Free Hope's Angel by Rosemary Fifield Page B

needed Papa’s imprimatur
first.
    “Have
you thought about joining them?”
    Connie
blinked, trying to remember what Angie was talking about. “Who?”
    “The
protestors. Geez, what planet are you on?”
    “I
don’t have time for that.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a poor excuse.
    Angie’s
gaze remained on Connie’s face as though she were trying to read her older
sister’s mind. “Do you know that quote about first they came for the socialists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a socialist?”
    Connie
shook her head.
    “It’s
about the Holocaust. It goes on about them coming for unionists and Jews.
Sometimes Catholics, depending on who tells it. But the point is the last line:
‘Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.’”
    “So,
you’re saying I should join the protestors on principle?”
    “I’m
just saying that sometimes it’s important to stand up for a cause you believe
in.”
    “I
don’t see how carrying signs in Burlington, Vermont, can make a difference.”
    Angie
leaned toward her, her eyes intent on Connie’s. “By itself, it can’t. But add
it to students carrying signs on campuses all over America, and it starts to
count. I mean, what if everybody at all the other schools said the same thing?
Then nobody would do anything, and the government would assume people were
happy with the war.”
    “Why
would they care what students think?” Connie argued. “Plus, lately, students
protest everything. They marched on Woolworth’s lunch counter in Burlington to
protest segregation at lunch counters in the South. The poor Woolworth’s guy
wasn’t discriminating against anybody. How the heck does that work?”
    “It’s
about raising awareness, Connie. Otherwise people just go on their merry way,
not knowing about stuff.”
    Like
the presence of the Ku Klux Klan in Vermont, trying to drive out Jews and
Catholic immigrants. Connie
gave Angie an admiring smile. “How come you know all this stuff?”
    Angie
picked up her pencil without answering and turned her face back toward her math
problems. Connie sat quietly for a moment, then rose from the table and went
down the hall to the room she and Gianna shared.
    What did she believe in? Gianna was willing to stand up to social convention
that said black and white shouldn’t date. What was Connie willing to stand up
for? Keeping young men from dying in Vietnam? Because that’s what it came down
to, for her. Doves protested the military industrial complex fomenting war for
its own monetary gain. Hawks said the U.S. had to stop the spread of communism.
Others talked about imperialism and believed what happened in Southeast Asia
was none of America’s business. For Connie, it was all about members of her generation
dying for no good reason in a country that didn’t even want them there. But was
that a noble cause or a self-serving one? Was it the right reason to oppose
something that was so much bigger than she could comprehend? And what about the
protestors who vilified soldiers who had been in Vietnam, calling them
baby-killers and war criminals? She didn’t want to be associated with them or
their tactics.
    She
sat on her bed and stared out the window into infinite darkness that deepened
her sense of isolation. Life was becoming so complicated—so many contentious
issues, so much violence. Needless, tragic death was occurring everywhere, from
Southeast Asia to Atlanta and California. People were fighting in the streets of
Chicago and down South and on college campuses across the country. The world
was becoming a frightening place. In the meantime, what were her big
challenges? Writing papers and taking tests. Hitching a ride to college without
embarrassing herself by having the guy meet her parents first.
    Connie
let out a sigh of dejection. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to do with
her life. She was a liberal arts major leaning toward teaching high school
science, but that didn’t really