A friend of mine just gathered with the uncounted masses right in the same square where I spent the Global Night Commute. The last time I spent any serious time on the red bricks of Portlands Pioneer Courthouse Square, I gathered with two thousand of my closest friends as we banded together with some large number of other cities, some large number of other cities and people numbering around seventy thousand in all in attempts to call attention to this conflict in northern Uganda and in hopes of ending the war. Even as I said it each night leading up to the event, desperately trying to talking to crowds of students, emboldening myself to inspire the youth, it sank in those overly self-aware recesses of awareness that, what the crap was I talking about, did I really think we could, anyone could, especially so far away and young, actually make such a difference in a war older than half the people gathering there. Did I? And so I thought about it, and I did, and formed the rhetoric to lay it out, to hopefully inspire people to greater things then they might try to do on their own, and I hoped that I was right and that five years from that day, everyone wouldnt look back ashamed at the dreams they were tricked into believing. But that, I guess, is what you do when you try to change the world, believe and ask others to do the same.
Believing in that brought me here, to Gulu. Here I get to try to affect the lives of these children, do all these things, make some difference, but now as I open the paper each day, as I talk with the people all around, I realize that I might be here at the opportune time to witness the beginning of this peace that we asked for. The headlines each day broadcast the latest developments in the peace talks. Some offer hesitant critiques of all the ways that the process could disintegrate before us while others offer hopeful pronouncements of the eventual end to the misery.
And those are just the more official aspects, not really reflecting the life we see every day. Each night as I walk out from the volunteer house or even making my way home from town, the beauty of the night impacts me. Brief shining moments of fireflies plant green glowing blips on the ground. The stretching, dancing fields in the wind stretch out barely perceptible beyond the edges of the black dark road. Above, brilliant stars and the hazy streak of the galaxy push through the occasional yet tall and luminous clouds that punctuate the night sky. And all of this is perceptible and enjoyable along the roads we walk without great fear. Just a year before, these streets were abandoned at night except by those beyond fear. Heading out just at dusk, we still meet a few night commuters, but the numbers of children fleeing that dark night seem minimal now. I take my steps home without wondering what lies in each dark crevice of the world. This is how peace can feel.
Just some days ago, streaming through the streets of Gulu, bicycles, boda-bodas, cars, and even people carried behind them large waving white flags. After the declared cease-fire where both government and rebels agreed on the platform of peace, and both pledged to set down weapons for the duration of the talks, the people of Gulu celebrated the best sign of the peace theyve been hoping for by waving these flags all over. Some were huge and trailing behind cars. On one bike, I couldnt even imagine how the person could see beyond the large flapping whiteness in front of him. Some were simple matters strapped on as sign that they believed in the peace process and were hopeful for finally an end to the horror theyve been living. We here at Invisible Children were granted a great honor by being asked by the Gulu government to supply the flags and be a part of the ceremony where they where handed out. Jolly, who some of you may remember from the film, kept remarking how this was the greatest thing she had seen in Gulu and how happy she was. I couldnt come close to her emotion as she saw the beginnings of what she has strived for years to see, her people brought to peace.
There are still those who flood gossip and headlines with dour outlooks. Every day we can encounter the numerous reasons why this, too, might fail. The ICC still holds the indictment against the LRA leaders. Those leaders refuse to leave the bush until amnesty is given. The international community is at odds as to how to proceed from here. But each day that we get to enjoy the scenery of Gulu at night, each time I can tell the people I meet in Kampala that I do not fear walking the streets, each time I see children who do not cower with the idea of abduction, rape, and other violence, it seems like a small victory and enough for today. I hope we can see this continue, that a real, lasting peace will come. Until then, I am trying to stay hopeful. All of you who have been involved until now, thank you for giving this vision to me and this hope to the people here. Please continue doing everything youve done.
