What My Left Hand Was Doing by Joann Castle

Author:Joann Castle [Castle, Joann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780988671409
Publisher: Indie Author Project
Published: 2020-11-23T13:50:15+00:00

In March 1969, my friend Dennie was involved in an action with eight others—including priests, nuns, and a social worker—who would become known as the D.C. Nine. The group broke into the Washington, D.C., offices of the Dow Chemical Company to protest Dow’s complicity in the Vietnam War. Dow was well known for the production of napalm and other chemical weapons widely used against the Vietnamese people. The intruders spilled human blood on files and records—generally destroying the offices—and then awaited arrest. They published a statement against the “death-dealing exploitation of people of the third world” by the company.

I later traveled to D.C. to attend Dennie’s trial. I was a hometown girl, an unsophisticated traveler. It was a new experience for me to fly into an unfamiliar city by myself. Somehow, I found the church where visitors were being housed and slept with dozens of others on the hard marble floor. I was there in support but helpless to do anything.

Dennie was found guilty of three felonies for destroying property and sentenced to three years’ imprisonment. His legal team appealed, claiming the group did not get a fair trial, and ultimatelywon their case. Neither Dow nor the government wanted the publicity of another public fight with the Catholic Church over Dow’s role in the war. The government offered a deal. Dennie was sentenced to one year’s probation and was released after pleading guilty to a misdemeanor. Dennie—who would soon leave the Church—was lucky. Many other activists, some with whom I was close friends, suffered much harsher fates after following their conscience and taking action.

I next ran into Mike after returning from my trip to D.C. That time he was with Ken Cockrel, who always spoke first and at such a rapid pace that it took me time to grasp what he was saying, let alone to process it, before he was gone. He moved as quickly as he spoke.

A short time later I ran into Ken again, who made sure to apologize that “the brother” wasn’t with him. I was deeply confused.

Not long after, Mike finally used the number I had given him. He’d lost Sheila’s number—could he have it? We chatted for a bit before hanging up. Then he called me a few days with the exact same request—he’d managed to lose Sheila’s number again. Other calls followed. I began to suspect these calls meant something.

Mike would confess to me later that he had learned from Ken, who’d talked with Sheila, that I was recently divorced. He knew there would be enormous risks for me in our developing a relationship, not to mention for him with respect to his work. The effect of racism is a two-way street. He wanted to be sure that I was comfortable. I kept his calls secret.

Being in Mike’s presence was always comfortable. Despite his stature in the movement, he seemed gentle and humble. He had a reputation for being able to draw people of different persuasions together and weave their ideas into something that could move the work forward.

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