A report from Brian Kavanagh of the St. Martin de Porres Catholic Worker community in Hartford
The three of us were late for Mass. We had walked a mile or so from the small town of Santa Maria before catching a ride the rest of the way to this tiny, whitewashed chapel perched neatly on a hill by the side of the road to the barrio Esperanza (Hope). The liturgy was in Spanish, a language I neither speak one understand well, so I was Less than attentive.
As the priest began his homily my eyes wandered stopping at the opposite wall where, through an open window a beautiful bush covered the lush blooms could be seen. A hummingbird flitted from blossom to blossom looking for its breakfast. My reverie was suddenly broken by the loud thumping sound of rotor blades coming from outside the window next to where I was sitting. Looking out I saw a large military helicopter pass by a eye level, warning lights flashing, pilot and crew clearly visible
I watched as it hovered a moment by the resistance encampment of Monte David before leaving to continue its flight out over the expanse of Camp Garcia. It was like some huge malevolent insect searching for its prey.
I had arrived there on the small island of Vieques, seven miles off the coast of Puerto Rico, the previous day. I traveled with Scott Schaeffer-Duffy, a Catholic Worker from Worcester, and two friends from the War Resisters League. I had come to give support to the people of Vieques who have been struggling since 1942 to get the U.S. Navy off their island. It was in 1942 that the Navy took two-thirds of the island for use as a practice bombing range. They set up Camp Garcia, removed everyone from the appropriated land, put up fences, hung up "Keep Out or Else" signs, and started bombing.
For the next sixty years or so the bombs rained down, including napalm and radioactive depleted Uranium rounds. Portions of the once fertile island were turned into a moonscape, fragile coral reefs were pulverized and the environment was poisoned. Then in April 1999 David Sanes, a civilian security guard employed by the Navy was killed by a bomb that fell off target.
The incident galvanized the grassroots resistance movement both on Vieques and the main island of Puerto Rico. Several hundred people including church leaders, politicians, and seasoned activists entered the bombing range and occupied it. They set up a peace camp on the beach and vowed to nonviolently resist the bombing and stay put until the Navy agreed to leave the island. Bombing was suspended as support for the protestors grew.
For a year the nonviolent witness continued. As the pressure for a solution mounted president Clinton entered the fray and made a backroom deal with the governor of Puerto Rico. The people felt betrayed by their governor and refused to accept the agreement, which called for their leaving the bombing range. The stalemate continued, as did threats and warnings from the forces of "law and order." On May 4th, 2000, the U.S. government made its move.
FBI agents along with Federal Marshals-under the authority of the Navy-raided the peace camp and arrested the resisters. Spokespersons for the resistance movement stated that many protestors were still in the restricted zone. They avoided being caught and declared they would remain on the range to continue the witness. The Navy announced that the bombing would resume soon.
When we arrived two days later many of those who had been arrested, and flown by military helicopter to Puerto Rico for processing, were returning. All made their way to Camp Monte David, named for the killed guard. It was the focal point for the community of resistance that thrived on the island.
Situated on a high part of the island it overlooked much of Camp Garcia. Folks parked their cars and pickup trucks by the curb and ambled down to the gathered crowd to join in the discussion of news of the day or exchange the latest tidbit of information.
Tarps and a few tents were set up as protection from the hot sun or passing rain shower. Banners hang from the twine strung between cement posts and from the porches of houses across the street. All the signs called for the Navy to leave.
Adjacent to the resistance camp were the riot police who stood stoically behind the barricades which blocked the main road. Nobody was allowed past that point to the road beyond unless they could prove that they lived down there. Papers were checked, and vehicles searched-a state of siege atmosphere existed among the constabulary.
Women from the neighborhood brought food and rink to share with those present: as resistance community potluck. As more people gathered a small group formed a circle and began to sing a song both triumphant and joyful. While they sang they would point out towards the expanse of Camp Garcia. The song named all the people who were still on the bombing range and also those who had recently slipped in to join the resistance. Looking to where the women pointed I could make out the form of a helicopter flying low over the base with its lights flickering. Beyond that I could see the lights of Navy war ships and Coast Guard cutters patrolling offshore.
As night fell the stars came out in all their glory and a warm breeze blew gently. Tree frogs talked to each other as the singing stopped. Up the street a young man spray painted a message on the main road while the stone-faced guards watched from behind the barricades. This man's family had lost their farm when the Navy came. In large letters he wrote: "THE STRUGGLE CONTINUES." And as I read this the women began to sing again.
