Michael Weinstein reports
The one-time "little school under the El," DePaul University, has never been known as a hotbed of student protest. But in the wake of the Balkan war and a conflict that has dragged on two months with not even faint hopes of an end, student activism is finding a new voice - even if they're only talking to themselves.
At high noon, June 2, the shadowy Anti-War Committee rallies in DePaul's new quad to oppose continued NATO bombing of Serbia. Flyers posted around campus exhort students to "walk out of class and join the protest in the quad." They denounce the bombing campaign for failing to stop ethnic cleansing, killing "over 1,200 innocent civilians" and failing to be a "humanitarian solution." But the complexities of the situation refuse to mold themselves into one camp or another, even for those who say their only goal is to stop the killing. As someone wrote on one of the flyers tacked on a bulletin board in Schmitt Academic Center: "It Ain't That Simple." Wednesday morning is cool, misty and overcast. The quad, its thick grass soaked, is not the best place for a demonstration; there's nowhere to sit except on the grass, trees block all the sight lines and it's off to the side of foot traffic.
The organizers start drifting in at 11:40 and the Anti-War Committee takes on flesh, blood and passion. The main figure in the group is Jessica Sellountos, a junior majoring in philosophy and communications. This is her first foray into politics, though she comes from a left-wing family; her father fought the Greek junta in Cyprus and embraced the Palestinian cause.
Sellountos says she became politicized last year when she traveled to Belgrade and spoke with some of the Greek students who study there. She learned about the Serbian side of the Balkan conflict and was convinced that American intervention there was wrong.
When the bombing began, Sellountos says she couldn't sit back. First, thinking of the historical and Orthodox Christian bonds linking Greeks and Serbs, she tried to mobilize students with ties to Greece as "a separate voice" of opposition. "They didn't show much enthusiasm; they were detached and brought up how the war was impeding tourism," she says.
Her next move was to engage university students at large. "There's an active role for [those of] us waiting to be released from a secret box," she says. Sellountos attended protests around the city and found that activist students "did not want to be associated with Serbian nationalism." Finally, Sellountos decided to tackle the issue in her own backyard - and even that met with some opposition.
By asking friends for contacts who might be interested in taking action against the war, Sellountos initiated a network that has become known as the Anti-War Committee, bringing together people who shared concerns for social justice. They have no formal leadership structure, but their experience organizing the demonstration has grown into a determination to start a Progressive Student Union as a permanent left-wing political presence at DePaul.
But there was still the university to deal with. Sellountos says she had trouble selling the idea to faculty and administration who showed absolutely no enthusiasm for a protest. Sellountos turned to established organizations for support; the American Indian Movement's support group for Chiapas agreed to sponsor the event, and Robert Ludwig, Director of the University Ministry and a Vietnam-era conscientious objector who has participated in teach-ins on the Balkan conflict, agreed to be the major speaker.
Michael Singletary, a committee member and graduate student in English, stresses the diversity of the network, which "probably includes fifty to sixty people beyond the ten or twelve directly organizing this event." But even that group has basic divisions, as the militants of the International Socialist Organization square off against first-time political activists who are motivated by personal experiences and dictates of conscience. The alliance works the way most leftist movements do; the socialists provide organizational skills and try to push the movement toward their revolutionary program, and the others seek to affirm their moral and sentimental commitments and to resist the pull toward a global ideology.
Singletary says he's highly motivated by conscience. "I'm not a knee-jerk socialist; I felt a call that I couldn't fail to heed," he says. He sees Serbia "being heeled out like a grape" by the NATO bombing and predicts that "the innocents will be effaced by Cold War politics."
The ISO, a Marxist-Leninist-Trotskyist group, has dominated left-wing politics at DePaul in recent years, organizing frequent meetings on current events and setting up literature tables around campus. Cindy, who works at DePaul and is a committee member, has been an ISO militant for twelve years. As a student at Northwestern University, she became sensitive to injustice, and "Marx put it all together" for her. She demonstrated against apartheid while at Northwestern and has since organized protests against the Gulf War and American intervention in Central America. She "talks to students," performing a key mediating role between them and the ISO. "I'm sickened and disgusted by the bombing campaign; I'm against military intervention anywhere," she says.
David Elrassi, a senior double-majoring in communications and art, stands between Singletary and Cindy. He is an experienced activist, but is not affiliated with a permanent organization. ("Not yet," Cindy says, smiling.) Elrassi wants to dispel "apathy on campus and to raise awareness and consciousness in the DePaul community" on a broad range of social issues. He says that the war "sparked enough interest" in political action to spawn the committee.
As with any political movement that embraces different perspectives and motivations, nobody in the Anti-War Committee gets exactly what they want. In her path to activism, Sellountos had to submerge her passionate sympathy for the Serbs, because the socialists refused to appear to be supporting Serbia. The socialists, in turn, had to play down their ideological objectives with both sides giving up pet issues, the only thing they could come to terms on was an anti-war platform with the simple aim of stopping the bombings.
As noon approaches, the sky clears and a knot of committee members, friends, sympathizers and militants bearing stacks of literature from an assortment of revolutionary socialist groups begins to form in the quad. Paul D'Amato, a seasoned ISO organizer and an activist since 1977, looks for a place to set up the speaker tables and folding chairs. He sees the deficiencies of the planned location. The protest is moved to the concrete walkway between Schmitt and the student union, where there will be maximum foot traffic.
At 12:15, the rally begins with Sellountos standing on a chair wielding a bull horn and calling on the gathering to "express outrage regarding the war." To brisk applause, she says, "There is blood on [Bill] Clinton's hands - in Serbia, Iraq and Kosovo." Ludwig follows, expressing faith that "love can reach across fear and insecurity," and delivering "the simple message: demand an end to the bombing; seek a peaceful resolution." Then it is D'Amato's turn; he accuses Clinton and Secretary of State Madeleine Albright of being "war criminals" and explains the war as a bid for "U.S. supremacy" in the world. Elrassi rounds out the speeches with the plea, "We can't let them have another Vietnam," and leads the chant: "No new Vietnam."
Several members of the committee urge demonstrators to attend protests sponsored by a broad coalition of religious, peace and socialist groups on June 12, 8am, at the University of Chicago's Rockefeller Chapel, where Clinton will give a commencement address, and on June 18, 5pm, at Northwestern University's Ryan Stadium, where Albright will speak.
Throughout the hour-long demonstration, the crowd numbers between three and five dozen people, a third of whom are outside militants, a third members of the committee and a third their friends and sympathizers. No one else appears to care. The usual gatherings of students chat and eat lunch on the sidelines and seem oblivious to the proceedings. Few professors are in evidence, there are no counter-demonstrators, and there is no obvious security detail; the speakers are preaching to the choir.
Despite the lack of response from the general DePaul community, the rally is spirited, passionate, good humored and almost festive. As most of the demonstrators listen attentively and urge the speakers on with words and cheers of support, the militants circulate with their newspapers, and students holding up colorful placards move through the crowd. Their signs mirror the speeches and chants: "U.S. NATO Bombs Kill Civilians" and "North Atlantic Terrorist Organization." Simple ideas that everyone can agree with - in theory.
One demonstrator stands out from all the rest. Chris Babich wears the T-shirt with the simple black target that has become the icon of resistance to the bombing campaign in Belgrade. She blows a shrill whistle while holding up an enormous placard reading "Words, Not Weapons" on one side and a passage from James 3:18 on the other: "Now the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace."
Babich is a recent DePaul graduate and a Serbian-American whose father's family is rooted in Kosovo. She is a supporter of Serbia's sovereignty over Kosovo and is not a member of the Anti-War Committee, although she knows the people in it and attended one of its organizational meetings. She says that she could not abide the socialists' refusal to back the Serb cause and cites with contempt an article by D'Amato, "Why Kosovo is not Serbia." Babich has been going to the Serbian anti-war demonstrations in the Loop, but does not belong to any organization; she has formed her own mini-movement with her sister and their friends.
While everyone else keeps to their own groups, Babich is eager to engage all comers. She baits a member of the Spartacus Youth Organization, a Trotskyist group, about its atheism and its opposition to the pre-World War II supporters of royalism in Yugoslavia. When he laughs and replies that there's nothing progressive about monarchy, she says, "All they wanted was a king; what's wrong with that?"
Soon Babich loses interest in the debate because she needs a light for her cigarette. She collars a random passerby who turns out to be a Serbian-American student who hadn't attended the rally. Ivico, a senior in business administration, says that he is "neutral" about the war. "America should stay out, but there's nothing I can do; the government will do what it wants." Babich asks, "Don't you feel outraged?" Ivico answers, "Yeah, Serbia is a beautiful country." Babich redoubles her pressure and soon Ivico, wearing a troubled look of deep concern, is bundled off with a sheaf of protest literature.
Babich, who is as passionate about the bombings as anyone at the rally, reflects the psychological obstacles in the way of mounting broad and sustained opposition to the NATO-Serbia war. She does not support Slobodon Milosevic, but she feels that she has to stand up against Clinton and Albright. She believes that Serbs and Albanians can get along, but insists on Serbian sovereignty over Kosovo and admits that "education and propaganda have made it almost impossible for Serbs and Albanians to reconcile." Babich most deeply regrets that "enemies are being created in a fundamental way." She insists that "we're all human" and then says, "If you're pro-NATO, you're pro-KLA."
If it is so difficult for Babich to articulate an unambiguous stance, it is doubly so for people who have no direct ties to the Balkans. Only those with prior ideological commitments, like the socialists and pacifists, can be sure of their positions; for the others involved, like Singletary, it is a matter, as he says, of "thinking through the attenuated nuances."
After the rally Babich and her friends retire to the Red Lion on Lincoln Avenue for a drink. They look forward to a mass demonstration against the war in Washington, D.C., where they will gather with other Serbian-Americans. Babich is glad to take a breather from the left-wing anti-war movement. "It's so lukewarm," she says. "It's really apolitical. I ask them, 'Why are you against the war?' This is important, but we don't feel important. I always need to ask myself, 'If I was black, would I see the same thing?'"
copyright 1999 New City Communications, Inc.