Back in 1969, I voyaged into New York City at Christmas time—not to see the tree in Rockefeller Center, or midnight mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, or even to shop. I went to Times Square to see John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s billboard: “War Is Over! If You Want It.”

I stood on the sidewalk and my eyes teared up. I loved John Lennon and was touched by the words “if you want it.”

This will be the first Christmas since that day that I will not hear John and Yoko’s “Happy Xmas” on the radio, drifting from unsuspecting places into our subconscious psyches. But I hear the words, the chorus, the anthem.

While I have grown up too cynical to believe it is over if I want it to be, I have been profoundly moved by the witness of too many to know that I can’t wait for someone else to declare war over. I must do my part, which is why I wish I could go to Washington D.C. on January 11 with Witness Against Torture and participate in a 12 day fast and period of sustained action to remind us all that 170 men remain imprisoned in Guantanamo.

I have been traveling to D.C. for these actions since Witness Against Torture began mounting them in 2006 and a community of friends has been built up around this action. I shall miss it and my friends next month, but at Christmas, I give thanks for the joyous gift of Witness Against Torture’s presence in front of the White House, Department of Justice, and halls of Congress and Senate in years past. Wherever they can be this January to remind us that men and women languish unjustly around the world, the spirit of John and Yoko’s message will be seen in action.

Bud Courtney is currently serving on a Christian Peacemaker Team in Iraq.

Azadi Park in Sulaymaniyah

I find myself in a rather strange situation. I am in the midst of approximately 300 people at a demonstration in the Northern Iraqi city of Sulaymaniyah.

Massoud Barzani, president of the Iraqi Kurdistan Region, had just signed the demonstration law, which parliament sent to him for approval. The law makes spontaneous demonstrations or assemblies illegal, requiring 72-hour notice for any gathering. Even then, it is still up to the authorities to grant the request. Organizers met at the end of last month, hoping to find ways to stop it from happening. But the bill was signed into law last week and so we took to the streets to demonstrate on Saturday.

It rained all morning, fatefully clearing up just as the “illegal” demonstration began. Participants stood in a large circle, as speakers huddled under banners and umbrellas spoke. Each speaker was followed by loud chanting: “Parliament: Azadi!” (Azadi means “freedom” in Kurdish.) The chanting became addictive and heartwarming in the cold, damp air about the city center in the heart of the bazaar district.

Not being able to speak or understand Kurdish, I felt a bit set back attending a freedom-of-speech demonstration. However, I have learned enough over the years about civil and human rights to know that when they begin to get taken away, one must speak up—even in a foreign language. So, I joined, and continue to join with my sisters and brothers in chanting “Azadi, Azadi!”

Mr. President and members of Parliament, please amend this law. Allow human beings the right to gather together to voice their opinions. The voice of the people is democracy. To stifle one’s ability to speak leads to tyranny.

Bud Courtney is currently serving on a Christian Peacemaker Team in Iraq.

Residents of At-Tuwani Village block the path of an Israeli military jeep.

Every time I return home after a vigil, I am asked, “How was it?” How does one answer? We were present? Ignored? Warmly greeted? Does it matter? The war goes on. Guantánamo remains open. Lies continue. We show up. We pray. We walk. So to attempt to describe my voyage with a Christian Peacemaking Team (CPT) delegation to Palestine/Israel in late November is more difficult to answer than the journey itself.

I am blessed to have been led to this step by Catholic Workers and very dear friends. My desire to join a delegation elsewhere was rerouted by the suggestion that I should go to Palestine. As I have related many times, when Anne Montgomery—an 80-year-old nun who travels the world taking part in nonviolent direct actions—says go to Palestine, you go. I went.

For 11 days, our delegation of seven—three women and four men, including a Briton, two Germans, a Canadian, and three Americans—jumped in and out of cabs, buses, hiked hills, climbed mountains, slept in hostels, caves, tents, met with lawyers, activists, shepherds, soldiers, teachers, settlers, and NGO human rights groups. We talked, vigiled, prayed. We learned. We tried to learn. For me, the more I heard, the more confused I became. I felt in the middle of a sudden death battle in which neither side would give in. But I also felt completely at home, welcomed.

In Hebron, I went through a checkpoint. I showed my passport, as instructed and walked on. Then I heard the Israeli soldier manning the post call. I was sure he was yelling at me, but I continued. He called again, in Hebrew. I turned and he asked, “What state?” I answered and he waved me on. But it made me aware that if one does not speak the language of the occupier, one can most certainly be put in harm’s way.

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