eulogy

my uncle, peter, is passing away. he is an amazing person, which i will relate in a story.

born in the late 40's, he grew up in ranier valley (seattle). he briefly attended college in the northeast. i don't think he remembers a whole lot of it. like all members of my family, he was an activist. he was a man of passion, integrity and conviction. but he was also a caring, kind and compassionate man. he believe that above all, all people's lives must be treated with dignity and respect. justice was his ultimate guiding principle. he staunchly opposed the vietnam war for what it was: needless death and destruction to no end which would ultimately benefit the people on either side who were fighting and and being fought for. the civil rights movement also inspired him. it is a story about serving justice for the oppressed that i will relate.

it must have been the sixties. i'm not sure if it was before or after the voting rights act. MLK and JFK were dead. scores of activists had already been murdered, tortured and jailed. yeah, murdered and jailed. it was clear that the federal government was little interested in making real change and that the southern power structure, now threatened, was reacting in an incredibly violent and vicious manner. even the priests were mudurers. knowing that he was going into harms way, peter travelled to mississippi to help with a project there. he knew that the north cared little for the plight of blacks. but if young white kids were killed or hurt by southern whites, there would be a reaction. they were right. he went, with the goal of puting himself into harms way. you see, poor blacks were now being swept into a sort of economic slavery. freed slaves and their decendants were given little education or other resources to sustain themselves and their communities on, so they were poor. very poor. taking advantage of this, plantations now kept blacks tied to their land with contractural arangements that caused families to only grow furhter and further into debt. that debt was passed onto the next generation. to leave was punishable by law. it was slavery. peter joined a group that was helping to kidnap willing blacks from the plantations. they would be housed in a large barn and given a chance somewhere else to start anew. a whole transitional community was built and the families and volunteers like my uncle helped with some farming and maintenance chores. this was an underground operation. across the way was a legion post. a place where white guys with guns got whipped up into a drunken racist frenzy and went out looking for folks to murder, maim or torture. if nothing else, they'd burn a cross or two. (not that they benefitted in anyway from the oppression of blacks) well, my uncle and this group had to protect themselves. the barn was littlered with bullet holes from attacks. one night my uncle was on guard duty. he was up in their lookout, where they could see the road and legion post. he had a shotgun. he'd never shot one before and certainly hadn't shot at a person. well, a car comes down the road on his side, driving slowly. he gets the feeling that something isn't quite right and is watching, holding the shotgun close. he's trying to get the attention of the other person he's doing lookout with but he isn't able to. well, the car slows to a stop in front of them, and my uncle readies his shotgut and aims it at the car. he doesn't really know what to do. well, the driver and passenger get out, switch and drive away. it was nothing. the next day peter tells the group that he can't do guard duty. he'll contribute in any other way: washing dishes, helping with the kids, farming; but he won't shoot a gun. see, my uncle knew right and wrong. he knew what he believed in. but he couldn't resort to violence. he knew only compassion. he does not hate the people who hate. not a man of faith, he never the less worked with and respected any faith that respected life and worked for justice.

he was not a democrat. he was a believer in justice. and justice was in everything he did.