Grand Central Terminal die-in, 12/3/14 (Daily Mail, U.K., EPA photo)
“I was in a die-in!”
One of my teenaged piano students bubbled over with news of everything happening at her high school last week, beginning with teacher-led discussions about racism, grand juries, the criminal justice system, last century’s Civil Rights movement. Classroom lessons inspired some students to stage a die-in.
“What was that like for you?” I asked. She told me that she thought about Mike Brown and Eric Garner while she lay beside her classmates in the school lobby.
“What did your friends say about it?” Most felt good about the protest, she thought. The only disagreement was about whether or not it was disrespectful to sit up and take a “selfie” in the middle of the action. Some said yes, some said no. Hmmm, I didn’t know what to say about activism etiquette in the Digital Age.
VARIATIONS ON A TACTIC:
FROM BREASTFEED-INS TO WADE-INS
St. Louis die-in with body outlines, 11/16/14, photo by Joe Raedie (Getty)
As luck would have it, I’ve been working on a chapter of my book (on women’s nonviolent actions) about experiments with physical intervention, a form of nonviolent direct action — specifically sit-ins and their variations: breastfeed-ins, die-ins, dance-ins, glitter-ins, howl-ins, kiss-ins, pray-ins, pee-ins, sleep-ins, read-ins, wade-ins. The actions themselves might be risky for those taking part, but the variations are endlessly creative and make this chapter fun to write! I’ll share more about these in future blog posts. Stay tuned.
Faith leaders from New York Theological Seminary, 12/8/14 die-in at NY City Hall, photo by Andrew Kelly (Reuters)
The tactic of disrupting business-as-usual with physical intervention reminds me of the old protest song “It Isn’t Nice” by Malvina Reynolds, made popular by Judy Collins. (See YouTube clip below.) The refrain notes that blocking doorways “isn’t nice” and concludes, “but if that’s freedom’s price, we don’t mind.”
According to nonviolence scholar Gene Sharp, sit-ins date back to the mid-1800s when the tactic was used by antislavery activists challenging publicly segregated spaces. It was picked up by Native Americans in the 1930s. In the 1940s, the tactic was tried by members of CORE (Congress of Racial Equality) in Chicago. Later, lunch counter sit-ins were used extensively during the 1960s Civil Rights movement.
Die-in by staff of the Center for Constitutional Rights, 12/17/14, part of a citywide 7 minute collective “Die-in/ Rise up” action to mark the 5 month anniversary of the killing of Eric Garner
Die-ins are a more recent variation. One of the earliest took place on the first Earth Day, April 22, 1970, when Harvard Ecology Action sponsored a die-in at Logan International Airport to protest environmental pollution. In May 1970, 150 demonstrators staged a silent “die-in” in Seattle to protest the shipping of nerve gas through Washington state. In 1981, on International Women’s Day, 3,000 women in Ramstien, West Germany lay down in front of a NATO airbase to simulate the effect of a nuclear attack.
Last year, inspired by a massive cyclists’ die-in in Amsterdam in the 1970s, 1,000 cyclists staged a die-in in London to call attention to the need for improved road safety. They were asked “to lie on the pavement with your bicycles, turn on your lights and let them flash in the memories of people killed and injured in the last eight years.”
DIE-INS: THE TACTIC DU JOUR
Students at Washington University, die-in, 12/1/14, photo by Larry W. Smith (EPA)
In the wake of the police killings of two unarmed black men, Mike Brown in Ferguson and Eric Garner in Staten Island, die-ins have proliferated as a tactic. Some have been timed to last 4 1/2 minutes, symbolic of the 4 1/2 hours Brown’s body was left in the street, untended.
Visual and therefore deemed newsworthy, die-ins help sustain media attention and effectively disrupt business-as-usual.
Harvard medical students participate in nationwide “White Coat Die-in” 12/10/14, photo by David L. Ryan
In recent days, lawyers in suits and ties chanted “Black lives matter” and “I Can’t Breathe” from pavements in front of courthouses across the nation. Medical students at over forty colleges staged a well-organized “White Coat Die-In.” Legislators, teachers, and clergy have laid down in solidarity.
In libraries, shopping malls, bridges, streets, in quiet towns and hectic cities, across the U.S. and in places around the world, on cold pavements and on the well-trod floors of major traffic hubs like Grand Central Station — everywhere these days, budding activists and seasoned protesters are lying down for a cause. When they stand up again, they often feel a new sense of empowerment.
A NEW YEAR’S WISH
Dance-in on missile silo at Greenham Common, 1/1/83, photo by Raissa Page
At dawn, on New Year’s Day, in 1983, at Greenham Common women’s peace encampment in England, forty-four women crept through the frosty early light, propped a ladder against the fence protecting nuclear silos, threw blankets over the razor-wire, and dropped a second ladder down the other side, then scrambled over the top, one after the other, hearts pounding.
When they’d made it over, they rushed, all together, holding hands, up the mud slopes to the top of a silo which housed U.S.-owned weapons intended for World War III. Before the police closed in, they formed a circle and danced, sang, and cheered. They held up a sign, “PEACE 83” for the TV reporters who had been alerted to the “dance-in.” The iconic image of women dancing on the nuclear silo, silhouetted against the dawn of a new day, inspired and sustained many in the women’s peace movement throughout the 1980s.
I offer this image of an earlier New Year’s Day action to inspire us all not to give in to world-weary resignation in the face of so much suffering and wrong, but to greet 2015 with a renewed commitment to fight the good fight — together. Happy New Year, everyone!
TO GO DEEPER
Black Friday die-in at Galleria Mall, St. Louis, photo by Ruth Fremson, (NYT)
“The Methods of Nonviolent Intervention” in The Politics of Nonviolent Action: Part Two, The Methods of Nonviolent Action by Gene Sharp, 1973.
“A Brief History of Die-Ins, the Iconic Protests for Eric Garner and Michael Brown” by Marina Koren, in the National Journal, December 4, 2014.
Local news report of the “White Coat Die-In” at the University of Tennessee Health Science Center, December 10, 2014.
Judy Collins sings “It Isn’t Nice” by Malvina Reynolds
“White privilege” means never having to say you noticed — never noticed landlords who refuse to rent, banks that refuse to lend, employers who won’t employ, taxis that refuse to stop, never noticed the pain caused by racial slurs and jokes, never noticed the lack of parks or after-school programs in minority neighborhoods, never noticed store personnel following black customers, never noticed the “school-to-prison-pipeline” with black students less likely to be assigned experienced teachers and well-equipped classrooms, more likely to be suspended or expelled for misbehavior, never noticed commuters pulled over for “driving while black,” police brutality disproportionately born by African-Americans, prisons bursting at the seams with black and brown people …
In 1997, I was disheartened by apparent white apathy after the police brutalization of Abner Louima. I went to a Brooklyn rally (photo) and could count the white protesters on one pale hand. History has brought us to a new day, when people of all races, classes, beliefs are coming together in rage, despair, and hope.
“White privilege” means treating the killings of Mike Brown and Eric Garner as unfortunate “incidents,” denying the long history of institutional racism and the systemic targeting of people of color. It means saying, in condescending tone, “Well, really, all lives matter, don’t they?” or derailing deep conversation with the truism “But not all cops are bad,” (reminiscent of the meme “not all men” as rebuttal to outrage about rape and battery), or insisting that people of color stop what they are doing to educate white folks about our shared history.
Violence against black and brown peoples has been relentless from the start. It’s been “status quo” and “the way things are.” People of color silently mourned or seethed, while the white majority barely noticed. In our silence we acquiesced.
Police over-reaction in Ferguson revealed something many of us (myself included) had not known: the Defense Department has been arming local police with surplus equipment since 1997 — tanks, full battle gear, tear gas. Now, at last, we’re talking about the “militarization of America’s police.” That we’re talking about it is a good thing.
But this time, nothing is stopping creative protest — not media distortion, not chilly winds, rain, snow, not even Christmas. Has the world ever seen anything quite like this?
In Milwaukee, the Overpass Light Brigade created a digital sign on a pedestrian overpass bridge. Medical students held “white coat die-ins” at Yale, Tulane, Johns Hopkins, and several dozen other schools.
“Which Side Are You On?” was also sung by protesters at the St. Louis Symphony. Diverse in race, age, and gender, they bought tickets, stood up mid-concert, sang a “Requiem for Mike Brown,” and left of their own accord, as they tossed confetti hearts and unfurled banners from the balcony. Some on stage and in the audience applauded, others booed or sat open-mouthed.
People of faith are holding vigils, die-ins, prayer meetings, and rallies. They’re hosting after-church racism discussions.
Many thousands of protesters are expected to flood Washington, D.C. this weekend for the March Against Police Violence. There’s a whole new anti-racism movement on the move now, led by young people who are both informed and savvy about how to use the new technology.
In November 1980 and again in ‘81, women gathered at the Pentagon to mourn, rage, empower, and defy, in a pageant-like demonstration that combined rational thought with deep emotion.
With input from over 200 women, author-activist Grace Paley drafted a jargon-free manifesto called the Unity Statement. In her essay, “All Is Connectedness,” Ynestra King, an ecofeminist activist-scholar, wrote that the process of collectively creating the Unity Statement set the tone for the actions to follow.
In the first stage, thousands of women walked to the beat of a slow drum through Arlington Cemetery, past endless neat rows of tombstones. They were led by a giant Bread and Puppet Theatre papier-mâché figure. (The first year it was draped in black, the second in white.) When they reached Pentagon property, they knelt to place homemade grave-markers: “Mary Dyer,” “Anne Frank,” “Karen Silkwood,” “My mother Roberta, self-induced abortion, 1964,” “the Salem witches,” “the mother of the soldier my son killed in Vietnam.”
From rage evolved the third stage. Another puppet appeared to lead the way (the first year gold, the second year black). The empowerment puppet held a basket of scarves. The women helped themselves as they began to encircle the Pentagon, a building one mile in circumference. As they circled, they read aloud the Unity Statement and sang, “We Shall Not Be Moved,” “Song of the Soul,” and “You Can’t Just Take My Dreams Away.” By using the scarves to connect woman-to-woman, the circle finally closed around the war building, and the women gave an exultant whoop of victory. (Photo: WPA logo, designed by Vermont artist-activist Bonnie Acker.)
The fourth stage began. Women who had taken workshops on nonviolent civil disobedience began the work of blocking three of the five major entrances to the Pentagon. Some of the women sat on the steps, linking arms and letting their bodies become limp as soon as officers approached to arrest them. (Photo: Grace Paley being arrested)
When New Society Publishers went to press with my 448 page anthology, Reweaving the Web of Life: Feminism and Nonviolence, featuring essays by Joan Baez, Barbara Deming, Karla Jay, Holly Near, Alice Walker, and dozens of other author-activists, several photos of the WPA were included inside, as well as one on the cover by Joan E. Biren (or JEB). Unfortunately, some readers, unfamiliar with feminist symbolic use of webs to block entrances, thought the women were caught in the web.
When the book was reprinted, a different cover photo was chosen, this one, also by JEB, showed cheering women triumphantly holding a web over their heads.
In November, 1981, several months before the book’s publication, Grace Paley and several other New York-area contributors to Reweaving joined me in a reading at the Woman’s Salon, co-founded by Erika Duncan. What a night it was! (Photo, L-R: Erika Duncan, one of her daughters, me, Grace Paley, Leah Fritz, and Catherine Reid.)
Grace Paley: Collected Shorts by Lilly Rivlin 
On November 22, 1909, young Clara Lemlich sat beside other garment workers, listening to speeches in the Great Hall of New York’s Cooper Union. Her body was bruised and aching after the beating she’d taken two days earlier on the picket line. In late September, she and 100 other women had walked out of their factory on the Lower East Side. They’d had enough.
On November 22, Clara (photo), already arrested numerous times and still in pain from her most recent beating, was determined to attend this meeting — but what a disappointment! Two hours of long-winded speeches and cautious rhetoric was more than enough. The men droned on and on. Couldn’t they feel the tension in the room? the readiness? the ache for action?
Messengers ran with the news to where other garment workers were meeting. They, too, endorsed the call for a general strike. Over the next two days, women from over 500 shops walked out in the first great strike of women.
Brave Girl: Clara and the Shirtwaist Makers’ Strike of 1909
The “Night of Terror” is what suffrage activists in the United States later called November 14, 1917.
In the days leading up the the Night of Terror, radical suffrage leader Alice Paul was arrested and, in an effort to undermine her credibility, sent to a psychiatric ward,. There, she was denied legal counsel.
In the midst of the chaos, Lucy Burns (in photo), a fearless redhead from Brooklyn, began to call the roll and bring a sense of order. Her strong voice calmed the others.
Alice Paul: Equality for Women 
Century of Struggle: The Woman’s Rights Movement in the United States
FILM: Iron Jawed Angels
It didn’t take much for suffrage activists to be considered hecklers in early 1900s England. Bold activists like mill-worker Annie Kenney and privileged Christabel Pankhurst united across class lines to interrupt male politicians and ask, “When will the government give women the vote?” Outraged blokes cursed, shook their fists, and threw stuff — dead fish, rotten eggs. The women often got roughed up and arrested. Still, nothing stopped them.
Suffrage activists waited for hours that day to hear men debate the resolution. Instead, they heard condescending jokes and raucous laughter.
The women continued to swarm men’s meetings, heckle the speakers, and laugh. On October 28, 1908, a suffrage activist and professional actress from Australia, Muriel Matters, interrupted the proceedings at the House of Commons to deliver a speech from the Ladies’ Gallery. When guards rushed to evict her, they found that she had chained and padlocked herself to the grille.
But, this wasn’t the end of Muriel. A few months later, on the day King Edward opened Parliament with a grand procession, Matters hired an airship bearing the words VOTES FOR WOMEN, stepped into a basket on the balloon’s underside, and, once aloft, floated over London, tossing leaflets overboard. She meant to drop the pamphlets on the King’s head, but was blown off course. Nevertheless, she won lots of publicity for the suffrage cause and had a good time doing it.
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On November 1, 1961, women across the United States — homemakers and factory workers, clerical workers and waitresses — interrupted their daily routines and took to the streets in the Women’s Strike for Peace.
The symbolic strike by women was the brainchild of Dagmar Wilson, a children’s book illustrator and mother of three daughters. A few weeks earlier, she had read a statement by Bertrand Russell, winner of the 1950 Nobel Prize for Literature and a philosopher some called the spiritual leader of the civil disobedience movement in England: “I cannot bear the thought of this beautiful planet spinning timelessly in space — without life.” That sentence resonated with Wilson.
Though it was conceived as a one-day action, the Women’s Strike for Peace (WSP or WISP, as it was sometimes called) continued long past November 1, 1961. Rather than get bogged down in the trappings of an organization, WSP mobilized women to join already established peace groups and to spread their influence on a local level through the Parents and Teachers Associations (PTA), churches, and bridge clubs. WSP set up pickets, demonstrations, and letter-writing campaigns. It promoted nationwide boycotts of milk after every atmospheric nuclear test to protest contamination from fallout.
On October 24, 1975, Iceland came to a virtual standstill when women took the day off. They left their typewriters and steno pads, put down their paint brushes, music books, and lecture notes, took off their aprons, left the dishes in the sink. Actresses walked off the stage. Teachers left their classrooms. Tellers grinned as nervous bank executives stepped up to the window. Moms and daycare workers handed the children over to dads. They didn’t do the shopping or get dinner. Fish factories ran at half-capacity. Planes were grounded for lack of flight attendants. Phones went unanswered. Newspapers weren’t typeset.
In Reykjavik that day, 25,000 women, bundled in coats and scarves, streamed out of their homes and workplaces to attend a rally. They came from all walks of life, political parties, religious beliefs, union affiliation. Some chanted and sang, others stood quietly, tears in their eyes. They listened to speeches and waved homemade placards calling for equality, progress, peace.
In 1985, they did it again. By now, Iceland had a female president, Vigdís Finnbogadóttir (photographed cheering the day she won the election). A single mom, she stayed home in solidarity with the symbolic strike.
By 2010, everything was different. The name of the action had changed from “Women’s Day Off” to “Women Strike Back.” Instead of a sunny day, the 50,000 who rallied in Reykjavik defied storm warnings and stood in freezing rain. Violence against women was still a focal point of the protest, but the economic and political landscape had changed. Following a global economic crash, Iceland had gone from one of the world’s wealthiest societies to total economic collapse in 2008, largely, it was held, due to the excesses of mostly male bankers and politicians.
In response, the electorate voted in Jóhanna Sigurdardóttir as prime minister, the first openly-lesbian elected leader in world history. A new gender-neutral marriage law, passed in June 2010, legalized same-sex marriage. A few days later, Jóhanna married her longtime partner, Jónína. (Icelanders go by their first names, according to tradition.)
Courageous action arises from places of misery and oppression — places like Victorian London’s East End.
In 1888, several months before Jack-the-Ripper killed and mutilated six women in the East End, Annie Besant, a crusading journalist, heard about the deplorable work conditions at the Bryant & May match factory which employed many women, most of them teens. She made up her mind to spark public concern with her writing.
Low pay and 12-hour days were not the workers’ only hardship. The factory air was thick with phosphorus. White sulphur, used on match tips, got onto the workers’ fingers. They ate at their work benches, Annie wrote, “disease the seasoning to their bread.” Poisoned by their work, the young women often became bald, and some developed “Phossy Jaw,” a disease that literally ate their faces.
The company threatened a libel suit and insisted that all workers sign a petition certifying that Besant’s article was untrue, exaggerated at best. Despite their desperate straits, not one worker signed.
The highlight of the strike came when the matchgirls marched to the House of Commons. A delegation of young workers was allowed to enter and speak about their lives in their own words. One fifteen-year-old pulled the scarf from her head to show that she was almost completely bald. The MP’s were shocked.
Regretting bad publicity, the directors of Bryant & May met with strike representatives and agreed to all their demands, including better wages, a separate room where the workers could eat, and the abolition of fines. The matchgirls’ successful strike is still celebrated in British labor history.
In Lysistrata, that bawdy old Greek comedy, scantily clad women fed up with the Peloponnesian War lured their warrior husbands home, then slammed shut the bedroom doors, so to speak, promising to open up when peace was declared.
● @1600, Iroquois Nation — Noting that they produced the warriors, women threatened to forego childbearing until men conceded some decision-making powers on the war council.
● 2006, Colombia — Proclaiming a “strike of crossed legs,” women in Pereira withheld sex to stop gang wars and drive home the point that violence is not sexy. The ten-day strike may have worked. By 2010, Pereira’s murder rate declined by 26.5 percent.
● 2011, Philippines — Women in a sewing cooperative on rural Mindanao Island were unable to sell their wares because violence between men in rival villages had closed the main road. They called for a sex strike. Within a few weeks, the road was opened and deemed safe for travel.
● 2012, USA — The Texas-based Liberal Ladies Who Lunch set up a Facebook page urging women to withhold sex for a week, not as a weapon against men, but as a reminder that “if women lose our hard won rights to medical care, birth control, and pregnancy choice, it won’t only affect women.” The strike proposal was made somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but the demand that congress and insurance companies cover contraception was serious.
Musical & Theatrical Sex Strikes:
The 2001 Turkish sex strike inspired two modern films. The 2008 award-winning German-French comedy Absurdistan, directed by Veit Helmer and filmed in Azerbaijan, tells about two young lovers in a remote Soviet village, caught up in a sex strike for repair of a water pipeline. Absurdistan (2 min trailer)
The 2011 French film, The Source, directed by Radu Mihāileanu, is set in a small Arab village in North Africa, where women go on a “love strike” to protest their hard labor carrying water from the mountains. (2-minute trailer)