Ordinary Hero: Iranian Woman

Image by misterarasmus via Flickr

After its recent election, and in the face of hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of protesters demanding an investigation into what they suspected was a fraudulent result, the Iranian government silenced foreign reporters. The government also attempted to silence individual Iranians by restricting their access to the Internet.

Many brave Iranians have found ways to get news of their protest rallies, and the violent government response, out of the country. Yesterday may have been the bloodiest day yet. Some have dubbed it Iran's Tienanmen Square. Others call it a massacre. Many Iranians posted horrific images on Twitter, YouTube and FaceBook. Reportedly, whenever they post, they risk discovery, arrest, beatings and perhaps death.

One woman somehow managed to call CNN directly and spoke live to reporter Ivan Watson. We do not learn her name, presumably because of the danger to her and her family, and it is difficult to verify her story. In the video, though, Watson indicates to her that they have received similar reports from other sources inside the country, and I have watched a slew of video clips tonight that support her allegations as well.

Here is her story, in her own words, as reported by CNN. Warning: It is a deeply disturbing account.

Update 6/25/09: Apparently the video above has been removed or disabled, at least temporarily. Another user has posted the same video here. Please let me know in the comments below if this one disappears as well. Meanwhile, I will try to learn why the video is no longer working on the original site and will update when and if I learn anything.

Anonymous, traumatized, terrified, the caller nevertheless risked her life to share what she had witnessed and to plea for help.

For refusing to be silent in the face of injustice, for standing with courage and doing what she can to help those suffering around her, for working with the resources at her disposal to bring the world a little further from the chaos of reprisal and bloodshed and a little closer to cooperation and peace, the Ordinary Heroes Award is gently offered to this unnamed Iranian woman with hope and prayers that she and the people of her country soon may live in peace and harmony.

It is also given with a desire to answer her call for help.

Because this woman, and so many other Iranians, are successful in broadcasting their stories to the world, we who read, listen and watch in horror are forced to accept once again that unmitigated cruelty exists in the world. To stand by and do nothing would be to collude with the perpetrators.

I take only one side, that of compassionate peace, and that leaves me with no clear, direct path to be of use to the caller and to the people suffering. I am mindful, though, of the powerful message of Sharon Mehdi's book, The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering. I have witnessed the miraculous results that can be found in focus and prayer, particularly when more than one person is engaged, and so I call on the grandmothers, and any who would stand with us, to stand for peace.

Stand in your churches, your homes your places of work, on your street corners and buses and playgrounds. Stand for peace. Stand with the intent that this woman's anguish be healed, her country be healed, and that the leaders of the country be healed. Now is the time.

Cranky grandmother stands for peace

Image by tomeppy via Flickr

The first couple of weeks I stood for peace, I noticed that I seemed to be, well, rather cranky. I found myself showing irritation to people on the bus and sidewalk to whom I would ordinarily give way. In fact, I cursed out loud the automatic checkout machine at a supermarket I patronize infrequently.

Its disembodied voice insisted I had more items in the checkout bay and wouldn't let me pay. Worse, once it took my money, it immediately chided me to pick up my packages and exit while I waited for my change and receipt. I fumed in, ahem, colorful language. When the attendant standing nearby laughed, instead of chuckling with her at my frustration and inanity, I frowned and told her how much I dislike shopping in her store, perhaps a little more loudly than I wish to recall. The poor woman! It's not her fault her company chooses to remove the small bit of human exchange we enjoy while shopping.

As a young woman, I dreaded my weekly grocery shopping trips, trying to fit our growing family's needs into a budget that was not growing with us, but the friendly banter with the checkout clerks at the supermarket, meat, milk and health food stores (yes, shopping was an all-day chore) made up for the stress and sometimes mitigated the headache I almost always developed by the end of the day, when I knew I would be faced with my husband's scowls and complaints over the money I had spent. (Did I buy the ice cream, candy and cookies he bought when he shopped? No! Frugal housewife that I was, I avoided all empty-calorie foods.) Eventually, I wised up and delegated the shopping to him. No more shoehorning the budget. No more headaches. No more grumpy husband. Lots of sweets and salty foods in the house. Now that's one way to make peace at home, folks, though it wreaks havoc on the diet.

So when I found myself behaving increasingly surly those first few weeks, I was puzzled. Here I was, enjoying this delightful interlude of quiet, humbling peace each evening, yet uttering mild profanities under my breath when unconscious or just plain rude urbanites bumped into me on the street or spit in my face while coughing on the bus.

Now I ask you, how was I making peace?

One sunny morning, my sweetie and I ambled down the street with our granddaughter in the stroller. Repeatedly, groups of individuals approached from the opposite direction, spaced four abreast across the entire width of the sidewalk with no sign of shifting to make room for oncoming traffic (us). Customarily, we moved as close to the right as we could, but inevitably, the nearest oncomers bumped or brushed us as they passed, apparently oblivious to our presence. This time, instead of pulling behind my partner and the stroller, obstinately, I held my ground. The young man immediately in my path ran smack dab into me, full on, as though I were invisible. (Believe me, it took effort not to dodge at the last second.) To his credit, while his friends snickered and chortled, he turned back after our collision with the briefest "Sorry!" I, on the other hand, scowled in return. Now I ask you, how was I making peace?

I belie my intent to make peace when I behave with intolerance or worse, without compassion.

My face and my name are on public web pages for the world to see. When I'm out and about, since my readership is quite small, it's unlikely someone will recognize the crabby old woman muttering under her breath about rude bus drivers or flashing a "What's with you?" hand and stare at the impatient driver honking while she hobbles across the street. Still, making my stand for peace public also makes me responsible, not just for being the peace I want to see in the world, but for exemplifying peaceful responses to annoying situations. I belie my intent to make peace when I behave with intolerance or worse, without compassion.

The good news is, standing for peace every day raises my awareness to the minute and varied ways I can bring more peace to my life, and that brings me a little closer to the vision of The Village of Ordinary and the respect the villagers show for one another and for peoples far beyond their village. That's a good thing.



If you feel inspired to stand for peace a few minutes a day, I encourage you to Tweet about it and use the hashtag #5minutes. By Mother's Day next year, perhaps there will be millions of us standing for peace in our homes and gardens, churches and parks, and on the steps of City Hall.

My gratitude to Flickr member tomeppy for making the image above available under Creative Commons 2.0 Generic license.

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• Can five minutes a day make a difference in your life? (realordinarygraceonline.blogspot.com)

Here's what happened

I'm on the bus at 5:59 p.m. when my phone gongs. I jump, as I do every night, startled by the sound, forgetting momentarily: It's time to stand for peace. We're less than a minute from the next stop, so I wait and get off the bus. It happens to be one of San Francisco's busiest intersections.

There's no good place to stand where my back can be against a wall, so I face the traffic. I feel vulnerable. I like a wall against my back. Cars, bicycles, people! So much rush-rush. It's Friday night, and we're all in a hurry to get to wherever.

Rush-rush. I forget the wind whipping my hair into my eyes, nostrils, across my mouth. I, the crowd-phobe, am happy in the midst of all this bustle. I feel the Buddha smile on my face. Before I know it, the gong sounds on my phone, signaling my five minutes is up. Have I learned anything new tonight? No matter. It is a gorgeous evening, and I am going to walk home.

Three blocks later, waiting to cross another of San Francisco's ultra-busy intersections, I see this sign: Learn Peace. Four or five people are holding signs: Embrace Peace. Make Peace. Peace not war. I'm suddenly in the Sixties again. No wait! That's me! I stand for peace! These people are standing for peace. I ask the guy holding the sign if I can take a picture of it. Sure! Would he mind if I joined them for a bit? Sure! There's more signs over there if you'd like one.

I pick up a sign that says simply, Peace, and join the others on the corner. I lift the sign and smile to see that the other side says Teach. Back and forth, I wag my sign. Teach. Peace. Teach. Peace.

Drivers honk and give us the thumbs up. One waves the two-fingered peace sign through the sun roof of his Beamer. More people show up, grab signs. Kat introduces herself. She's carrying a clipboard. She and Dave, the guy with the Learn Peace sign, wanted to do something, so they started this vigil. Every third Friday of the month, they stand on this corner from 6-8 p.m. Other people show up. Some of them sign up for an e-mail reminder. No pressure. That's what the clip board is for, if I'm interested. Folks come and stand for as long as they're comfortable. That woman over there is another Kate. She knows lots of people in lots of organizations working for peace. That woman, Susan, on the bicycle, is pretty new. She just started showing up.

Kat, Dave, Kate, Susan and another guy whose name I didn't get are all fiftyish-sixtyish, like me. There are a couple of young people sitting against a tree, holding signs.

Susan introduces herself to me. We exchange a few pleasantries, then silence. I remember my stand the other night--that I don't know my neighbors, that I need to work again at overcoming my shyness. I'm not very good at making conversation, I tell Susan. I realize I should ask you something like, where do you work. That's all it takes. She's not that interested in telling me about her work, but she is excited about taking small actions like this one. She's been to a few others. What's most on her mind is the East Bay event a couple of weeks ago where she heard Alice Walker. She's my favorite author, she says. So. Imagine that. I now know another person who loves Alice Walker's writings as much as I do.

More people come and take up signs. Susan takes off on her bike. I give gratitude for every driver who encourages us with their horns and shouts for peace. I give gratitude for each of the people here, coming out to stand, not part of any organization, just standing for peace. Wait! Dolores introduces herself, hands me a brochure. She's part of Iraq Moratorium. I've never heard of them, but I'll look them up online this weekend, I tell her. She has gorgeous white hair. I love older people with a sense of purpose and commitment, who haven't given up despite all we've seen, don't you?

My stomach growls. My feet hurt. I take Kat at her word. People come and go during the two hours as meets their needs. I trek home, leaving behind about twice as many people standing for peace as were there when I first spotted them.

That's what happened on my sixth night of standing for peace. I feel like the Village of Ordinary is all around me. What do you think?

Can five minutes a day make a difference in your life?

Today marks the fourth day in a row I've dropped everything at 6:00 p.m. to stand for peace, and I can answer that with a big, fat "Yes!" If you want peace in your life, I recommend it. Oh, pshaw, you may say, it's only five minutes. That's right! It's only five minutes What have you got to lose?

Here's what happened.

This is the view outside the window where I stood yesterday and Monday. I was visiting my daughter and her family. I spend quite a bit of time there, helping to care for their little one. The image doesn't show the shimmering glow on the swaying trees, the constant traffic buzzing and whirring, or the people hurrying by on foot fighting the wind one direction, pushed along by it the other. Nor can you see the fellow cleaning the second-story windows inside and out that brown house across the street. I don't know his name.

Though I spend a good deal of time in this neighborhood, I don't know the neighbors. Many do not return my greeting when I meet them on the street. One guy hollered at me for taking pictures of his pretty flowers one day. Yes, these flowers. I love their fresh beauty and vibrant color against the falling-down PG&E sign and trapped litter. I feel such gratitude for the hearts and hands that plant and tend tiny gardens in the midst of so much hardscape.

Standing in this window for five minutes, taking in one breath after another and asking myself for peace, asking Spirit to help me make peace in the world, I am aware, more keenly than ever, of the difference between my life and the vision of the Village of Ordinary. If I am to create peace through community, somehow I need to overcome my shyness and find a way to meet the people with whom I share space, whether it is here on this street, or at home on my own, where I stood tonight.

Peacemaking requires respect for all parties, including ourselves.

Our neighborhood bustles in the evening. Rush, rush, rush. People chat at the neighborhood coffee shop. I hear laughter. A couple of dogs greet each other with barks and friendly nips. What I am most aware of, though, is the pain in my body, a direct result of the abuse I've given it today. Where will I find the strength to continue to dream and build Ordinary if I do not care for my body properly? All too typically, I snacked on leftover Mother's Day goodies instead of eating balanced meals, failed to drink enough fluids, and sat for far too many hours at the computer without exercise. At my age, joints, muscles and innards tend to respond to neglect with aches and sometimes screaming pain. How can I hope to make peace in the world if I treat myself with such disrespect? Peacemaking requires respect for all parties, including ourselves.

The first rules of waging peace: Respect yourself. Set boundaries and honor them. Take care of yourself that you retain strength and stamina for the long haul.

Five minutes

There's no time like the present to begin a new habit, so yeah, though I stood for peace earlier today, I set my phone to tone a bell one minute before six each evening. When it went off, I was surprised, momentarily forgetting what it was about. My sweetheart and I were watching a video. It's about a man who has endured grave injustice. All the people in his life are affected one way and another. The acting is very good.

Standing in my bedroom, I tried to be present with the golden evening sunlight illuminating houses on the hill. My left shoulder was painful with tension, my hands in loose fists. My brain felt tight against my skull, and I was full of the pained and strained faces of the video, their suffering so visible. My heart hurt, but not with the delicious feeling of the morning sky. It really hurt this time. I felt squeezed.

This is what I do for entertainment and relaxation--watch a fictional story of a terrible miscarriage of justice. Judging by the state of my body, this is not healthy R&R. For most of the five minutes, I had to focus on my breathing, as in the Ten Minute Meditation, just to reach a state of peace. The time was short, but I feel calmer now. Pain in shoulder gone. I'm forgoing the rest of the video.

Stand for peace on Mother's Day

Women standing for peace. Tomorrow women all over the world will stand for peace for the third Mother's Day in a row.

Image courtesy standingwomen.org

There is probably nothing any of us wish for our children more than peace. Sharon Mehdi's delightful tale,The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering, inspires us on a visceral level. Somehow we get the power of this silent gesture. When we read the story, we feel it in our bodies. We know that standing silently, one by one, is enough.

Spare five minutes and stand for peace with your family and friend's at 1 PM tomorrow your local time. That's all it takes. This explains why.



Though a year old, the primal necessity of the message has not changed, don't you agree?

Five minutes of silence. Stand alone. Stand with your family and friends. Stand on the courthouse steps. Stand in your backyard. Bring a bell to mark the beginning of your stand and the end. Afterward, use your action as a springboard for discussion with your loved ones. How much do you want peace in the world? Tell us about it in the comments section below.

Maybe what you'll ask for this Mother's Day is peace. That's the Ordinary thing to do.

I stood for peace

Stood in a park on a hill overlooking the city. The wind blew cold and fierce. The sun shone brightly, almost warmly enough to counter the wind. The sky was clear and blue. The breezes rippled the tall grass this way and that. Tree limbs bowed and swayed, their leaves shimmering, twisting, dancing.

At first I breathed. Simple breath. Cold air in. Warmer air out. I thought of the possibly 100,000 dead in Myanmar, not from war, but from cyclone. I thought of their leaders, refusing aid, then receiving it, only to hold it until they stamped their names on it, made it appear they were giving food, water and supplies to the people. Not to all refugees. They choose who gets aid and who does not. Meanwhile, people pump drinking water from ponds filled with bloated bodies.

I thought of Julia Ward Howe, who called mothers everywhere to leave their homes and convene for the first Mothers Day as Mothers for Peace. Say firmly, she admonished the women whose husbands, sons, brothers and fathers marched home from the Civil War only to learn of the call to another, say firmly,

We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies, Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.

And yet. One hundred thirty-eight years later, we send our sons and daughters, our husbands, partners, brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers off to war.

Great Spirit, I prayed, help us all, the human family, to make peace in our hearts. Let not one person raise an arm against another. Let soldiers everywhere refuse to kill. Fill our hearts with love. And if, for some reason, this is not yet possible, then fill my heart with love. Let me bear no ill will to any person, no matter the provocation. Let me respond to all situations with understanding, compassion and love. Help me to remember, when I want to lash out, that

peace

always

begins

at

home.

For more information, visit StandingWomen.org and The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering.

Where will you stand on May 11?

Have you decided where you will stand on May 11? That's the day women and men all over the world are standing for peace for five minutes. Doesn't seem like much, does it? You can stand in your back yard, on your front porch, in front of City Hall. Some folks are standing in the middle of redwood forest preserves. Some are standing on mountain tops.

We are standing for the world's children and grandchildren, and for the seven generations beyond them.

We dream of a world where all of our children have safe drinking water, clean air to breathe, and enough food to eat.

A world where they have access to a basic education to develop their minds and healthcare to nurture their growing bodies.

A world where they have a warm, safe and loving place to call home.

A world where they don't live in fear of violence--in their home, in their neighborhood, in their school, or in their world.

This is the world of which we dream.

This is the cause for which we stand.

From StandingWomen.org

Go to StandingWomen.org and tell the world where you will stand on Mother's Day. (You can do so anonymously.) Together, we can make standing for peace absolutely Ordinary.

Stand up! May 11, 2008

Some of you tell me that Village of Ordinary is an important part of your coping structure and that it has a calming influence in your hectic lives.

Some of you have told me you would like to live in a place like Ordinary. Some call it utopia. I'm not talking utopia, here. I'm talking each of us living in peace with each other and caring for the Earth as we were intended to care for it. This is absolutely possible.

What makes it possible is that there are millions of people the world over holding similar visions--and acting on them. Look at just one of them.



Women began standing for peace after reading Sharon Mehdi's book The Great Silent Grandmother's Gathering. Read the book. Give it to a mother you know before Mother's Day, and maybe she will be inspired to join you and stand for peace for five minutes. To learn where people are standing in your neighborhood, go to Standing Women.org.

Be Ordinary. Stand up.