scene until arrested, and not resist arrest: the archetypal method in non-violent civil disobedience.

We were interrupted shortly by Park Police, then Maryland State Police, and finally agents of FBI, who asked us to cut it out before handcuffing us and taking us to the local police station. State charges were brought, after which we were transported to Baltimore, where federal charges were brought - all told the charges amounted to 76 years in prison.

On bad advice I changed my plea on the charge of mutilating government records, from not guilty to nolo contendere, essentially granting the government victory by walkover, in the process garnering a 3-year sentence in federal prison. In the balance, 73 years worth of other charges were dropped. Seeing the error of my ways later that summer I asked to change the plea back to not guilty, was told by phone by the judge that this would be accepted in court, but in the actual courtroom scene the change of plea was not allowed, and I was sentenced to 3 years in federal prison, and remanded at once, supposedly with no recourse such as appeal.

After spending nearly a year of that time, I earned a furlough to my home in Washington, DC, but due to a death threat made shortly before the home-visit, a threat that appeared to be the real thing, I escaped prison - more accurately I did not return from the furlough. After several months underground in the US, then nearly a year in Canada, I was granted political asylum in Sweden in the summer of 1971.

40 years later, looking from an incredible distance in time and space, it is apparent that the issues for which we were prepared to offer years of our freedom, "simply" to make a point - and the whole point of civil disobedience is exactly that: to make a point, at nearly any personal cost - are as current as ever: an American military machine rages on in many places, against enemies real and imagined, but built - as it was during Vietnam - on the backs and the blood of the poor and the marginalized, ever crushing dreams and realities in its blind and relentless fury.

And so the War has been brought home - in the 60's many of us thought it necessary to bring the war home, that it would end only then. But the War was never in Iraq, or Afghanistan, nor even in Vietnam, though millions of graves protest - as Tim Buckley intimated in his No Man Can Find the War: the Real War is as ever inside our minds.

The tale has never been told better than by Tim:

Photographs of guns and flame
Scarlet skull and distant game
Bayonet and jungle grin
Nightmares dreamed by bleeding men
Lookouts tremble on the shore
But no man can find the war
Tape recorders echo scream
Orders fly like bullet stream
Drums and cannons laugh aloud
Whistles come from ashen shroud
Leaders damn the world and roar
But no man can find the war
Is the war across the sea?
Is the war behind the sky?
Have you each and all gone blind:
Is the war inside your mind?
Humans weep at human death
All the talkers lose their breath
Movies paint a chaos tale
Singers see and poets wail
All the world knows the score
But no man can find the war

May 21, 2009