Weird Guys: Weird Meeting

When I started thinking about some of the weird guys I've encountered, I remembered not just one weird guy--but one who was part of a meeting of weird people--a tiny part of a large and respected international group whose mission is to seek justice. I want to tell this story to caution anyone who's participating in efforts to hold this current president's administration accountable--for anything--to avoid holding meetings that turn into the kind of chaos I encountered.

Please understand that I do not mean my story to cast any negativity on the organization I name here, its mission, its policies, or the many people who carry out its actions wisely and well. This was strictly a story of how one weird guy, and one small group of weird people, can send a meeting off the rails.

In the mid-nineties I when I was suffering through some particularly debilitating symptoms of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, just trying to find activities my health would let me pursue, that's when my U2 fandom was at its height. The Irish rock group's uplifting healing emotional terrain helped me through some of the worst spells of the illness, and some of the other issues, too, during one of the worst stages of my personal life. 

As so many are aware, U2 are longtime supporters of Amnesty International, but I'd wager I supported Amnesty International before they did. 

I obtained some information that a local Amnesty International group was meeting in a nearby community. Of course I wanted to see what I could do to support the organization. At the same time--perhaps, maybe--I'd meet some fellow U2 fans.

I cautioned myself not to get carried away at the prospect of meeting any fellow U2 fans, though. I reminded myself to keep focused on the mission of the organization--but then, even if I met no U2 fans, there'd be someone who liked music, right? (How many people don't like music?) Maybe I'd meet a Bryan Adams fan or a Joan Baez fan or somebody who was into reggae, or classical music, but there'd be something to talk about, to break the ice, right?

So I drove to the address where the meeting was supposed to be, but for once I over-estimated my travel time. Traffic was light and I found the address and a place to park easily. I still had half an hour until the meeting started. 

I considered my options. Etiquette tends to dictate not to arrive more than 15 minutes early, but I didn't have anything to do for the 20 minutes or so until "the correct time" arrived. I didn't bring along anything to read, so I couldn't read while I was waiting. I didn't know the neighborhood. I didn't know of any store, or library, or park, or anything like that, where I could kill 15 minutes or so, and if I did leave and drive around, then the convenient parking space, that I'd been so lucky to find, might not be there when I got back. I might go from being super-early to being late.

I finally decided to just go and knock on the door of the apartment where the meeting was being held. I'd apologize for being so early and offer to come back later if I was being incovenient.

The woman that came to the door had the look of a schoolteacher who's about to hit you with a ruler.

"Hi, I'm here for the meeting--" I sang out cheerfully, and before I could say another word, the woman interrupted.

"You're early and I'm eating!" she bellowed in a tone that bordered on hysteria, "You'll have to come back later!" She had the look of someone who was about to slam the door in my face.

I guess she could tell by my expression that, in that case, I wasn't coming back at all. She relented and invited me in. I sat down, apologized for being so early, tried to explain why, tried to make small talk, tried to talk about Amnesty, but I could see that she wasn't all that interested in talking to me. She was quite the gracious hostess, LOL.

Other people started to arrive. One was a strange grey-haired man who would've made great casting for that grumpy old guy who yells at kids to get off his lawn. There was a young couple who had that "grad student" look, in their sweaters and slacks and loafers. There were two or three other people, but they were extras in this drama.

I asked the young couple if they liked U2. They looked at each other like, Do we, Dear? Then the woman said, "Well, uh, we like, uh, one or two of their things." They didn't seem interested in engaging in any further conversation, about U2 or anything else, so I didn't push.

I asked the group in general what the agenda was for the evening's meeting. I got blank stares, and glances back and forth, mumblings about they didn't have any agenda, like the mere question offended them en masse. I asked if they could tell me more about the group and its activities, about paying dues and whatever, and got more blank stares, more negativity. 

So I tried to explain I'd been involved in Amnesty International since the seventies, that I'd been a dues-paying member off and on for a while, that I'd read the newsletters and written letters and sent postcards on behalf of the prisoners whose cases were being worked on, that I'd been to the concert in Los Angeles in 1986--and the general reaction I got was, we aren't about concerts. The grumpy old man was particularly hostile. In a belligerent tone, he said something about, yeah, he was there, but that's not what we do (or something like that).

So, having shared my experience with Amnesty International, and the room remaining as icy as ever, I asked the others about their Amnesty International experience. How did they choose to get involved with Amnesty International?

Choose! The room erupted, but the weird grumpy old man and the not-so-gracious hostess were the quickest to vehemently argue. They both ranted at length about how they didn't choose to get involved with Amnesty International.

The not-so-gracious hostess launched into a tale of woe about how she had to write a letter asking for the release of a man who was against women's rights. She had to do it. From the way she complained, she made it sound like someone held a gun to her head.

Then I really blew it. I mentioned Leonard Peltier.

"We don't do Leonard Peltier!" exploded the grumpy old man. He led a chorus that amounted to, "We don't advocate violence!"

I knew Amnesty International "did" Leonard Peltier, if by "did" that meant studying his case and advocating for fair and equal treatment. Peltier's case was one that Amnesty International had been involved in. I knew that. Rather than get into some pointless argument about "advocate violence," I referred to how Peltier was one of the cases discussed in Amnesty International's annual report, or book, or publication, or whatever, back in '86 or so. What book was the general response. I was talking to a roomful of people who didn't appear to know their own organization very well.

The weird grumpy old man bellowed something like, "He admits he took a shot at the guy, he just doesn't think he hit him . . .And we don't do Nelson Mandela either!"

I was struck by how the weird old man displayed something of a stereotypical "fighting Irish" spirit. I wondered if what he may have been thinking was, "Everybody's so damn worried about the damn black South Africans and the damn Indians, and nobody gives a damn about the Irish Catholics!"

One woman I told about this experience said, "Sounds like they're for amnesty for everyone except who attends Amnesty International meetings."

I left, and I don't need to say that I never went back. I remain committed to Amnesty International to this day, and in Amnesty's defense, I've met a number of worthy people committed to the work of the organization. I'd like to think the weird grumpy old guy and everything else about this particular meeting were atypical, except I also know of other cases where peace-and-justice meetings went off the rails.

I know a man who had an experience similar to mine, but with an anti-nuke group. He had a radio show at the time, and invited some of the members to be guests on his show, and got a reaction somewhere between indifference and hostility. Rumor later got back to him that the group assumed he must be some kind of cop or spy. They just couldn't conceive of him being actually interested in the work of the anti-nuclear movement.

I also know a woman who attended a peace group's meeting, only to be told there was nothing for her to do--nothing. Everything the group was working on, someone else was "doing that." 

I offer these examples as a cautionary tale during this time of "No Kings," of anti-ICE actions, of people being urged to "show up," to contribute in anyway they can to a fairer world. Beware of weird guys, at weird meetings, that resent strangers "showing up."