On the morning of the day I got arrested, I woke up at 5:30. A lone Carolina Wren was singing in the dark. I stood quiet in the kitchen, listening to what our relative had to say, wondering how long it’s been since the people of Gaza have heard birdsong instead of the menacing buzz of surveillance and sniper drones.
Neighbors, I got arrested in Washington, DC, last Tuesday. And there are so, so many things I want to say about that in this note today. So many.
My husband says I should share the details because he thinks people are curious about what it was like. And I want to tell you that it was most definitely a spiritual experience, hopefully without it being too preachy.
I also want to tell you that activists are just normal people who plan for subversive actions between making dinner and cleaning the bathroom; people who get arrested and then, after release, go home and do a load of laundry.
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Risk
But I also don’t want to make it seem too mundane because there is risk. For one, there is the reality that in the United States, our law enforcement could escalate violently at any moment, and you will have no recourse because the entire system has colluded to protect them from any consequence. The chances of a violent encounter are lower for some bodies (like those of white women), but they are not zero.
Another risk is that being arrested in our hyper-capitalist society could mark you and amount to “throwing your future away” (at least in terms of a career).
Let me be 100% honest: the financial runway I built, so I could dedicate my time to community care activism, will end soon, and Notes from a Neighbor is not yet a sustainable income, so I am gearing up for a job search. I thought hard about how an arrest might negatively impact that search.
But for me, this isn’t about an individual future but a collective one. Getting arrested was about taking on some personal risk in terms of my future in order to contribute to our future. I want us all to be healthy and well, especially those among us who are the most dehumanized and vulnerable, and I understand that will require me to act. My decision was not impulsive; it was a deliberate act of community care.
Here's what happened . . .
Introduction & Decision-making
A few months ago, the organization Christians for a Free Palestine came to my attention via social media. I felt very aligned with their beliefs and principles, particularly that nonviolent civil disobedience has the power to heal and transform our communities.
I filled out their registration form and signed up to attend an informational call at the end of March about their direct action in April in DC.
After the call, I was even more certain I would move forward with participation. I appreciated the inclusiveness and level of organization demonstrated by their leadership, and I was encouraged to learn that it was an interfaith movement following Palestinian direction and endorsed by many other social justice-focused organizations I respect. We were also provided with helpful information so we could decide if we’d risk arrest in the action.
I spent the next two weeks thinking it over, talking to my husband, and letting a few friends know what I was considering. I have participated regularly in protests since about 2006, but I hadn’t ever joined any civil disobedience actions. I thought it would be best to volunteer for an intermediate role in the group, where I would take action on the periphery and might be arrested, but it was not the explicit intention. That felt like a chance for me to observe and learn for the next time.
Training
I blocked April 8th and 9th off on my calendar, froze a casserole ahead of time (so I wouldn’t need to cook the evening of the action), and planned transportation to and from DC. On Monday morning (Apr 8th), I drove to DC and spent the day making art, practicing songs and chants, learning in workshops, pausing to take in the eclipse, having meals, and generally connecting with the group. In the evening, those taking intermediate roles and those volunteering for likely arrest roles spent about three hours training for the direct action.
During that training, I made the final decision to take a likely arrest role. There were a lot of converging reasons for that, but a big one was the meticulous level of detail and thought the leadership had put in and the trust it engendered. They briefed us on every possible aspect of what would happen, helped us understand all the legal implications (yes, there’s even a lawyer), and made it clear how much support would be offered, especially for the “first timers.”
The national leadership team of Christians for a Free Palestine demonstrated radical community care in the months and weeks prior, especially that training day. I was scared, but I trusted them.
Public Communion Service
On Tuesday morning (Apr 9th), my friend and pastor, Claire Matheny (she was my jail support), came and picked me up at 7:30 AM. We went to the meeting point in DC, where there was coffee, breakfast, singing, and a prayer. At 9:30, we all walked together to the Capitol grounds.
We held a public communion service. My friend, Emelda, had also come down from Baltimore to be at the service and give me a hug of encouragement. Rev. Dr. Mithri Raheb, a Palestinian Christian pastor and Founder and President of Dar al-Kalima University in Bethlehem, spoke to us, sharing that the Gaza campus of his university was bombed into ruins a few weeks ago. (1) Rabbi Alissa Wise, the lead organizer of Rabbis 4 Ceasefire, spoke, noting that our action was a sign of solidarity and friendship with Jews. We sang songs. We prayed. Refaat Alareer’s poem, Let It Be A Tale, was read. My new friend, Marty, and I both cried to hear Refaat’s words again and remember that his body is still under the rubble.
Then we took communion. (2) A member of the leadership team, Rev. Naomi Washington-Leapheart, told us, “This table is a reminder that we are called to live in a way that may, in fact, hasten our death because we are enemies of injustice, because we embarrass the state by our refusal to accept its ways.”
Civil Disobedience
After this, those not volunteering for arrest went back to the meeting point to wait and act as jail support. The rest of us divided into groups and walked to the Senate cafeteria. Once inside, we found open tables during the busy lunch rush, sat, and chatted quietly.
Our group leaders got a signal, and then we all stood, took purple stoles we’d made out of our pockets, put them around our necks, and began to walk toward the cashier lines while singing, “Palestine will be free, Palestine will be free, We will not avert our eyes, Palestine will be free.”
I felt a surge of adrenalin, but I was also much calmer than expected. We were breaking the law and ignoring deep-seated social cues, but the adrenalin didn’t make me shake. The sounds of the other’s voices were so grounding. I sang louder.
There were about 50 of us, and we arranged ourselves into three rows with our backs to each other and linked arms. We had now blocked those in the sitting area from accessing the food service area and those in the food service area from being able to pay and sit down. A commotion started to break out as people realized what was happening.
Then, Rev. Alba de Onofrio called us to attention using “people’s mic.” (“People’s mic” uses call-and-response to amplify words in lieu of a sound system.) She shouted, “Mic check!” and we responded, “Mic check!” Again, she shouted, Mic check!” and we responded, then we announced who we were and our purpose, “We are Christians for a Free Palestine! We are here to pray for food for Gaza! Not bombs! Our scriptures say, ‘WOE TO YOU who eat while others go hungry!’ And WOE TO YOU, for there is famine in Gaza! Congress and their staff will not eat until Gaza eats!” (3)
We continued from there, singing, chanting, and praying. In the cafeteria was Larry Hebert, an active-duty airman on his 10th day of a hunger strike for Gaza, and many members of CODE PINK, an organization working to end U.S. warfare and imperialism. They had begun to encourage us. The food service workers had left their stations and come out to watch. Some of them were mouthing the words of our chants with us and giving us the “heart sign” with their hands. But many others, mainly Senate staffers, were annoyed or visibly angry.
In the face of their disgusted looks and eye rolls, I thought of Jesus flipping tables. I sang louder.
Arrest
The Capitol police began to show up, and their Captain started aggressively shouting at us to disperse. We sang louder.
That’s when he started to issue arrest warnings. We sang louder.
They brought in huge duffle bags filled with zip-tie handcuffs. One at a time, officers approached us, asked us again to stop, and then told us we were under arrest. We did not stop singing but also intentionally did not resist arrest. We just turned around and put our hands behind our backs.
My arresting officer had a tattoo on her forearm that read, “Praise God for the peace that passes understanding.” We were told not to interact with the officers, but despite what was happening, I felt at peace, so I looked her in the eye and said, “That is beautiful.” She smiled and started walking me out.
We were led down a long hall lined with people who had been asked to leave the cafeteria during the arrests. Some were taking videos of us, some disagreed with our action and said so, and others shouted encouragement. At one point, I heard a CODE PINK member yell, “You are arresting the wrong people!” I shouted back defiantly, “Yes! Blessed are the peacemakers!” (As you can see at the end of this video.)
We were taken to a loading dock under the building, divided by gender, and lined up. We were searched, our belongings confiscated, and our names confirmed with our IDs. Then, we had (rather unofficial) mug shots. I looked into the camera (the officer taking our photos had uniform markers that said “crime scene”) and tried hard to do a John Lewis smirk. (4) Next, we were loaded onto buses and transported to a nearby police facility for processing.
We sang the entire time, using people’s mic.
Processing & Release
At the police facility, we were searched again (even my ponytail was searched) and put into less restrictive handcuffs with our hands in front of us. We did paperwork one at a time with officers and went through the "post & forfeit" process, which is a mechanism used in DC for some misdemeanors. In this process, you pay a fee and then are released, in exchange for giving up your right to a hearing. Our charge was D.C. Code § 22–1307 — Crowding, Obstructing, or Incommoding, which means we were arrested for illegally demonstrating inside a Congressional Building.
We were released two at a time and instructed to walk out the facility's back door, not re-enter the processing area, and go across the street. As we walked out, our Christians for a Free Palestine jail support team was waiting with water, snacks, and cheers. Drivers from our team arrived and took groups of us back to the meeting point, where I met Claire.
I took a selfie and sent it to my husband and daughter. We couldn’t be in contact for about four hours, but they knew what was happening, so I just wanted them to know I was okay. (I would not be doing any of this without their love and support.)
This Is Church
On the way home, Claire told me that she had read that those who participate in civil disobedience often report feeling freer after their first arrest and asked how I felt. I couldn’t really articulate fully how I felt at that moment, but I’ve done a lot of processing since, including in after-care with the movement team.
For me, this is church.
I am in no way an evangelical, so skip this part if it feels preachy or weird for you . . .
I have struggled deeply with my Christian faith for decades now.
I’ve walked away, come back, tried different churches large and small and on other continents, argued with others, argued with God, read the Bible, took workshops on reading the Bible, rejected the Bible, read other texts, prayed but mostly only managed a whispered, “Lord have mercy,” occasionally found comfort, but more often been disgusted and ashamed by the horseshit done in Christ’s name.
I have struggled to find where I fit in this faith. It has mostly been a lonely experience, full of doubt. The silence around the genocide in Gaza, especially from the Christian community, has been one more devastation.
But, for whatever reason, the story of a brown-skinned, Jewish Palestinian refugee with a radical heart, living under brutal occupation and resisting a death-dealing Empire with a living-giving message constantly stays with me.
Finding and taking action with my new Christians for a Free Palestine friends, people who also have radical hearts, mended a little bit of my lonely, devastated spirit. Solidarity with the people of Gaza is also healing for us. Community care is self-care.
On the morning of the day I got arrested, I woke up at 5:30. A lone Carolina Wren was singing in the dark. As I stood silent in the kitchen listening, our relative said, “This time, you won’t sing alone. Palestine will be free.”
Take Action
Neighbors, much like me, Christians for a Free Palestine doesn’t care if you’re a Christian or not. They also welcome you regardless of race, sex, gender, or ethnicity. If you’d like to get involved, there’s another mass mobilization call on Sun, Apr 21st. Join here.
Getting arrested was by far the most uncomfortable step I’ve taken so far on my activism journey. If you’d like to get better at getting uncomfortable join a three-part online series, Strengthening our Capacity for Discomfort in Activism, facilitated by Emelda "E" De Coteau and Trudy Leocadio (founders, Pray with our Feet podcast and community), Jennifer James (founder, Chronically Connected Perspective), and me. Register here.
Notes:
1) All 12 universities and 76% of schools in Gaza are gone; this, by the way, is called scholasticide or epistemicide. It is the intentional destruction of knowledge and the means of education.
2) They made sure to offer gluten-free communion! That rarely happens for a celiac. See? Radical community care.
3) Both the Communion service and the obstruction of the cafeteria were designed to draw attention to the famine in Gaza. Christians for a Free Palestine followed the advice of the U.S. Campaign for Palestinian Rights in focusing on the famine.
4) John Lewis was arrested 45 times over his lifetime. I can only aspire to get into as much good trouble.
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Thank you so much for sharing your journey with Angie. I hope that more and more people get to read this so they fully understand what civil disobedience is. It's more than what the media has portrayed it to be and it truly is our God given right (and obligation) to speak out against injustice - no matter how uncomfortable that may be.
Tears run down the cheeks of this proud mama for a daughter that will stand up in her beliefs and fight for others. I said I was waiting for the day when I was told you were arrested for protesting and I guess that day is here. Love you!