Category Archives: Historic Preservation

The Day(s) After

By Corinne H. Smith

“Can there not be a government in which majorities do not virtually decide right and wrong, but conscience? – in which majorities decide only those questions to which the rule of expediency is applicable? Must the citizen ever for a moment, or to the least degree, resign his conscience to the legislator? Why has every man a conscience, then? I think that we should be men first, and subjects afterward. … The only obligation which I have a right to assume is to do at any time what I think right.” ~ Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government”

Like fellow blog poster Sandy Stott, I too am an introvert and am not the biggest fan of crowds of any size. Over the years though, I have set my discomfort aside to attend a fair number of Major League Baseball games, NFL football games, and stadium rock concerts. I even went to a Farm Aid gathering in Illinois farm country in the late 1990s. And, as events unfolded, I knew I had to participate in the March on Washington last weekend, even though I figured the crowd here would be sizable. I was prepared to walk among thousands of people. Naturally, I was somewhat shocked but downright heartened to end up sharing a personal space with HUNDREDS of thousands of people.

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The crowd, with the Washington Monument in the background, in low cloud cover. Photo – Don Jewler

My two companions and I began the day at the Metro station near their suburban Virginia home. The first two trains that stopped were already packed solid with people, many of whom were wearing pink hats. The doors opened, but there was no room left for more passengers. “I’ve never seen it like this,” said one of my well-traveled friends. “It’s worse than Calcutta!” We decided to take a train going in the opposite direction, to ride through a few stops, and then to get off to board an emptier train heading toward DC. The plan worked. But soon enough, we too found ourselves fully immersed in a mass of humanity, cushioned inside a fully-loaded Silver Line bullet zipping toward the Mall. Every seat was taken, and every other inch of every car was filled with someone standing. We proceeded in fits and starts. The train came to a stop for seemingly no reason, and we groaned. After what seemed like an eternity, it started up again, and we cheered. Even in such close quarters, everyone was merry, kind, patient, tolerant, and respectful. We were going to the same place. We held common beliefs. We could be polite to every stranger and to every fellow traveler who had come from various parts of the country. Why couldn’t our government officials behave as politely?

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Sitting in the train, surrounded. Photo – Don Jewler

From the Metro station at L’Enfant Plaza, we walked toward Independence Avenue. We quickly became part of the sea of people, stretching as far as we could see. Some folks had even climbed into the trees to get a better look. We waded through the crowd to find good places to stand. We weren’t anywhere near the stage, but we could hear and see the speakers through several Jumbo-trons and stacks of audio equipment. We got to hear Michael Moore, Ashley Judd, and some of the others before we waded again toward the edges. After what seemed another lifetime, our mass began moving down the street. No one commanded us to start marching, but march we did. With so many people, we could go in only one direction. A woman named Mary Ann from St. Louis chuckled from behind me, “This isn’t as much a march, as it is a mingle.” So it was. We chanted, we laughed, we marveled at the sight and the feeling and the sheer power of being among a large group of fully committed people. When my companions and I decided to cut out and head back to the train, we saw that the parallel streets and the Mall were also filled with people marching, heading toward the Washington Monument. Independence Avenue couldn’t hold us all. What a stunning sight!

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The March. Photo – Don Jewler

“When I was let out the next morning, I proceeded to finish my errand, and, having put on my mended shoe, joined a huckleberry party, who were impatient to put themselves under my conduct; and in half an hour – for the horse was soon tackled – was in the midst of a huckleberry field, on one of our highest hills, two miles off, and then the State was nowhere to be seen.” ~ Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government”

Henry Thoreau’s act of civil disobedience constituted one small experience in his life. It was personally meaningful, but it was just one night in jail. When he was released, he could return to the schedule he had set before his day had been interrupted by the sheriff. He didn’t want or expect the government to take any more time out of his life than it already had.

Our experience today is different in terms of both scale and duration. These Marches were held in hundreds of cities worldwide and involved millions of individuals, not just one. This commitment constituted just one day in our lives, and it was spent in a different kind of environment than we were used to. But unlike Thoreau, we know that our work is far from over.

On Sunday, January 22, the Day After the March, my friends and I went back downtown to do some sightseeing and to see a gallery exhibit. Independence Avenue was empty now, without the hundreds of thousands filling it. I could see the buildings and the streets that I couldn’t see, 24 hours earlier. Birds had returned to the trees. Nearby pussy willows – ironically enough — were fuzzing out in the gallery gardens. Life had returned to normal. But only in a way.

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Alone, on Independence Avenue, the Day After, with room to spare. Where is everyone? Photo – Don Jewler

Our March is hardly over. Yes, we have all returned to our homes and to our own schedules and lives. But our One Day Among Others marked just the beginning of our collective involvement in this particular resistance. This new government will continue to demand much more time and energy from us than it already has. Thoreau’s personal brand of civil disobedience was the once-and-done kind. Ours seems as though it will become infinite. Yet, like millions of battery-powered drum-beating bunnies, we and the movement will keep on going, with no clear end in sight. At least we can take comfort in knowing that we’re not going the path alone.

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Filed under General, Henry David Thoreau, Historic Preservation, Living Deliberately, News and Events, The Roost, Thoreau Quote

Join the Thoreau Bicentennial Celebration!

By Corinne H. Smith

“I was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion.” ~ Henry D. Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government”

Welcome to our Bicentennial year! July 12, 2017 marks the 200th birthday of our favorite American author, thinker, and naturalist, Henry David Thoreau. Although he did not gain fame during his lifetime, he has certainly achieved it since. His reputation has spread significantly in the last century and a half, and especially over the last 50 years.

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Many people and groups from around the world are planning to hold commemorative events this year. Thoreau’s life and work will be celebrated not just in Concord and not just in Massachusetts, but in a number of places, and not only in July. Your favorite organizations – Thoreau Farm, The Thoreau Society, The Walden Woods Project, and Concord Museum – represent only some of the folks involved. You can catch up with us on our individual web sites or on social media outlets. Or you can go to the special Thoreau Bicentennial web site at http://thoreaubicentennial.org, where you can search for events and even list your own. So if you haven’t done so yet, feel free to start thinking and planning about what you can do in your own special spaces to honor Thoreau.

Celebrating Henry Thoreau’s lasting relevance has been the interpretive focus of Thoreau Farm since we officially opened our doors to the public in 2011. We encourage visitors to consider Thoreau’s ideas and choices for living deliberately, so that they can reflect on their own lifestyle decisions.

One hundred years ago, Henry Thoreau was not well known or widely popular, no matter what part of the planet you lived on. Nevertheless, British reformer and author Henry S. Salt organized a special meeting of his group, the Humanitarian League, to commemorate and honor Thoreau’s 100th birthday. The event was held at Caxton Hall in Westminster, London, on Thursday, July 12, 1917. It marks one of the first known gatherings of a large group of people who came together simply to talk about Henry Thoreau and his influence. Speakers included Henry Salt himself, who had already published several versions of his Thoreau biography in the 1890s; English socialist and reformer Edward Carpenter; and Sir John L. Otter, the Mayor of Brighton. Australian-born English nature writer William Henry Hudson had been invited to speak, but health issues prevented him from attending. He sent a letter in his place, and Salt read his words to the audience. Hudson railed against the trend to scrutinize and to compare Thoreau to other writers, before him or since. And remarkably enough, Hudson also had the foresight to think about us here in 2017. He wrote:

“I will stick to my belief that when his bicentenary come round, and is celebrated by our descendants in some Caxton Hall of the future; when our little R. L. Stevensons are forgotten, with all those who anatomized Thoreau in order to trace his affinities and give him true classification – now as a Gilbert White [English “parson-naturalist,” 1720-1793], now as a lesser Ralph Waldo Emerson, now as a Richard Jefferies [English nature writer, 1848-1887], now as a somebody else – he will be regarded as simply himself, as Thoreau, one without master or mate, who was ready to follow his own genius whithersoever it might lead him … and who was in the foremost ranks of the prophets.”

Simply himself, as Thoreau, one without master or mate. These words will echo throughout the year at Thoreau Farm and in any “Caxton Hall,” beside any pond, or in any woods, where like-minded folks can gather, or where individuals can relish the solitude and connections that communion with a natural place offers.

Over the last five years, Sandy Stott, a few others and I have shared some of our own Thoreauvian adventures with you here. Now it’s time for us to hear YOUR stories. When did you first come to learn of Henry Thoreau? How have his writings and ideas influenced you? How have you chosen to live deliberately, as a result? What are your favorite quotes? Send your responses to thoreaustories@gmail.com. These sharings will be collected and kept on file at Thoreau Farm. Some individual profiles may be chosen to be featured here in our blog. In this way we can ALL celebrate Henry Thoreau’s life and work together, no matter how far apart we are. And don’t worry: you’ll still continue to hear from us, too. Many thanks, in advance. And Many Happy Bicentennial Celebrations, too. Happy 200th Birthday-to-Come, Henry!

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Filed under Environment, General, Henry David Thoreau, Historic Preservation, Literature, Living Deliberately, Nature, News and Events, The Roost, Thoreau Quote, Walden

Civil Disobedience: December 19, 2016

By Corinne H. Smith

“If the injustice is part of the necessary friction of the machine of government, let it go, let it go: perchance it will wear smooth – certainly the machine will wear out. If the injustice has a spring, or a pulley, or a rope, or a crank, exclusively for itself, then perhaps you may consider whether the remedy will not be worse than the evil; but if it is of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law. Let your life be a counter-friction to stop the machine. What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I condemn.” Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government”

The call came out a week in advance and from two separate organizations. Peaceful demonstrations would be held at every state capitol building on the morning of Monday, December 19, 2016. The gatherings would coincide with the time that each state’s Electoral College members would be sequestered inside, casting their crucial deciding votes on the presidential election. Finally, here was concrete action to take! Signing petitions and donating dollars to organizations can only take a person so far, in any movement. I live only 33 miles from my state capital, and I knew that I had to go. I made plans to take the train to Harrisburg early on Monday morning.

“Even voting for the right is doing nothing for it. It is only expressing to men feebly your desire that it should prevail.” ~ Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government”

The peaceful side of the Harrisburg capitol building...with faint moon.

The peaceful side of the Harrisburg capitol building…with faint moon.

I had never been to the state capitol complex. I decided to walk all the way around the place to take it all in. An historical marker along the way noted that the Underground Railroad had operated in this part of town in the mid-1800s. Abolitionist and journalist William Lloyd Garrison had once spoken at a nearby church. These were good footsteps to follow, I thought, since they came from a previous time when the country was divided. Eventually I found the other protesters when I got to the western side of the block.

The beginning of the December 19th protest.

The beginning of the December 19th protest.

It was before 9 a.m., and the demonstration was just getting started. Twelve dedicated people had camped here overnight. They woke up, chanted, and sang every hour on the hour. The organizers brought some printed signs. Everyone else brought homemade ones. I decided to go Thoreauvian and hold up “Your Conscience Follows a Higher Law.” We were soon given the basic ground rules. Our permit allowed us to occupy the sidewalk and the steps. We could not obstruct traffic on the street. We could use the bathrooms inside the capitol building but would have to go through metal detectors to do this. A major press conference would be held inside at 11:30 a.m. The Electors voted at noon. Until then, everything else was spontaneous and came minute by minute. Good to know.

Many more people arrived over the next several hours. Although most were local residents, some came from as far away as Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. Every generation was represented here, too. Our numbers grew to more than 300. We chanted phrases about the key issues. We sang a special version of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” that listed a dozen main reasons why the president-elect was unqualified for the job. We participated in such calls and responses as:

“Tell me what democracy looks like.”

“THIS is what democracy looks like!”

And we sang the songs we all knew: “America the Beautiful,” “My Country ‘Tis of Thee,” “This Land is Your Land.” Some folks in my generation tried to get “If I Had a Hammer” going. But the young people in the crowd didn’t know the song and couldn’t pick it up. Over and over again, for several hours, we voiced our opinions. This was an empowering experience: being with like-minded people – strangers, really – and bonding toward a common cause. It felt like the right thing for us to do. In fact, it felt like the most right thing for us to do at all.

I had bundled up for the winter day with two layers downstairs, six layers upstairs, two pairs of socks, two pairs of gloves, and my old hiking boots. Only the socks fell short. My toes began to get numb in short time. I knew I couldn’t afford to let them continue to freeze. My solution was to march in place on the concrete steps, in time with the chants and the songs. This tactic worked up to a point. It was the best I could do until I could get to a warm place and take off the boots.

After 10:30 a.m., people began to file into the building, in anticipation of the press conference. Some even planned to sit in the gallery where the Electors would vote. At the same time, another group protesting another cause arrived across the street. We respected each other’s missions – we weren’t competing with one another – and we watched and listened as they beat their drums and chanted their own mottoes. Suddenly their whole group moved into the roadway. When they parted, they left behind six pairs of protestors tied back to back, sitting in the crosswalks. The street-sitters wanted an immediate shut-down of a now-unlicensed immigration detention center in Berks County, Pennsylvania. They were impeding traffic. The few police officers who had been standing watch called in reinforcements. And we watched as at least six people were walked, dragged, or carried to the cruisers.

Wow. Here was action we had not expected. It was impressive. These were people who were truly devoted to their cause. A woman of a certain age watching next to me said, “You know, there was a time in my life when I would have taken part in that kind of civil disobedience.” She paused and sighed. “Not today, though.” She handed me her sign and headed up the steps to go in to the press conference. Signs on sticks were not allowed to be taken into the building. Only a few of us were left behind to continue the presence outside.

I hadn’t known about the press conference when I booked my round trip ticket. I was going to have to miss the proceedings in order to catch the train to get back home. So I didn’t get to see and hear the full slate of diverse speakers that the organizers had scheduled. I found out about them later. It was enough for me to know that a lot of good points had been made inside the capitol this morning.

“When I came out of prison – for some one interfered, and paid that tax – I did not perceive that great changes had taken place on the common … and yet a change had to my eyes come over the scene – the town, and State, and country – greater than any that mere time could effect.” ~ Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government”

I felt the same way on this day. As I walked back to the train station, I looked up at the oak trees outlining the capitol lawn. Nearly every one of them held a leafy squirrel nest. I watched as one of the residents ran along a branch and then stopped to sit and nibble on an acorn. The animal was perfectly oblivious to what had happened down the street – to what may indeed happen here on a regular basis – and to what was happening inside the House of Representatives gallery at this very moment. Life went on, no matter what. And yet I felt, like Thoreau, that my way of looking at the way the world works had altered and deepened somehow.

I caught more evidence of Life Going On from the train window and from my own car, as I headed home. People were working, eating lunch, running errands. I stopped at a convenience store to get gas. Unless someone looked closely at the fabric “Reject” flag that I still had pinned to my jacket, no one could tell what I had been up to this morning. It could be my own little secret, for now.

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Henry Thoreau didn’t end the war with Mexico just by spending a night in jail. He wasn’t able to single-handedly stop the mandated return of runaway slaves to their southern masters by refusing to pay the annual Massachusetts poll tax. Yet he felt validated that he had at least done something, in his own individual way, on that July day in downtown Concord. (And by the way, Henry: poll taxes are now illegal in America. So it turns out that you were right, after all.)

Similarly, some may consider that the December 19th gatherings turned out to be ineffectual. The final Electoral College vote sadly fulfilled its prophesied expectations, even as more than 7,000 people protested in the 50 state capitals. But to those of us who participated, our involvement meant a great deal. We found validation in each other’s faces and voices. We had known that there were millions of like-minded people “out there,” somewhere, and not necessarily found in our usual circles of life and work. And here were some of them in person! We came together for a few hours to bond and to act upon our beliefs. And we know it won’t be for the last time.

Standing on concrete steps for three hours in 30-degree temperatures, holding a sign, chanting chants, and singing songs … No, my small preference for participation wasn’t the same as spending the night in a 19th-century granite-block county jail. Nor did it come close to the actions taken by the street-sitters who got arrested on this day. But I believe with even more certainty now that taking a stand in person – any stand at all — is just as important now in 2016 as it was in 1845. Thanks again for the inspiration, Henry.

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