The Grannies and Hope

---

---

It’s hot. The sun is at its zenith. It’s noon. A grandmother just drove by making an obscene gesture.

Here we are, walking as a group of fourteen, northward along the Old Jackson Highway near Toledo, WA. We just received one of the many “one-fingered peace signs”. Granny was certainly lazy and forgot to bring up the other, so three of us responded, giving her the full symbol we walk for. A peace walk.

We walk for peace some three hundred miles. We walk to educate ourselves about the nuclear issues across Washington State and beyond. We march to bring awareness to others and to remember the atomic bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Their 60th anniversary nears as we walk for hope, with the prayers that acts of war will become a part of an ugly history forever.

From Hanford Nuclear Reservation in central WA, west down to Portland, OR and further to Astoria, until back into WA toward Olympia, Tacoma, Seattle, and the towns in between. Then from the city west over to Bainbridge Island toward the final destination; Trident Submarine Base at Bangor.

It was 105 degrees in Richland, WA on July 17th, the second day of the walk, as we prayed before Hanford’s 300 Area. Here, the beginning of our journey at a site resting in squalid neglect; remnants of nuclear waste once developed, now ignored. Plutonium from Hanford’s b-reactor was produced over the patrolled barbwire fences, creating the first atomic bomb to detonate over Nagasaki. Strangely, it was codenamed “Fat Man”, as if it could be coupled with human emotion.

With over one week on our soles, blisters popped and new ones boiling, the Interfaith Peace Walk from Hanford to Bangor moves at an accustomed pace. We pass through country where positive responses are at a minimum.

Rodney Brunelle of Lake Forest is familiar with this sort of response. For the past two and a half years, his Saturday afternoons have been spent on a corner protesting the war, calling for peace.

“It’s weird to see a fifty year old woman drive by in her Buick giving you the middle finger. Usually, it’s just the expected ‘Ah, get a job’, but we’re there on a Saturday.” His smile is genuine. “The typical gestures are from those you’d expect, but a grandma?”

Another woman drives by. She’s in a red 80’s Chevy pickup. Double axel. Diesel. Her eyes read our banner:

Hanford-
Seattle-
Bangor-
Peace Walk.

Her face curls in disgust. Her arms sweep to the side as if swatting a pair of synchronized flies. Her truck whizzes passed.

“Peace, go away! We don’t want peace.”

I laugh with Rodney as we ponder the other’s perspective, wondering.

Most common are a thumbs down or the shaking of heads from side to side. Others simply stare, dumbstruck as though we were caught with our pants down. Our hands wave, but nonetheless we’re denied a courtesy gesture.

Bumper stickers usually clarify a political stance as they pass, yet politics are far from our expression. We are for the people, for peace; with no business attached.

The walk follows our two peace leaders, Rev. Kanada Shonin and Rev. Gilberto Peréz Shonin of Bainbridge Island. They are two monks from the Nipponzan Myohoji Buddhist Temple with drums in their hands. A 4/3 beat pulses, accompanying the chant Na-Mu Myō-Hō-Ren-Ge-Kyō—the sacred prayer of the 16th Chapter of the Lotus Sutra. Their voices contain all the teachings of Buddha; each being harboring the potential for enlightenment, its realization among one another, and the freeing of all from the suffering of the human condition. We drum, and we chant, together.

Apart from the negative reactions, gestures range from a subtle smile, a wave to thumbs up, a peace sign or ecstatic honks and shouts of joy. Some have joined for a block, maybe two, while others spend the whole day or remain for the rest of the walk. Conversation thrives at the rest breaks as though we have all been with each other since the 300 Area and its burning desert blacktop.

Whether negative or positive, both reactions generate possibility. It is the lack of reaction that causes questioning.

“A negative reaction is better than no reaction,” Rev. Kanada explains. “No reaction is ignorance. Where there is a reaction, there is possibility for change.”

“And what about the man back there, who said as we passed, ‘I worked at Hanford for forty years and I’m proud of it. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’?” I asked for his insight as a new budding activist and sighted another example, “And yesterday, when an older man emerged from his home and yelled, ‘Bunch of cooks! Get out of here!’?” What’s your response to these?”

Bryce, a young barber from Olympia, as well as a senior peace-activist, responded. “There is a welling up, a spark, in those individuals. A negative reaction creates anger, which has the potential to be peaceful. The man was thirsty, and he showed it.”

Back to walking, Bryce added along the same lines as Rev. Kanada, “No reaction is denial.”

Chanting and drumming continues, as well as the negative reactions and blank stares, but most of all there are the memories. We remember the reactions of those who took us in as family. We remember all the people and the host homes who fed us, cared for us, nourished our beaten, sunburnt bodies; their generosity and hospitality profound, their appreciation of our efforts expressed through tears.

Elder Russell Jim of the Yakama Nation was a man of knowledge. Words of wisdom were slow to come from his mouth as cancer of the throat remained in remission. His body narrow, the thick braids of his hair thinned from chemotherapy.

He recalled the stories of his people, the decline of his culture, when huge green clouds of radioactive materials spanned the sky. It was called the “Green Run”, released from Hanford center as an emissions test on the people and their land. The government wanted to see how much material could be emitted and to what effect it would cause. No permission was requested, no advisories noted. Soon, the fish of the Columbia River glowed as they hung to dry, and the people became ill with a new disease unknown to medical professionals at that time.

And we remember River Song Sanctuary, Sue and Bob of Portland, Sue and Tom of Astoria; all strangers, yet all partners together in our yearning for peace and healing.

In particular, there was one woman, Pat Hoover. She was a downwinder with a life riddled with illness and pain. Growing up in the Tri-Cities area, her family lived near the river; fishing, swimming, picnicking at its shores.

At a young age, Pat became sick. Her teenage years were spent at appointments, going from doctor to doctor, and with the hours in waiting rooms to only be given a blank question mark as to the cause of her loss of energy, her meek appetite, the weakening immune system.

At last they sent her to a therapist, unbeknown of what else they might do for her or where else she might be recommended. Eventually, a tumor grew on her neck and she was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Life shrunk. Her strength dwindled.

The local feds had seen this before. They even coined a term for the strange scar left after the tumors removal. The “Hanford Smile” was well known among the downwinders, though none of them could see the humor in it.

In her fifties now, Pat walked a stretch along the Columbia Gorge with the river to her right. Tears flowed from her eyes as she saw the water. I held her as she wept.

“This water—a love/hate relationship. It is the water I ate, drank, and swam in as a child, as so many others. It is the water that has crippled my life and will one day take it.”

Our day came to an end as we laughed in delusion, giddy from dehydration, but alive with authentic purpose. After our second consecutive 17-mile day, we plopped down outside St. Xavier Church, in the shade of a giant birch tree, with the memories, with the lessons and education. We had heard the cries for help, of injustice, and of pain, and together have taken them all into our hearts to create hope. Chanting all day, feeling the hand-drum’s vibrations, and praying awoke more dreams of peace.

We forgot about the one-fingered peace signs, and moved on with our purpose strengthened, thanks to Granny, her dedication to change, and our prayers, a hope for a more peaceful world.

---