I ask myself, "Why are you afraid?"
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On Saturday morning I shall be in Oxford, making my way, with thousands of others to the biggest military base in Britain - RAF Brize Norton - the most important British base for maintaining the occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan.
When visiting Britain, George Bush and the CIA fly into Brize Norton, used as a staging post by the CIA to fly 'suspects' out to various secret locations for interrogation and torture.
It is also used to forcibly expel asylum-seekers to Iraq.
Brize Norton was used in August by US planes taking munitions to the Israeli Defence Force to bomb Lebanon.
It is also the base that receives our own military dead.
Bring The Troops Home Now
The march to the gates of Brize Norton will be led by military
personnel (Conscious objectors, veterans and those who have done time for refusing to act on illegal orders).
The Stop The War Coalition has sent out word, asking for everyone to 'Bring flowers as a sign of respect for the dead of every nation'
As a 'recluse' and sufferer of PTSD, this is not an easy journey for me to make. (I've spoken about the reasons in 'Why I March')
I ask myself, "Why are you afraid?"
And the answer I get back has more to do with pride than anything.
Being in crowds - even in a high-street - can freak me out.
(Cold sweats, trembling, flashbacks, panic attacks, none can be pre-empted or easily dealt with). On the marches people talk to me, but I can only stammer and stutter like a shy kid. It is horrible.
On top of that, I have high adrenaline and Exaggerated Startle Reflex- which causes aching joints, headaches, and backache. It is as if my danger button has been pushed and lodged in the ON position. At such times, I am just a man, but my brain is on RED ALERT. I jump at loud noises - I can't help it. It is humiliating and humbling.
For the last few weeks I have been saying to myself, "I don't know if I can go. Suppose I have a break down in front of all those people?"
But I am going, I made up my mind yesterday really, but today I had another sign - this time from Mike Moore - a message that has convinced me.
Why I'm Going
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Yesterday I was telling a friend about the Ceasefire Demo in London March 5th - called in emergency response to the bombing of Lebanon. It was a solidarity march, that sent a very strong message to parliament - a message that confirmed the majority of Brits were sickened by Tony Blair's failure to call for a ceasefire from Israel.
100,000 people turned out at short notice and I was one of them.
Something happened to me on that march.
It is hard to write down, because I know I cannot do the moment justice. But let me try.
As I walked along, beside all sorts of brave and conscientious people, I became aware of a young Muslim woman wearing a pale blue headscarf, a denim jacket and long skirt. She was very petite (I felt like a man on stilts walking along beside her).
She was with a group of other women - some Asian, some white, and one elderly grandmother that the others took turns giving a supportive arm to.
As they walked, they sung in girlish but strong voices
"Free free Palestine, long live Lebanon
.. free free Palestine, long live Lebanon."
A couple of times she looked at me and smiled and I tried not to scare her too much with my scarred face and bloodshot eyes (I'd been up drinking all the night before - convinced I would never be able to get my **** together and go).
A group of youths overtook us, some bare-chested - all handsome, singing, "We are all Hezbollah, we are all Hezbollah
" They had their fists in the air, but for the most part they were grinning.
It occurred to me that although I was walking in the very streets I grew up in, I felt suddenly surrounded by a fiercely proud and totally different make-up of people to the ones I'd grown up around.
I thought of Lieutenant-Colonel T E Lawrence then, and understood how he had been charmed and impressed by the gentle strength of middle-eastern peoples.
I watched a Buddist Monk pass me, tapping a small drum, his orange robes stark against the dirty grey London street.
And I saw Jewish men carrying banners that declared : End Zionist Aggression
I felt a moment of deep, dark sadness then. Because I understood that what we were sharing here in this solidarity march was an experience people like Tony Blair have no grasp of. The unity of the differences was palpable. The strength of it you could feel in the air.
Everyone who has died in this fiasco of 'War on Terror' - the Iraqis, the British, the Afghans, the Americans (and there were many US and Canadian citizens marching with us that day) other coalition troops, journalists of all nations, the Lebanese, the Palestinians and Israelis (all who suffer as a result of the Bush Blair war on Muslims) - the tortured suspects released uncharged, the crippled and suicidal vets I'd personally met
.
all these thousands seemed to be with us that day, marching for Peace.
The woman in the head scarf felt it too. She came closer to me, singing, smiling at me. She was so beautiful and precious and brave that I had to look away. Below my feet, my shadow moved with the rhythm of the march.
Then I felt a hand on my back and looked up into the sun before turning to her beside me. She had stopped singing and was staring intently at me. I couldn't speak. For some reason I wanted to cry.
She smiled and patted my back. Nodded at me. I returned a smile - which made her whole face light up. She wasn't just beautiful now - she was something I don't know how to describe.
She broke my heart, but somehow healed it too, as she threw back her head and gave the warbling cry of celebration given by billions of women before her - a sound so ancient and powerful I was stunned by it. Many women around us took up the cry (I'm sorry, I don't know the proper term for this), and I was amazed to see them all smiling at me.
What it really meant, I have no idea. But those women injected me with some strength and bravery that I've carried with me ever since.
There's irony in this.
Because my own country had let me down, crushed my pride and belief in what's right and left me weak. Then along came this Muslim woman, who some wrongly think I should see as a threat or even as the enemy - and she made me feel 'whole' again.
Alive.
Free.
I lost sight of her later, amongst the 100,000 crowd. But I never forgot her.
When I finished telling my friend about that experience, he said, "
that alone must have made it all worthwhile to you."
He was right.
Today, looking at Mike Moore's site, I was again reminded of the bravery of women. Today is the anniversary of Dec 1st 1955 - when Rosa Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her seat on a bus to a white passenger.
Confronted with the bravery of such women - what's a man to do?
Simple.
I will march tomorrow - whatever the fear of that might be for me, because right now I need to stand up for what I believe in.
Unity and Peace.
Endy
