Women are still voiceless. We have to wait until complete equality becomes a reality. I grew up in a Quaker family and the Quakers believe in the equality of the sexes. It is hard to grow up in such a family and never hear about anything else. When you put your hand to the plow, you can't put it down until you reach the end of the row. Alice Paul, 1975
But, in the silence, walls dissolve and feelings which have been hidden all week come bubbling up to disturb the worshipers’ peace of mind. Many a Quaker concern has been born in the heart of a silent worshiper as he sits on a hard wooden bench and opens himself to the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
The Quiet Rebels, Mary Hope Bacon
In the city of Machida, on the border of Tokyo, you will find possibly the most renown bowl of ramen in the world. The master chef in this tiny diner is Junichi Shimazaki,1 the Godfather of contemporary ramen. His establishment, consistently ranked as the best in Tokyo, requires full silence. At 69 ‘n’ Roll One, phones are not allowed. Food is ordered and paid for outside the door. Once entered and seated, the only sounds are water boiling, knives clicking and ecstatic customers slurping. The mind is one with the complete experience as dictated by the ramen sensei. He knows something most do not or would not risk, the immersion into the food, from preparation to the last noodle, is elevated by silence. Everyone in 69 ‘n’ Roll One is fully engaged. Uninterrupted they eat as never before. It is not the emptiness of Zen or the interior labyrinth of Vajrayana but the full combined absorption of senses and attention.
The power of silence when used to heighten awareness goes far beyond the silenced. To the observer, it awards importance. It welcomes inquiry. It stops the clock. It establishes a mutual reverence. It announces, something steady is happening here. Those who bring silence to the public sphere are also engaged in a reverential way. It allows reflection. It calms the doer. They can listen outside but inside too. Secrets shared as both the seer and the seeker are invited to use other senses to meet one another. I see you. You see me.
This is not referring to the use of silence as torture. This is referring to the use of silence as demonstration. This is not the use of silence as a study of indifference or avoidance such as the Vatican and the rise of the Nazis. This is not the outcry of Act Up that Silence = Death. This is a gift of silence that seals manifest commitment. This is the British Guard at Buckingham’s gate or a duct taped vow by Jeff Parshley and Adam Bouska’s NO H8 campaign ~ there will be no words of hate spoken here.
This is a magical silence of Yugoslavian performance artist, Marina Abramovic2. She sat in the middle of a bare room with only a table and two chairs at the New York Museum of Modern Art in total silence, daily March 14 to May 31, 2010 for a total of 736.5 hours. Visitors were invited to sit across from her for as long as they wished. “The Artist is Present,” performance art installation was said to be transforming. People cried and laughed and looked away from the shared intensity. Photographers, onlookers, celebrities, filmmakers swam in her room of silence; sometimes her heart of silence. It was not unusual for sitters to weep as to say they had never been seen before. Very rarely, Marina welcomed holding hands. It was silence given form.
All religious people, all spiritual people and people who excavate their inner selves use many tools; dance, music, art but one shared thread is the use of silence. Nowhere has this silence rippled more, out into society creating forms and facts for social justice, than from the Quakers. Sitting on wooden benches in both community and silence, Friends wait for a surfacing thought that deserves to be said aloud, weighed by others who are also alert to the arising spirit. Alice Paul had sat in Friends Meetings, heard women and men preach, giving witness to the power of the waiting silence. With a resolute understanding that honest social constructs will surface from this collection of open minds, educated hearts and silent patience ~ they sit.
1916 had been an election year for Mr. Wilson. War was on the horizon. Campaigning for the White House to remain blue, he was under a great deal of pressure. Suffrage was not on his essentials list. There was an expectation that the ladies would mind their manners, dampen their public resolve and show concern for the county’s military plans. December 4, 1916, the re-elected President Wilson addressed the 64th Congress on the possibility of war. From up in the gallery, five members of the Congressional Union unfurled a banner over the railing, MR. PRESIDENT WHAT WILL YOU DO FOR WOMAN SUFFRAGE? A congressional page tore it from its cord and in those five minutes it became evident that militancy was also going to be a domain for suffrage.
Jan 9, 1917, Three hundred women met with President Wilson in the White House East Room. From the speeches on both sides, it seemed that neither was going to be heard. The ladies wanted assurance of a federal suffrage amendment. He side-stepped the demand with a lecture on party politics. Finally he advised them to continue working on collecting “public opinion.” He and his many men left the East Room. The call to duty had been signaled.
Maud Younger, Stunned, talking in low indignant tones, we moved slowly out of the East Room and returned to our Headquarters. There we discussed the situation. We saw that the president would do nothing for some time. Perhaps not until the eve of the presidential election 1920. He said we must concert public opinion. But how? For half a century women had been walking the hard way of the lobbyist. We had made speeches, meetings, parades, campaigns, organization. What new method could we devise?
Alice Paul, Lucy Burns and Mabel Vernon developed a long term plan, a new plan, to never let Mr. Wilson forget or sideline suffrage again; not even war would deter them. “We have decided that it will be an excellent thing to have a silent guard of suffragists at the gates of the White House,” Mabel Vernon recounted. With military precision, the language of rank & order, they would create their own army.
Women were to be drafted, deputized and stand at attention on behalf of suffrage. They would be stationed at the White House gates. They would stand in silence. It would not be a wondering inattentive silence but an alert bright silence as one had seen before with pairs of suffrage women in London, Albany, New York City and Tennessee. Silent messengers would state their case loud and clear. Flags and banners were only part of their arsenal. Dressed in the very best, marching in pairs, standing tall with feet together, backs to the president, they were living billboards facing the nation, publishing the president’s position and their demands. A battalion of women soldiers for the vote would stand as Silent Sentinels for the duration.
January 10, 1917, at precisely 10 A.M., twelve women marched in pairs from the NWP Headquarters to the White House gates. In purposeful silence, carrying four banners and eight flags of purple, gold and white, they began their perpetual vigil. This perfect line in perfect silence would occur six days a week, 10 A.M. – 5:30 P.M. Organized by Mabel Vernon the plan did not include an alternative for bad weather or national crisis. It would be open to everyone; all classes, all races, all ages. Days were designed by events, holidays, schools, professions, all of the states had a certain day and Fridays were reserved for Washington D.C. women.
In March, 1917, Washington D.C. was preparing for the second inauguration of President Wilson. The hotels and streets were flooded with Democrats celebrating their victory. The suffragists held a meeting and agreed to merge the Congressional Union and the National Women’s Party. They elected officers and committed to the Silent Sentinels campaign. Signs were posted and flyers poured through the crowds: COME TO THE WHITE HOUSE ON MARCH 4, COME IN THE THOUSANDS.
March 4, the eve of Wilson’s second inauguration, the skies opened with torrential rain. The streets shone like glass from the puddles. A rubber company was summoned and sold the marchers, coats, hats and wellingtons. Bands set the tone, Vida Milholland at the lead, a thousand picketers marched to the fence. They circumambulated the White House four times. All four gates were locked and the petitioning cards for the president were given to a sole guard who would deliver them at the end of his shift. The deputation was undaunted and marched against the rain and wind, their banners and flags challenging their banner’s grip. Women ranged in age from Reverend Olympia Brown, 82 to dozens of college girls.
The overall plan was in full force. After robbing Mr. Wilson of his first inauguration with the pageant and procession, they would overrun his second by taking command of the White House gates and fence. They would stand, as the ladies they were and silently mock him. He might wonder each day, is this their last? Onlookers thought surely rain will deter them, surely snow will keep them near a teapot. But nothing stopped them. They stated the truth in pure silence and a soldier’s posture. We are citizens. We will have the vote. With organic ease, they left the moderates (NAWSA). They were not interested in an invitation to a White House tea or polite repartee. They were militants. They were warriors. They were indomitable agitators.
Keeping time with the congressional session they adjourned after the inauguration and reconvened April 2. They expanded their station from the White House gates to include the Senate entrance. April 7, the United States joined the war and there was no talk, zero talk of ending the picket. NWP Chairman Alice Paul never considered bowing her head or that of the National Woman’s Party in deference to the warring government. Nothing would deter the demand for the vote. Alice was a general in a war that was of grave importance to all women. Disregarding threats of violence and even murder, this militant community would not end their campaign.
As dignitaries drove in and out of the White House, they tipped their hats to the ladies standing at the gates. Military leaders met with the president only after they drove through the gates and read the banners’ fresh announcements. Back at the NWP Headquarters, ladies were constantly going over the president’s speeches and the newspapers for pertinent and provocative quotes. New banners were sewn on a daily basis announcing women’s demand for the vote, the president’s dismissal of its importance and challenging his priorities.
As the war progressed, the banner quotes escalated their attack. While Mr. Wilson spun thousands of words, the daily banners summarized his message. These were not White House guards. These were opponents who were 1917 equivalent of CNN zipper crawls. They were not communicating to the White House but to the nation about the White House; about the administration’s indifference to women’s voice, women’s citizenship, women voting. When news of the war was posted, danger escalated. Confrontational banners were ripped from their poles. Immediately a new one would be delivered. As one was destroyed, Hazel Hunkins brought another; DEMOCRACY SHOULD BEGIN AT HOME. Again that one was torn to shreds. Mobs of people, emotions high, and yet they were tamed. “This silent, persistent courage had, however, its inevitable effect on the crowd. It fell back.”
Nothing could have served the Sentinels better than their silence. Nothing could have spoken more eloquently of their nobility and lasting commitment to the right to vote. To stand, banner in hand, sometimes with an inciting quotation, the silence commanded gravitas. Even their eventual decision to answer meaningful questions was given dignity by their months of silent witness. By that time, no one thought this action was trivial; not the press, not the public and not the sentinels.
To begin a long term action with the hopes of attracting hundreds of activists required special drafting skills. This was compounded with the context that for entire lives, many ladies were told to be quiet, to not assemble an opinion, to not enter the man’s domain of politics. For these women to be safe, to be certain, the silence gave them insulation. They could see the river of government pass right in front of their eyes. They could hear conversations about their banners. Standing at the White House gates was an education in itself and many left after their shift with new found ideas and words. The introverts were not excluded and the extroverts were invited into contemplation. There would be no shouting or embarrassment.
“While their slogans obviously were inflammatory, the suffragists were never once arrested for disturbing the peace, inciting a riot, or jeopardizing the security of the country or its Chief Executive.” Eleanor Flexner
Alice Paul never turned away an uneducated woman. She said she preferred exuberance over expertise any day, anytime. She believed in life providing its own education as it did for her years before when she stood among the poor in New York City and London. No textbook could have instructed her so fully, so quickly. The entire understanding of humanity and the need for equality was a single lightning strike of direct experience. None of the Sentinels had to worry they would not be smart enough to represent the whole of suffrage or worry they would say a wrong or intemperate thing.
The Silent Sentinels were silently demanding a voice. It was all done in contrast. In public contrast. With each passing day, they were stronger, steadier and increasing in numbers. All kinds of women took their turn, some for days and some for twenty minutes. Once the campaign started, letters and offers poured in. Mothers sent daughters as if it was a war. Ladies took turns representing their state or profession. They were militant sisters, standing in growing community. They looked like ladies. They behaved like ladies with one notable exception, they could stand in public and demonstrate that they understood the politics of war and the value of the vote. As Alice Paul said, “We always tried to make our lines as beautiful as we could and our banners were really beautiful.” Activist George Lakey describes them this way, “The suffragists were beautiful like the Valkyries, not like clinging vines. Physical courage was a major virtue.”
After months of unbroken silence, the sentinels adopted another tactic of answering intelligent proper questions. They used their public access to educate others and to push their message further.
From The Story of the Woman’s Party,
It was the intention at the first for these sentinels to keep complete silence. But, as throngs hurrying past began to question them, continued to question them, conversation became inevitable.
The commonest question, of course was, “Why are you doing this?”
The pickets always answered, “The President asked us to concert public opinion before we could expect anything of him. We are concerting it upon him.” The second most popular question was, “Why don’t you go to Congress?” The answer, “We have – again and again and again; and they tell us if the President wants it, it will go through.”
The Silent Sentinels were a live tweet to the nation. Their banners were most often under one hundred and forty characters. However the tweet was not the point. The point was the point. Non- enfranchised women standing with their backs to the Commander in Chief, the White House and by default, the American flag were giving witness to an injustice was the point. They were embarrassing those in power and, in their own contrast, these ladies in rain or snow or sunshine stood in silence, broadcasting the point. Banners were only one of the tools among their ordnance. The full tweet was countless letters and words describing their actions from varnishing poles, sewing banners, marching, standing, etc. The message poured out from their action. Unlike the stilted, armchair tweet, #bringbackourgirls which had no foundational action but a collective outcry carrying no threat of action, the Silent Sentinels placed themselves at risk and that risk propelled the message.
A true action-based twitter storm began with the silent standing of Erdem Gunduz,3, 4 6 P.M. June 17, 2013. This dancer and performance artist walked into Taksim Square, the site of so many protests in May, 2013 during which peaceful protestors were met with teargas, batons and finally a water cannon. He disregarded the police barriers, walked into a protected space and found himself facing Turkish flags and a portrait of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk. He stood and stared in unyielding silence. In Erdem’s speech at the Oslo Freedom Forum he explains, “… my peaceful gesture was meant to give them hope."
With public silence, there is a mind-bending expression of the dual nature of the action. It is at once both impenetrable and approachable. As Richard Seymour of the Guardian said, “…passive resistance is not merely symbolic; it confuses and derails the calculations of the rulers."
Like with Rosa Parks where lazy minds think she just sat down in the white section of a bus one day, as if tired feet launched a movement; Erdem Gunduz was not a novice wandering into an epiphany. He had trained, studied and developed his passion for human rights. As he stared ahead and became a single witness for thousands. "I felt pain in my heart for the protestors." In great contrast to his training as a dancer, he stood still.
Men began to taunt him, search his backpack, frisk his body. Police approached him. The onlookers began to tweet #standingman #erdemgunduz. People stepped forward to encircle him in protection. In a few hours over three hundred people stood with him. From his simple action, his unmovable bravery, his silent attraction, a global contagion was launched. Action was the point, twitter was the global transmitter that an activist was acting. He was standing in silence on behalf of all those living in the grip of injustice.
There are deep abiding roots in the heart of an activist. Miss Paul was no exception, exceptional as she was among her followers. She had attended meetings of the Friends Equal Rights Association. Among the Quakers there was full equality. Women were leaders. In fact, William Penn wrote non-gendered language. This was her upbringing. To her surprise she discovered that the world that did not see things that way. She was left with a heart that longed for all to be equal. As was the practice of Quakers and activists, in silence there arises a collective concern or possibly a sole concern which assigns the seer the task to passionately, compassionately transform injustice to justice. Silence required.
ON THE PICKET LINE by Bea Amidon
The avenue is misty gray,
And here beside the guarded gate
We hold our golden blowing flags
And wait.
The people pass in friendly wise;
They smile their greeting where we stand
And turn aside to recognize
The just demand.
Often the gates are swung aside:
The man whose power could free us now
Looks from his car to read our plea —
And bow.
Sometimes the little children laugh;
The careless folk toss careless words,
And scoff and turn away, and yet
The people pass the whole long day
Those golden flags against the gray
And can't forget.
ALICE PAUL by Katherine Rolston Fisher
I watched a river of women,
Rippling purple, white, and golden,
Stream toward the National Capitol.
Along its border,
Like a purple flower floating,
Moved a young woman, worn, wraith-like,
With eyes alight, keenly observing the marchers.
Out there on the curb, she looked so little, so lonely;
Few appeared even to see her;
No one saluted her.
Yet commander was she of the column, its leader;
She was the spring whence arose that irresistible river of women
Streaming steadily towards the National Capitol.
Videos
1. 69 'n' roll one
2. Marina Abramovic
3. Erdem Gunduz in Taksim Square
4. Erdem Gunduz at the Oslo Freedom Forum
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