This is an article written by one of our students, Benjamin Y. The opinions expressed herein do not reflect those of Civitas other than respect for the value of open dialogue. To read more Civitas Examiner stories or to submit your own, click here.
“Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.”-The Buddha
My family goes to protests. It’s what we have done since as long as I can remember. When something happens, my brother immediately asks when the protest is and starts to make a sign. And so, days after Renée Good was murdered by an ICE agent, we made plans to attend the candlelight vigil at Brentwood Square.
So far, the protests we have attended have been daytime protests with chants, loud music, and a strong sense of community. Attending a quiet, nighttime vigil was a vastly different but just as empowering experience.
At first, it felt strange. There was a bit of disconnect from the other people there, separated as we were by darkness and cold. But eventually, something became clear–the simple act of holding a candle alongside other people is a way to build community.
You see, candles go out. You can grab a lighter from your pocket, but chances are it will be easier to ask for a light from the person next to you. And so you stand close to each other, cradling the flame from the January wind. Maybe you talk as you do so, or maybe you just share in the subtle warmth. You find yourself building community still, but in a much quieter way.
It wasn’t all quiet, though. People honked to show their support, as in any other protest, and the sidewalk we were on sat frighteningly adjacent to a speedy turn lane, but it was easy to tune these things out after a while. There were reminders, too, that not everyone there supported our cause, like the occasional car that sped up when driving past, or the young adults who zoomed through the parking lot behind us on a motorcycle, shouting “We love ICE!”.
I talked to people attending the vigil and asked them what they were thinking about as they stood there bearing witness. One told me “I used to live an hour north of Minneapolis, and just seeing all this happen in my home–it feels like my home is bearing the brunt of all this.”
From another, I received a sobering yet realistic assessment of the current state. “I grew up in the aftermath of World War II, and this–it reminds me of the brown shirts, people just getting grabbed off the street and disappearing.”
There were messages of hope, too: “Before this, I felt like there was nothing I could do. I felt hopeless. But being here now, I feel like there are people out there who can do something and we can actually do this.”
And finally, love and prayer. “I’ve been praying this entire time. I’m praying for this woman, this mother of three, who lost her life to ICE, and to her family–because they’re all just humans, in the world.”
And she is right. Candles have been used for centuries in rituals and practices of all kinds, representing prayers and the souls of lost loved ones. This practice may have started in ancient Greece, where offerings of burnt offerings, incense, or candles would be given to the Olympic gods, which would reach them by virtue of being lighter than air and wafting skyward. The Hindu festival of Diwali represents the final triumph of the forces of light and good over evil, and involves the use of many candles, which symbolize the lighted path Lord Rama followed to return home.
So join the vigil. Honor the ones we have lost. We are all here, and there is plenty of light to go around.
