We are not worth more. They are not worth less.
With this simple but profound conviction, Vietnam veteran Brian Willson stepped onto the railroad tracks at Concord Naval Weapons Station in Northern California on September 1, 1987 — 25 years ago this week — resolved to stand in the way of trains carrying arms bound for U.S. wars in Central America. Many of the boxcars were destined for ships headed to El Salvador and elsewhere in the region, as documents released under the Freedom of Information Act had confirmed. Willson had spent time in those war zones meeting the people who were facing the consequences of such arms shipments. His own experience as an intelligence officer in Vietnam — and the obligation of the Nuremberg principles, which maintain that citizens are responsible for the war crimes of their government — compelled him to put himself in the way of the war.
He expected the U.S. Navy train to stop and then, with a handful of others, to be arrested. Instead, the train, running at three times the railroad speed limit, crossed the public roadway outside the base and slammed into Willson. Standing a few feet away, I saw him rolling under the train as it dragged him along the tracks. When we reached him, he was a huddled mass of blood lying in the track-bed. His skull had been cracked open. One leg had been sheered off, while the other was hanging by a thread. He looked like he was dying.
But Brian Willson did not die. As I have chronicled on this site previously (here and here), Willson’s then-wife Holly Rauen, who is a medical professional, applied tourniquets to stop the bleeding, keeping him alive until an ambulance arrived a glacially slow 17 minutes later. Sixteen hours of surgery followed. Willson lost both legs but he survived, and has devoted the last quarter of a century to healing himself and a hurting world.
Last weekend 50 of us who had been part of that original witness — and the eight-year Nuremberg Actions Campaign that followed — gathered with Brian at the base 30 miles east of San Francisco. (Here is a video of the event.) Like the others, I was drawn to mark an event that had profound personal significance (my life falls into two parts: before the incident at the Concord tracks and after it) but also one that resounded with the power of nonviolent social change. From many parts of the country, we made a pilgrimage to this place fraught with trauma but also, paradoxically, with transformative energy.
A pilgrimage is a journey to a meaningful place. As Jean and Wallace Clift stress in their book The Archetype of Pilgrimage some people go on pilgrimage to experience a place of power. Others undertake a pilgrimage to answer an inner call or to reclaim lost or abandoned or forgotten parts of themselves. Still others become pilgrims to get outside the normal routine of life so something new can happen. Each of these motivations, it seems, played a part in last week’s gathering.
Experiencing a place of power. When human beings stand for justice it is transformative for themselves and at times transformative for their society. But it is also, I believe, transformative for the place where such a struggle occurs. When I first visited the California Central Valley, I was awash in its sacredness: not only because it helps feed America, but because it is here that the migrant poor formed the United Farm Workers and took a stand for dignity and human rights. Similarly, the site where Brian Willson (and hundreds of others after him) took a stand is a place of meaning bearing enduring witness to the power of nonviolent love in action. When we live in a society that defines power as domination and control backed by violence, we are healed and transformed when we make contact with a different kind of power: the power of compassion, connection, community — and the willingness to face the consequences for putting this power into action.
Reclaiming lost or abandoned or forgotten parts of ourselves. Returning to the Concord tracks gave us an opportunity to remember what went down there and, by remembering, to renew our passion and commitment to a world where everyone matters. We live in a world that strenuously works to erase our history of nonviolent resistance. To journey to this place (and many scenes of nonviolent struggle) is a process of contesting this erasure. As Brian Willson said when contemplating the importance of observing this anniversary:
Those who control the present control the past, and those who control the past control the future. As memory is obliterated, people possess no frame of reference for assessing present policies. Thus, imperial history repeats itself over and over.
By remembering, we reclaim these forgotten dimensions of ourselves, but also of our society.
Answering an inner call. The longing that brought us to Concord in the first place burns within us still: the hope for a world where the nonviolent option is the default, with the follow-on call: translate this into reality with creativity and relentless persistence. Throughout our time together last weekend, we mulled on this question: “Where will this desire and call take us now?”
Getting outside the normal routine of life so something new can happen. The work for nonviolent change means peeling away the scripts, patterns and habits of domination and violence with which we have been formed. This was symbolized by some of us dropping what we were doing in the rest of our lives and gathering to see a new way forward together. This is true for us as individuals, but it is the vocation of social movements to do this for one’s society. Nuremberg Actions did this by rising from the ashes of the violence of September 1987 to build an enormously powerful campaign, with trains being blocked on a virtually daily basis for several years. The Occupy movement could glean much wisdom from the travails and triumphs of this multi-year effort.
All of these dimensions of pilgrimage crystalized in two images last Saturday. First, Brian Willson, standing on his two artificial legs, erupting in dance as one of the musicians leads the gathering in song. Second, the sacred journey we made from the rally site to the tracks where Brian was run down all those years ago. Poignant. Heartfelt. But also a moment of recommitment in a world where people are being run down by the train of history — now, often, in the guise of drones — throughout the world. At this hauntingly abysmal place, the energy of connection and potential and new action hummed through us, with most of us sensing that the next pilgrimage is just ahead.
A special note of gratitude to Sherri Maurin, Mark Coplan, and David Hartsough for organizing this event, and to the 41 Nuremberg Action people who have passed on since September 1, 1987.
This is amazing:
Why isn’t this campaign cited more? And what, if anything, is preventing this kind of physical counterpower from being used today? Certainly activists fighting the fossil fuel industry, which use trains to transport coal and tar sands oil, could learn from this.
It’s a bit of a mystery why this isn’t more widely known or remembered. There is talk about writing a book chronicling the Nuremberg Actions campaign.
Such actions have a rich history. When we were beginning to organize at Concord Naval Weapons Station, we were inspired by train and ship blockades that took place during the Vietnam War (our friend David Hartsough had been part of these) and by the well-developed White Train campaign network that Shelley and Jim Douglass and others organized in the 1980s, which nonviolently blockaded trains carrying nuclear missile components across the U.S.
Fascinating, thanks Ken! Let me know if you hear more about a book coming together on this, and also any thoughts you may have on adapting such tactics to the climate movement.
Thanks Ken for your great article. Nuremberg Actions is an example of what all of us can do today to challenge the militarism and death our country continues to export around the world. Community, courage, and following our consciences are important ingredients of again building a powerful campaign like Nuremberg Actions. We are not worth more, they are not worth less is a very radical way of looking at the world. We are all truly brothers and sisters and we need to act on that belief!
There have been several attempts by writers to chronicle this rich history at Concord Naval Weapons Station, including blockades as early as the 1960s. The most recent effort, beginning in the early 1990s, was undertaken by Elizabeth Hallett who lives in Ashland, Oregon. But the book never materialized, at least partially for lack of funds.
It seems an appropriate time to locate a writer who has both the competence, passion, and capacity to take this project on. The 1987-1991 time period was an incredible example of 24 hour, 30 month Occupation encampment of a public site (road right of way) to raise a serious question of public policy, in that case of systematic murder being carried out in Central America. The order to move and operate those trains was a direct and indispensable component of the crimes being committed in our names as US citizens.
To resurrect this history now would seem likely to excite some writer somewhere to thoroughly examine and illustrate this significant memory.
I would be interested to work, probably with (an)other(s), on a book chronicling the Port Chicago/Concord NWS protests. I was involved with the Port Chicago Vigil during 1966-1967, mostly in the first months, when we stopped napalm trucks entering the base carrying bombs to the U.S. war on Vietnam. I was, at the time, a reporter for the Berkeley Barb, and was involved with one of the demonstrators; experiencing the commitment of the persons who, one at a time, stood before the incoming trucks–and, some nights into the demonstrations/vigil, seeing my lover run toward a weapons truck that did not stop–I still do not know what miracle prevented it hitting him–helped to change me. This was not the only event, but was a major part of, the change that I–and so many others of us–went through in that time the change toward seeing we cared so deeply for others that we could, if we followed this empathy and love, create a possible loving world. (See [the last half of] my essay “God’s Eyes” at http://highlightscommunications.com/gods_eyes_sample.htm ).
I have worked in journalism and p.r. and have published an antiwar adult/YA novel, The Rescuer’s Path (2012, PVP). One does not forget what happened at Port Chicago. The days in 1987 when the train struck Brian and the people banded together to continue this struggle was like a reopening of what we in 1966- had experienced. I remember too there was a flotilla of small boats on the Sacramento, at one time (1982?), to block another of the weapons shipments from that place.
Perhaps because the Concord NWS was a site of great evil, there was in the protests at its entrances, year after year, such great good.
In Paris, on many a street corner, one finds a plaque, “Ici est tombe les freres [name, name], heros de las resistance,” “Ici les guerrilas [name et name] ont entrappe trois soldats de l’Occupation,” etc. Often I think such a plaque should exist on those tracks at Concord, another where, very nearby on that road, the weapons trucks careened down the road–and were stopped.
But that may have to await the world we all wish. Meanwhile, let us work on the sort of book suggested here.
I and others are trying to create a website that will document the history of the Nuremberg Actions vigil. http://www.NurembergActions.org I also would be interested in linking to information about earlier actions at the CNWS. I am sure most of us would welcome & help you or anyone to write a book about the action.
Did you want material on previous actions at the CNWS for this website, Michael? Looking at the site, I found a “related actions” section, but is that, or somewhere else,where you’d want materials?
Thanks.
Paula, I went out to Port Chicago in Nov. 1966. For a few weeks I stayed in a house in Martinez owned by Johanna. Early in 1967 when the trials for trespasing at the Port Chicago gate began at the Federal Building in S.F. I stared a vigil there, on Golden Gate Ave.
For 5 days a week, rain or shine, I was in front of the Federal Building. Eventually the trials ended so I moved to Ahimsa House in Berkeley. I remember some of the people from PCV but I don’t want to list names here.
Grant Johnston, Chico, CA
Grant, wonder if we met? I was there in Aug. and Sep. 1966, mostly, a bit in Oct. Sometime in 1967, I was out to Martinez for a trial of the people for “trespassing.” This was a time of great change for me, as for so many of us, and the Port Chicago demonstrations/vigil had very great effect on so many of us. My email is friedman@gorge.net; feel free to post to me there. Anyone interested seriously to work up a book of essays and/or book excerpts, fiction or nonfiction, on the 1966 ff. Port Chicago Vigil, please contact me there. And, Michael Kerr, I’m still interested. And, Brian, my book is still in fiction/novel form–still of interest to you?
And, finally, Brian, your commitment and sacrifice remains a bedrock for so many—-!
Paula
I am very moved by this article. I am going to try and find an e-mail contact and write Mr. Wilson. I want to add him as an Honorary Affiliate of the U.S. Democracy Corps. You can read about it on http://www.uschamberofdemocracy.com.
I don’t know why, but i was not aware of the Nuremberg Actions vigil. I am going to browse their site.
Thanks very much Ken for writing this article.
Gary
Gary Brumback
democracypower@bellsouth.net