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There'll be a possibly-less-formal-than-usual OccupyCU general
assembly meeting tonight, <b>6pm Friday 12/23, in the Market Place
Mall food court</b>. No signs please, but if you've got an
interesting shirt, please wear it.<br>
<br>
AWARE *won't* have our usual Sunday meeting on Christmas Day - no
12/25 meeting.<br>
We will be back at McKinley on the following Sunday, Jan 1st.<br>
<br>
Meanwhile, OccupyCU and AWARE aim to show the Frank Capra movie,
"It's a Wonderful Life",<br>
on Thursday, 12/29, at 6pm in Champaign Library Robeson room C.<br>
<br>
And... Christmas is upon us and we remain at war, in even more
places than ever. The orders for war come from the top - the 1% -
but recognition of our common humanity and the impulse to peace can
come from any of us, if we are ready to see through the lies used to
divide us. <br>
<br>
On Christmas, 1914, in the midst of the brutal First World War, some
German and British and French soldiers did just that.<br>
(Thanks to Ted Glick, who posted the letter below to the United for
Peace and Justice mailing list.)<br>
<br>
<font face="Arial"><font face="Times New Roman"> <br>
Christmas Day, 1914<br>
<br>
My dear sister Janet,<br>
<br>
It is 2:00 in the morning and most of our men are asleep in
their<br>
dugouts -- yet I could not sleep myself before writing to you of
the<br>
wonderful events of Christmas Eve. In truth, what happened seems<br>
almost like a fairy tale, and if I hadn't been through it
myself, I<br>
would scarce believe it. Just imagine: While you and the family
sang<br>
carols before the fire there in London, I did the same with
enemy<br>
soldiers here on the battlefields of France!<br>
<br>
As I wrote before, there has been little serious fighting of
late. The<br>
first battles of the war left so many dead that both sides have
held<br>
back until replacements could come from home. So we have mostly
stayed<br>
in our trenches and waited.<br>
<br>
But what a terrible waiting it has been! Knowing that any moment
an<br>
artillery shell might land and explode beside us in the trench,<br>
killing or maiming several men. And in daylight not daring to
lift our<br>
heads above ground, for fear of a sniper's bullet.<br>
<br>
And the rain -- it has fallen almost daily. Of course, it
collects<br>
right in our trenches, where we must bail it out with pots and
pans.<br>
And with the rain has come mud -- a good foot or more deep. It<br>
splatters and cakes everything, and constantly sucks at our
boots. One<br>
new recruit got his feet stuck in it, and then his hands too
when he<br>
tried to get out -- just like in that American story of the tar
baby!<br>
<br>
Through all this, we couldn't help feeling curious about the
German<br>
soldiers across the way. After all, they faced the same dangers
we<br>
did, and slogged about in the same muck. What's more, their
first<br>
trench was only 50 yards from ours. Between us lay No Man's
Land,<br>
bordered on both sides by barbed wire -- yet they were close
enough we<br>
sometimes heard their voices.<br>
<br>
Of course, we hated them when they killed our friends. But other<br>
times, we joked about them and almost felt we had something in
common.<br>
And now it seems they felt the same.<br>
<br>
Just yesterday morning -- Christmas Eve Day -- we had our first
good<br>
freeze. Cold as we were, we welcomed it, because at least the
mud<br>
froze solid. Everything was tinged white with frost, while a
bright<br>
sun shone over all. Perfect Christmas weather.<br>
<br>
During the day, there was little shelling or rifle fire from
either<br>
side. And as darkness fell on our Christmas Eve, the shooting
stopped<br>
entirely. Our first complete silence in months! We hoped it
might<br>
promise a peaceful holiday, but we didn't count on it. We'd been
told<br>
the Germans might attack and try to catch us off guard.<br>
<br>
I went to the dugout to rest, and lying on my cot, I must have
drifted<br>
asleep. All at once my friend John was shaking me awake, saying,
"Come<br>
and see! See what the Germans are doing!" I grabbed my rifle,
stumbled<br>
out into the trench, and stuck my head cautiously above the
sandbags.<br>
<br>
I never hope to see a stranger and more lovely sight. Clusters
of tiny<br>
lights were shining all along the German line, left and right as
far<br>
as the eye could see.<br>
<br>
"What is it?" I asked in bewilderment, and John answered,
"Christmas<br>
trees!"<br>
<br>
And so it was. The Germans had placed Christmas trees in front
of<br>
their trenches, lit by candle or lantern like beacons of good
will.<br>
<br>
And then we heard their voices raised in song.<br>
<br>
"Stille nacht, heilige nacht...."<br>
<br>
This carol may not yet be familiar to us in Britain, but John
knew it<br>
and translated: "Silent night, holy night." I've never heard one<br>
lovelier -- or more meaningful, in that quiet, clear night, its
dark<br>
softened by a first-quarter moon.<br>
<br>
When the song finished, the men in our trenches applauded. Yes,<br>
British soldiers applauding Germans! Then one of our own men
started<br>
singing, and we all joined in.<br>
<br>
"The first Nowell, the angel did say...."<br>
<br>
In truth, we sounded not nearly as good as the Germans, with
their<br>
fine harmonies. But they responded with enthusiastic applause of
their<br>
own and then began another.<br>
<br>
"O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum...."<br>
<br>
Then we replied.<br>
<br>
"O come all ye faithful...."<br>
<br>
But this time they joined in, singing the same words in Latin.<br>
<br>
"Adeste fideles...."<br>
<br>
British and German harmonizing across No Man's Land! I would
have<br>
thought nothing could be more amazing -- but what came next was
more<br>
so.<br>
<br>
"English, come over!" we heard one of them shout. "You no shoot,
we no<br>
shoot."<br>
<br>
There in the trenches, we looked at each other in bewilderment.
Then<br>
one of us shouted jokingly, "You come over here."<br>
<br>
To our astonishment, we saw two figures rise from the trench,
climb<br>
over their barbed wire, and advance unprotected across No Man's
Land.<br>
One of them called, "Send officer to talk."<br>
<br>
I saw one of our men lift his rifle to the ready, and no doubt
others<br>
did the same -- but our captain called out, "Hold your fire."
Then he<br>
climbed out and went to meet the Germans halfway. We heard them<br>
talking, and a few minutes later, the captain came back with a
German<br>
cigar in his mouth!<br>
<br>
"We've agreed there will be no shooting before midnight
tomorrow," he<br>
announced. "But sentries are to remain on duty, and the rest of
you,<br>
stay alert."<br>
<br>
Across the way, we could make out groups of two or three men
starting<br>
out of trenches and coming toward us. Then some of us were
climbing<br>
out too, and in minutes more, there we were in No Man's Land,
over a<br>
hundred soldiers and officers of each side, shaking hands with
men<br>
we'd been trying to kill just hours earlier!<br>
<br>
Before long a bonfire was built, and around it we mingled --
British<br>
khaki and German grey. I must say, the Germans were the better<br>
dressed, with fresh uniforms for the holiday.<br>
<br>
Only a couple of our men knew German, but more of the Germans
knew<br>
English. I asked one of them why that was.<br>
<br>
"Because many have worked in England!" he said. "Before all
this, I<br>
was a waiter at the Hotel Cecil. Perhaps I waited on your
table!"<br>
<br>
"Perhaps you did!" I said, laughing.<br>
<br>
He told me he had a girlfriend in London and that the war had<br>
interrupted their plans for marriage. I told him, "Don't worry.
We'll<br>
have you beat by Easter, then you can come back and marry the
girl."<br>
<br>
He laughed at that. Then he asked if I'd send her a postcard
he'd give<br>
me later, and I promised I would.<br>
<br>
Another German had been a porter at Victoria Station. He showed
me a<br>
picture of his family back in Munich. His eldest sister was so
lovely,<br>
I said I should like to meet her someday. He beamed and said he
would<br>
like that very much and gave me his family's address.<br>
<br>
Even those who could not converse could still exchange gifts --
our<br>
cigarettes for their cigars, our tea for their coffee, our
corned beef<br>
for their sausage. Badges and buttons from uniforms changed
owners,<br>
and one of our lads walked off with the infamous spiked helmet!
I<br>
myself traded a jackknife for a leather equipment belt -- a fine<br>
souvenir to show when I get home.<br>
<br>
Newspapers too changed hands, and the Germans howled with
laughter at<br>
ours. They assured us that France was finished and Russia nearly<br>
beaten too. We told them that was nonsense, and one of them
said,<br>
"Well, you believe your newspapers and we'll believe ours."<br>
<br>
Clearly they are lied to -- yet after meeting these men, I
wonder how<br>
truthful our own newspapers have been. These are not the "savage<br>
barbarians" we've read so much about. They are men with homes
and<br>
families, hopes and fears, principles and, yes, love of country.
In<br>
other words, men like ourselves. Why are we led to believe
otherwise?<br>
<br>
As it grew late, a few more songs were traded around the fire,
and<br>
then all joined in for -- I am not lying to you -- "Auld Lang
Syne."<br>
Then we parted with promises to meet again tomorrow, and even
some<br>
talk of a football match.<br>
<br>
I was just starting back to the trenches when an older German
clutched<br>
my arm. "My God," he said, "why cannot we have peace and all go
home?"<br>
<br>
I told him gently, "That you must ask your emperor."<br>
<br>
He looked at me then, searchingly. "Perhaps, my friend. But also
we<br>
must ask our hearts."<br>
<br>
And so, dear sister, tell me, has there ever been such a
Christmas Eve<br>
in all history? And what does it all mean, this impossible
befriending<br>
of enemies?<br>
<br>
For the fighting here, of course, it means regrettably little.
Decent<br>
fellows those soldiers may be, but they follow orders and we do
the<br>
same. Besides, we are here to stop their army and send it home,
and<br>
never could we shirk that duty.<br>
<br>
Still, one cannot help imagine what would happen if the spirit
shown<br>
here were caught by the nations of the world. Of course,
disputes must<br>
always arise. But what if our leaders were to offer well wishes
in<br>
place of warnings? Songs in place of slurs? Presents in place of<br>
reprisals? Would not all war end at once?<br>
<br>
All nations say they want peace. Yet on this Christmas morning,
I<br>
wonder if we want it quite enough.<br>
<br>
Your loving brother, <br>
<br>
Tom</font></font><br>
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