Before it all slips away, I wanted to take some time today to craft a few reflections on yesterday’s action in Senator Susan Collins’ Portland office. For those needing additional context, about 30 Mainers from 10 different faith traditions walked in procession to her office and commenced a Pray-In, focused on the upcoming vote on the DHS/ICE funding bill. After about an hour, the police were called and eventually nine of us were arrested.
I’ve never been part of an action that came together so readily. Quakers have an expression, Way will open. It basically means that if spiritual conditions are right, one’s path will become clear. From Sunday evening to Tuesday morning we had about 30 hours to prepare for the action, and with a foot or more of snow to clear. From the first conversation with Rachel it was one enthusiastic yes after another: Leslie serving as police and jail support, Reverend Norm’s offer to use First Parish UU’s space. Christine and Allison stepping up to co-lead with me. Food and drink appearing out of nowhere. (Isn’t there some kind of Bible verse about that, something about fish sandwiches?) And then all of us showing up, sharing our abundant and impressive gifts. I’ve never seen so many doors swing open so fast. Way opened.
What deep and rich sharing when we circled up towards the end of our preparation time at First Parish. We wore our hearts on our sleeves, we bared our souls to each other. We spoke from our inner selves, without posture or pretense. That’s when I knew we couldn’t go wrong with this action.
Oh my, those encounters with our brother Halsey, the Collins staffer who greeted us in the vestibule. I knew immediately that our operational security was sound; this man had no idea what was happening, and it showed on his poor face. As he started to explain the visitor rules (which we promptly ignored) to the seven or so of us in the first group, I could see his eyebrows leap a solid inch as the next group out of the elevator rounded the corner and came into view. This eyebrow activity was repeated two or three more times as additional groups arrived and filled up the entire hallway. And he sure didn’t like our multiple cameras. As Eric pointed out later in jail, Didn’t they give him any public relations training? The first rule when being publicly recorded is not to demand that the cameras be turned off! I think we might want to send him a fruit basket or something today. I’m not kidding.
The rich singing and preaching in that hallway. Spirit was with us! So much sharing. And not staged or performative prayer, real live grounded witness, one person after another. We Quakers talk about a “Gathered Meeting,” when the flow of the Divine is evident in the room and a profound sense of peace settles among us. This, my friends, was a Gathered Action. I got chills watching a few of Allen’s clips on Facebook later in the evening. Rev. Dottie, I will always remember your fiery words delivered with clenched fists, ending with this peroration: “Operation Catch of the Day… I don’t know if that was meant to be funny or clever, but it was neither. And God will not be mocked!” Holy rage at its best.
What was funny and clever was singing happy birthday to Annemarie in the hallway. There was nothing more serious and focused than what we were doing together in this action. And yet in the midst of it all we took the time to pause and sing and celebrate each other. Annemarie was one of the nine to be arrested, and received a free slice of cake that came with the jail dinner.
I especially love that we continued our songs and messages even as the police arrived and walked right through us. I swear they seemed to wait until we were done with this or that song or spoken word before making their periodic announcements, as if they didn’t want to interrupt. And I know some are hesitant to ever praise the police because they are part of a violent system. But in my view they handled the situation and each of us with dignity and professionalism, and we should be able to acknowledge that, while also insisting on the same treatment of any nonviolent protester, no matter the circumstances.
My friend Jasa’s brave witness in front of the Portland police officers. Jasa has attended many protests and civil disobedience actions over the years, but she had not quite been moved to risk arrest. Yesterday was different. We were waiting for the additional police van to arrive (looks like we’ll need another van, we overheard them radioing in). Jasa was shaking from fear. And she named it, out loud, looking the police officers right in the eye, tears streaming down her face. I am terrified right now. I am afraid of you. But I have to be here, I have to stand here for the country I love, for the Maine that I love. We sang Courage to her, and Jasa summoned her inner Light. I have never been more proud of my friend than in that moment.
In the process of being escorted out by the police, Rev. Norm’s head nod and handcuffed wave to the cameras as the elevator doors closed. If you missed it, try to find the Press Herald or Maine Public video footage, I can’t remember which one exactly. As our friend Jane from Maine Council of Churches wrote, “Norm’s wave to the tv news came is just about my favorite thing EVER!!!”
Minutes after being whisked into the police van, an officer came in to take some basic identifying information. Meanwhile the MSNow reporter was standing at the back of the vehicle, shouting questions to Eric. At one point Eric was simultaneously addressing the reporter with complete poise and aplomb, while also trying to answer the police questions. Another officer interjected, Hey, you have to answer our questions before her questions.
As the police van started pulling away, I thought I heard the radio playing a song from the cab. I was sitting in the front corner of the van, right next to a vent, so I could hear best among the four of us. Guys, listen… what’s that music? It was you. All of you singing from the sidewalk. Courage, my friend…
Singing our hearts out in the police van with Rev. Will, Rev. Norm, and Eric Nathanson. They shut the doors and it immediately became pitch black. In a reversal of a cue the lights moment, we took the darkness as an invitation to sing. If you thought Will’s voice was beautiful in the hallway, you should hear him in the acoustical chamber of a police van. His leading us in Lean on Me was ethereal.
Meeting with Reverend Jeff, the jail chaplain. I’d heard of him for the past few weeks, in connection with the vigil we’ve been holding outside the jail. I had not anticipated meeting him in quite this way, as he tended to us as his latest inmates. He requested to be let into the joint cellblock the four of us men were in, and then accidentally locked the door on himself after entering. Rev Jeff, not again! one of the Corrections officers called out.
Meeting the Bail Commissioner to get processed for release, a thick glass wall between us, presumably to protect her from me. Midway through the exchange, I asked, Do you know why we’re here? A pause. Yes, she replied, looking up from her paperwork to me. Another pause – I couldn’t tell which way this was going. And then: I was there in Monument Square on Friday night, at the protest. What I do on my own time is my business.
Moments after being released from custody, several of us were standing in the jail lobby, waiting for others to be released. A young County Corrections officer came out from the building and approached Rev. Will. Oh my God, Will… I just read the news… What you did… Oh my God. He threw his arms around Will, a full embrace, love made visible.