Last Saturday I stood in a vigil for peace on the Greenfield Town Common. Like many vigils during this hard winter, it was cold. . .26 degrees and freezing rain. Our numbers had dwindled since TV screens had been trumpeting the “success” of US troops in Iraq, but there were still fifteen or twenty of us holding many-colored umbrellas and hand-lettered signs.

Toward the end of the vigil, a tall, thin, white-haired man walked up to one of the men in our line, shook hands, and started talking. I didn’t pay much attention, but just kept watching the cars go by.

Then the tall man moved down the line and stood in front of me and Charlie, who was sharing my umbrella. He reached out his hand to shake our hands and introduced himself as John Olver, our Congressman. Shaking my hand, he read the big orange sign hanging down my front like a sandwich board. It said, “I support my nephew in the Air Force in Qatar by working for peace.”

John looked up from the bottom of my sign and into my eyes as he said, “Well, you know, I am against the policies of the Bush administration, and I voted against the war resolution last fall, but now that we have young people over there fighting, I can’t say anything against the war. I have to show my support for the troops.”

I was stunned. Here is the man I’ve considered a champion for progressive causes, someone in line with my values who represents me in Congress, saying that he can’t speak those values.

I said, “But, but. . .there must be some way you can say you support the troops and at the same time say you oppose the war and the policies that led to it. The best way to support the troops is to end the war and bring them home alive.”

He said, no, that wouldn’t be effective, he wouldn’t be heard if he said that.

Still stunned, my mind raced to comprehend the magnitude of what he was saying, and I scrambled to know what to say next. I’d never been face to face with my Congressman before, and I didn’t want to blow my chance to let him know what I thought.

I am opposed to all war, whatever the “reason,” or the likelihood of civilian casualties, or the types of weapons used. I think that in all situations, war just makes things worse. The only exception might be for the weapons manufacturers. . .their business booms in a war.

So, what could I say to John? He said he can’t oppose the war.

“But what about the depleted uranium being used in the weapons?” I blurted out. “Hasn’t there been a bill proposed to ban DU?”

John shook his head, and said, “Well, you know, democracy is messy. We can’t do anything with that bill because we just don’t have the votes. Democracy is messy, but that’s the way it is.”

He shook my hand again, and moved down the line to talk with others.

My shoulders slumped and the raw air felt colder on my face as I took in what he had said. I kept hearing over and over in my mind, “we just don’t have the votes” and “democracy is messy.”

My confidence in representative democracy has been eroding for the last few years as event after event shows that who is running the government is not the people of the US but corporate interests or people who can buy the influence and votes they need: the last presidential election and the scandal around votes that were and were not counted; the PATRIOT ACT, sweeping legislation in an inches thick document of legalese stripping us of many civil liberties that was introduced in the morning and voted on in the afternoon before any of our representatives could even read it; evidence that has surfaced about the influence of large corporations like Enron on energy policy and other issues; plans for reconstruction of Iraq being made before war was even started and the bid process limited to a select list of American companies, many with ties to the Administration; the fact that John Kerry’s, my senator, office staff said that 98% of the calls he got said vote against the war resolution but he voted for it anyway; the Administrations ignoring and belittling of the huge, unprecedented outpouring of people onto the streets saying no to war, insisting the representative process of the UN be allowed to work, and asking for money to be spent on domestic concerns; and increasing police repression of these nonviolent demonstrations.

Now, my Congressman standing in the freezing rain telling me we just don’t have the votes and that democracy is messy.

It’s not democracy that is messy. I live in a small New England town that still governs itself with a traditional Town Meeting. Sometimes there are arguments, shouting matches, strong words, and divisions in town, but in the end, when a vote is taken, everyone raises their hand for their choice, and each vote is counted. We can look around the room and know what our neighbors think and who we need to talk with to try to persuade them to vote for our side.

The mess isn’t democracy. The mess isn’t people speaking their minds in Town Meeting or on Town Commons or in phone calls to their representatives in Congress and the Senate.

The mess is when democracy is no longer of the people, by the people, for the people. The mess is when what counts isn’t the hands or voices raised but the big campaign donations from corporations whose only interest is the bottom line, increasing the wealth of their shareholders. The mess is when our government isn’t the best the collective will of the American people can create, but is the best that money can buy.

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Copyright (c) 2003 by Mary McClintock. All rights reserved. This copyright protects Mary McClintock's right to future publication of her work. Nonprofit, activist, and educational groups may circulate this essay (forward it, reprint it, translate it, post it, or reproduce it) for nonprofit uses. Please do not change any part of it without permission. Contact Mary at mmcclinto@yahoo.com.

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