As if on cue, right at the start of the Peace and Justice League's first vigil of the semester, it begins to snow. It is not the light dusting kind of snow either; the cold, soggy mixture of water and ice comes down heavy. The air is freezing, the streets are slush, but the political activists poised in front of the War Memorial in downtown Durham stand with soggy orange signs and no intention of submitting to the warm light of the coffee shop across the street.
"It snowed all day at the last one, too," says Derek Price, who is sometimes considered the leader of the Peace and Justice League (PJL) depending on who you talk to. Price, however, is quick to say that the group has no leader and instead considers all members to be equal "chancellors of peace."
Price stands along with a handful of other soaking wet students, all bearing signs with messages like "No lies, no war." The vigil is the third official one of the year. According to Price, this semester you can count on seeing a lot more of them. Every second and fourth Friday of each month, PJL plans to gather as many members and interested activists in the community to stand for three hours with a lot of signs and a lot of determination.
The vigils are intended to coincide with community dinners put on by the organic gardening club. Not only do the dinners draw a large crowd, and therefore a greater number of people passing by the War Memorial, but they also draw a crowd of students typically interested in the message of PJL. Price calls it "a great connection."
Though most of the people who participate in the vigils are members of PJL and a few of their friends, the events are put on in conjunction with Seacoast Peace Response, an organization which operates in the Portsmouth, Dover and Durham area. Seacoast Peace Response shares a lot of core values with PJL. They sponsor speakers, films and peace rallies. They seek to "foster dialogue with the Seacoast community through public programming and non-violent action."
The key word, of course, is non-violent.
At the vigil, there is no chanting, no singing and no shouting. Instead, the members of PJL just stand and wait.
Many might ask what they are waiting for.
One PJL member, Chris Ives, puts it simply: "We're just showing that we care about change."
Ives and many other members of the group claim to be against the war and supportive of bringing the troops home. Standing on the sidewalk, they recall a run-in last semester with a Vietnam veteran during one of their vigils. The man approached the group with a stern face and disapproval of their actions. He told them how he had been in the war and now has a son currently serving in Iraq. After a few heated moments, the group explained their message to him and helped him to calm down. Price recalls seeing a tear in the man's eye as he left.
"The reason we're here is because we want his son to come home," says Ives.
Price refers to UNH as a campus of "extremes" - those who care strongly about politics and those who do not care at all. Just as he says this, a man at the wheel of a car rolls down his window to give his thoughts to the group.
"I think he just said, 'I love war,'" says Ives.
As the day goes on, the weather worsens and so apparently does the general attitude of those passing by. Most pedestrians walk by without making eye contact or acknowledging the peaceful protestors. Those in vehicles, however, tend to be more vocal. The negative responses range from middle fingers to honked horns.
At one point, a man calls out, "Get a life."
Then, he drives around again and curses at the frigid figures in the snow, whose coats are starting to look heavy with precipitation.
"That was ironic," Ives says. "He's the one driving around yelling at students."
Despite this, when asked about responses to the vigil, all of those present say that they have experienced a lot of positive reactions.
"Some people don't know why it's going on," Eric MacDonald admits.
The message of the event is often misconstrued as hypocritical - a protest for peace. According to Price, however, that is not the point.
"I believe that there are two things to take away from a protest or a vigil," he says. "One is the message, of course, which can educate or empower or criticize. Another thing is the reclamation of public space and freedom of expression - we are so socialized to just walk politely and quietly on our way when we are in public. I think we need to take the town common back."
He refers to this several times as a "culture of dissent," being careful to avoid talk of anarchy. On the contrary, Price believes that utilizing the right to free speech is one of the most patriotic things a citizen can do.
If that's the case, then the members of PJL are patriotic indeed, standing for hours while the icy puddles on the streets soak through their sneakers, just for a chance to get their message heard.
"A little peace in everyone's lives can't hurt," says Ives, shrugging and smiling in a harmless sort of way.
Several cars pass by, honking their horns. It's impossible to tell if this is in agreement or anger. After, there's a silence and everything seems muffled by the falling snow. The group does not ask at any point if what they are doing is worth it, and just then, a car slows, a window rolls down and an arm outstretches with a single peace sign.
All of the members of PJL watch as the car rolls away and the hand stays there, with no words attached, almost as if reaching out to them.
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