Earlier this month eProf found an AP story about an upcoming July 27 rally at Postville, IA, site of history’s largest immigration raid May 12. From the moment he told me, I longed to attend it. And Sunday, attend it I did. I had to go. You probably know how I’ve poured over this story, searching the internet for details of the raid and its aftermath and sharing them here. This story broke my heart, and I so longed to put my body where my mind already was: Postville.
Some people question the efficacy of rallies and protests. They may be right. Millions around the world marched against an initiation of Gulf War II to no avail. But a song-writing, professional musician-hippy-leftover I worked with (and adored) once realized aloud to me why he went to a little rally we’d both attended. With eyes wide in a new self-understanding, he exclaimed: “I go to these things because that’s who I am. And that’s what I have to do to be me!”
I couldn’t have put it any more succinctly.
- Sunday’s Highlights:
Hearing the Scriptures—powerful passages of liberation and justice—read sequentially in Spanish, English, and Hebrew.
- Marching with old friends from my hometown, busing with activists from my new metro area whom I’d never met before, praying with strangers from Minneapolis and Chicago, saying to (an apparently Guatemalan) woman on the march: “We’re here because you are in our hearts and we support you.”
- Meeting and thanking Postville’s pastoral leaders upon whom national attention was thrust uninvited but who have proven that small town Iowa can be equal to that challenge.
The relentless camera coverage of Lynda Waddington of The Iowa Independent and Essential Estrogen indeed caught me marching as part of “that number.” People-watching is a lovely perk of these events, so if you care to indulge, her vid is below. [I march past at 2:42-2:44, BTW.] .
There's more--so much more--to say. Postville is full of stories. I'm not finished, just ending for today.