A lonely vigil shows the power of one

When it comes to public displays of protest, size matters. Dissent is a numbers game, which is why news stories about any sort of march contain at least two estimates of participation -- those by law enforcement and those by the event’s organizers. These two numbers can differ by as much as hundreds of thousands or even millions, as the many antiwar marches that occurred around the world on Feb. 15 proved.

Those participating in the Women’s Vigil & Fast for Peace in front of the Federal Building in Westwood have no problem doing the math. They are pretty certain how many people will show up each day, how many have been showing up, rain or shine, since Nov. 11.

One.

Since its inception, the group has remained so small that each woman has chosen a day to stand from dawn to dusk on the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Veteran Avenue with signs asking the hundreds of thousands of motorists who pass to “Stop the War in Iraq.”

Just one woman each day, almost every day -- allowing for illness, work and family conflicts -- standing for six to eight hours on a windy corner with the sound of 14 American flags clanking behind her and the restless surge of perpetual traffic in front of her. For more than three months.

One.

“I stand out here because I couldn’t not do anything anymore,” says Sarah Rath, who started the group. “We are a small group on the edge of people’s consciousness, but lots of the people who drive by see us every day, and we have an impact on them.

“I am telling them one person can make a difference. I am one person standing here with a sign because I have to do something.”

Rath is a 57-year-old freelance graphic designer who says she has never been an activist. But as it became more and more clear that this country was heading toward an invasion of Iraq, she began to lose sleep. Her father was a conscientious objector during World War II because he believed that killing, all killing, was wrong, and that continues to make good sense to her.

Last fall she heard a woman named Medea Benjamin talking on the radio about “Code Pink,” an action women were planning to stage in Washington. Since Nov. 10, Benjamin and a small group of women from all over the country have camped out on the White House lawn in protest not just of a war with Iraq but of the country’s choice to spend money on the military while neglecting health care, education, environmental protection and other human services. Last month a group from Code Pink traveled to Iraq to show the Iraqi people that not all Americans support the invasion of their country.

Rath, who had been attending a Saturday evening peace vigil on the corner of Fairfax Avenue and 3rd Street, tried to drum up interest in an L.A. branch of Code Pink. About seven women showed up for the first meeting -- not likely to attract the notice of the local news.

But for Rath, who covers Thursdays, and for these particular women, that wasn’t even close to the point.

“I’m doing this for my own soul,” says Margaret Lindgren. She is 72, a retired nurse, and Monday is her day, so she is standing under a glowering sky in a pink T-shirt and red sweatpants. An elderly man in a white Lincoln Continental, pausing at the stoplight, surveys the bedsheet she has spread over several newspaper boxes. “Spend local dollars on L.A. children not Iraqi bombs,” it says. He honks, gives her a thumbs-up. Next to him, a young man in an SUV honks too, flashes a peace sign.

“We get a lot of support,” she says. “And some nasty things too. Last week, one man yelled at me, ‘Get a job.’ I yelled back, ‘I’ve had several.’ I mean, how long do they expect you to work, anyway?”

Lindgren, who describes herself as a longtime activist, has no problem standing alone day after day. “We don’t have thousands of people here,” she says, “but thousands of people pass.”

Many local antiwar demonstrators say they have been frustrated by the lack of attention -- from the media, from the public, from the government. Vigils can be found around the L.A. area almost every night, but in this super-size-it culture, they are easy to ignore. Many of them consist of fewer than two dozen people; with their hand-lettered, flapping poster board and ragtag cries for honks of support, they seem, at first glance, more like a high school car wash than a political movement.

But there they are, every darn week, reminding those who pass that this is still a democracy and in a democracy it’s never too late for the people to say “no.”

Lindgren, Rath and their fellow protesters felt vindicated and encouraged when the huge demonstrations of Feb. 15 made the top of the news worldwide. L.A. did not get the attention New York or Seattle did, but it’s harder to create a broad-based political protest in Los Angeles than it is in other cities. Geography is an obstacle, as is the lack of one or even three obvious gathering points in the city -- many Angelenos would be hard pressed to tell you where the Federal Building is.

Because of this, Lindgren feels the smaller weekly vigils are even more encouraging than some citywide blowout.

“We need to take back our neighborhoods,” she says. “And this is proof that we are. And the numbers are growing. There are more of these vigils every week.”

The members of the Women’s Vigil do not always stand alone; occasionally one or two of them will show up on more than one day during the week, and sometimes people who work nearby or who just happen to be passing join them for an hour or two. If this were a movie, those numbers would multiply until the final scene would require an overhead pan of women in pink flooding the sidewalks from the 405 to Beverly Hills, singing “We Shall Not Be Moved.”

But this isn’t a movie or even a soft drink commercial, and for the days until the vigil’s official end -- Saturday, which is International Women’s Day -- there will no doubt be a solitary figure facing down the hypnotic rush of anonymous drivers, ears ringing with the flapping flags, pasting a single silhouette against the disinterested sky.

It is a powerful image proving that size does matter, just sometimes not in the way we think. Because it’s easy to join a big demonstration, to walk bumping shoulders and shouting slogans with friends, warmed by cardboard coffee cups and a feeling of shared righteousness. It may be a serious endeavor, but it’s also a party. Less festive is six hours of standing alone on hard concrete, fueled only by the sound of the car horn, the flash of a stranger’s peace sign.

But for the women still standing, these days provide something like peace.

“I look forward to Thursday,” says Rath. “It’s the only day when I know exactly what I will be doing and am certain of its importance. And Thursday nights are the nights I sleep the best.”