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daniel berrigan
After 4 Decades of Plowshares Actions, It's Nuclear Warfare that Should Be on Trial -- Not Activists
That was 40 years ago this week -- ancient history by some measures. And no one reading this will be surprised to find that the eight were found guilty and the human family is still threatened by almost 15,000 nuclear warheads. So, four decades later, why isn't nuclear warfare on trial?
They are the crime responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Japanese civilians 75 years ago. They have littered the landscape with radioactive waste. They have cost the United States more than $5 trillion from the public coffers. They are the apocalyptic nightmare on hair-trigger alert that haunt our children's dreams.
On September 9, 1980, my father, Philip Berrigan, along with his brother Daniel, John Schuchardt, Dean Hammer, Elmer Maas, Molly Rush, Sister Anne Montgomery, and Father Carl Kabat, gained entry into the General Electric plant in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania. Once inside the complex, they poured blood over two nuclear weapons' nose cones, and used household hammers to dent the metal. They came to be known as The Plowshares Eight. They were motivated by the prophets of the Hebrew scriptures who enjoined that "they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."
As we mark this 40th anniversary in a strange and fearful time of pandemic, white violence, political instability and economic insecurity, it is heartening and instructive to reflect back on the origins of the Plowshares movement. It was largely white, largely Catholic and relatively small. Their purpose was to take personal responsibility for nuclear weapons -- these implements of mass destruction shrouded in almost mystical secrecy and reverence -- and label them improper property, converting, transforming, exposing and ultimately abolishing them. Plowshares activists don't just hold these views or espouse these beliefs. They conspire. They pray. They act through nonviolent means.
As we mark this 40th anniversary in a strange and fearful time of pandemic, white violence, political instability and economic insecurity, it is heartening and instructive to reflect back on the origins of the Plowshares movement. Over and over in the last 40 years, small groups of activists have gained entry to military installations, warships, submarines, missile silos, weapons manufacturer's office parks and warehouses, air shows, communication hubs and other sites. They have carried bibles and banners, densely researched indictments, blood, hammers and other household tools. More than a hundred of these actions have happened since the Plowshares Eight, and the activists involved have cumulatively spent lifetimes in jails and prisons.
As a priest, my dad has resisted the Vietnam War, trespassed and destroyed property -- at that earlier time, it was the draft records that were calling young men to the killing fields of Indochina. While inviting his older brother Daniel into this new nuclear age conspiracy, Dad called it "a second Catonsville," referring to their May 1968 draft board raid. In a letter included in Daniel Cosacchi and Eric Martin's "The Berrigan Letters," Dad wrote to Dan that; "Quite nearby and we hope, accessible, lies a noxious toy assembly line to which stalwarts may gain entry for an admiring view and perhaps something more."
It is a testament to their well-honed connection and commitment that Uncle Dan did not need a decoder ring to parse out the meaning here. That letter was written on March 4, 1980, and after just six months of planning, the eight acted. In their action statement they declared: "We come to GE to beat swords into plowshares and to expose the criminality of nuclear weapons and corporate piracy. We want to expose the lethal lie spun by GE through its motto 'we bring good things to life.' At GE, darkness shuts out light, death reigns over life. GE is helping the Pentagon prepare for atomic holocaust."
Arrested and jailed, tried and found guilty, my father and his friends faced 25 years in jail. My brother Jerry and I were 5 and 6 years old at the time, and our sister Kathleen was conceived in the midst of the trial. The dire consequences did not temper the activists' spirits or dull their courage. In fact, they were so adamant that they carried their resistance into the courtroom, turning their backs on Judge Salus when he refused to admit some of their expert witnesses and walking out of the court house and heading back to General Electric for a demonstration. When they refused to return to court the next day, vigiling again at the gates of GE instead, they were arrested there and brought back to court in cuffs. In the end, four of the eight received sentences of 3-10 years, three were sentenced to 1.5 -5 years, and Molly Rush, a first-time offender, got 2-5 years.
That first Plowshares action set off a chain reaction. Over the last 40 years, there have been more than 100 similar actions. People are attracted to, and inspired by, the alchemic mixture of symbolic disarmament and real transformation that carries through the action, jail witness, courtroom saga and time in prison. It is a long haul commitment that measures effectiveness in the ineffable stirrings of conscience, the trim-tab turnings toward nonviolence, new strands of conversation and musings -- rather than in Senate bills passed, dollars raised or ground gained.
Arthur Laffin, who compiled "Swords Into Plowshares: Nonviolent Direct Action for Disarmament, Peace, Social Justice," writes of the process of community building and prayer that is a key component of the Plowshares witness, sharing that "People who have been involved in Plowshares actions have undertaken a process of intense spiritual preparation, nonviolence training and community formation, and have given careful consideration to the risks involved. Plowshares activists, accepting full responsibility for their actions, remain at the site of their action so that they can publicly explain their witness."
Indeed, many see the prayer and preparation as the piece of the work that "makes the magic happen." My Uncle Dan recalled the furor around the action as they were first arrested. How did they gain entry? How did they know about the weapons? Was there a leak? Was there inside information? In "Swords Into Plowshares" Dan wrote "Of course we had inside information; of course there was a leak -- our informant is otherwise known in the New Testament as Advocate, Friend, Spirit. We had been at prayer for days."
From King of Prussia to Kings Bay, Georgia
My mother, Elizabeth McAlister, is a veteran of two Plowshares actions herself. Jonah House -- the community she, my father and their friends founded in the early 1970s -- was the incubator of countless others. Mom's most recent Plowshares action took place in April 2018, at the Kings Bay Naval Base in Georgia. She and six others gained entry to the 16,000-acre base on the 60th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination. They trekked through the night to reach sites on the base where nuclear weapons are celebrated and memorialized. Four of the group dismantled the memorials and marked office buildings with blood and messages. Mom and two others were apprehended as they tried to reach bunkers where Trident submarines are stored. Their banners read: "Nuclear Weapons: Illegal - Immoral" and "'The Ultimate Logic of Racism is Genocide' Dr. Martin Luther King" and "The Ultimate Logic of Trident is Omnicide."
"Nuclear weapons forfeit our future."
--Elizabeth McAlisterSix Trident submarines operate out of Kings Bay, and they are the likely launchers of a first-strike nuclear attack. They are armed with D5 missiles capable of traveling over 1,370 miles in less than 13 minutes, allowing for a U.S. nuclear strike anywhere on planet Earth within 15 minutes. The Navy plans to replace its aging fleet of Tridents with the Columbia-class submarine. These new submarines are estimated to cost $122.3 billion. In the indictment they carried on to the base, the Kings Bay Plowshares activists highlighted that "each day this program steals from all in our nation and world by its theft of much-needed resources."
In October 2019, they were tried and found guilty in relatively short order. The judge was willing to engage with the activists about their conscience and formation, but would not allow expert testimony about nuclear weapons, foreign policy or international law. In the end, it took her longer to instruct the jury than it took for the jury members to find the defendants guilty.
In January 2020, the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists moved the hands of the Doomsday Clock 20 seconds closer to midnight. We stand at 100 seconds to midnight, closer than ever before, because they say "Civilization-ending nuclear war -- whether started by design, blunder, or simple miscommunication -- is a genuine possibility. Climate change that could devastate the planet is undeniably happening. And for a variety of reasons that include a corrupted and manipulated media environment, democratic governments and other institutions that should be working to address these threats have failed to rise to the challenge."
Most of the Kings Bay Plowshares still await sentencing. Mom was sentenced to time served by video conference in June -- a surreal and dislocating experience that is now more and more common in our criminal justice system. Her co-defendants opted to postpone sentencing in hopes that it could be in person, but it is unclear if that will happen.
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Reaping the peace dividends
Last week, my mom and I sat at the edge of a playground watching my 6 and 8 year olds climb and jump. I asked her what she remembered of September 1980. "I remember the feeling of utter relief when I heard that your dad and the rest of the eight were still alive. I felt such gratitude that they were able to do the action without being hurt or damaged. Your dad, when I finally talked to him from jail, was tired but satisfied. He was prayerfully grateful."
My mom, who has spent years in prison after following her conscience, mused, "No one in their right mind wants to take these weapons on. No one wants to take on the consequences. Jail is dehumanizing and removes you from the people you love. Going up against that which defines the United States of America as 'number one' is terrifying. But, I think, that we can address these weapons of mass destruction and help people understand how wrong they are, how destructive they are. We can show people that these weapons take away from every good effort people engage in. They undercut everything we try to do. Nuclear weapons forfeit our future. But our 'no' is heard and inspires others."
Just as there is a direct line between King of Prussia and Kings Bay, we can also draw a line of inspiration and mutual respect between the actions of religiously-motivated nuclear disarmers and the (perhaps more secular) racial justice activists who are toppling, dismantling and replacing racist statues and monuments.
We hope that by the time we mark 50 years since the Plowshares Eight, we are erecting windmills for energy, planting sunflowers to detox the soil, practicing mutual aid, building community and finally prosecuting nuclear warfare and reaping the peace dividends that flower from global nuclear abolition.
50 Years Later, 'Catonsville 9' Burning of Vietnam Draft Notices Continues to Inspire
Despite knowing full well they would be arrested and likely imprisoned, the group did not flee the scene, but stayed as they prayed over the burning notices and waited for the police to arrive.
Along with Daniel, and his brother his brother Philip Berrigan, the other seven who made up the group included: David Darst, John Hogan, Tom Lewis, Marjorie Bradford Melville, Thomas Melville, George Mische, and Mary Moylan.
In their column this week, Democracy Now's Amy Goodman and Denis Moynihan recount the original protest and how it's been commemorated this year:
The 50th anniversary of the Catonsville Nine action was recently held, just blocks from the site where these committed activists burned the draft records. In 1968, the local draft board rented an office on the second floor of the local Knights of Columbus building. The Knights is a conservative Catholic organization and wanted nothing to do with the commemoration, so the official Maryland state historical roadside marker sits about 100 yards away, in front of the public library.
At the marker's dedication ceremony, one of the only two surviving members of the Catonsville Nine, Marjory Melville, walked with us to the scene of the "crime." When asked if, in retrospect, she would have done anything differently, she surveyed the empty parking lot, smiling, and said, "I would do it all over again." Her commitment was reminiscent of Dan Berrigan's, when he was finally arrested after being underground. A reporter asked, "What are your future plans?" Smiling, in handcuffs, Berrigan flashed a peace sign and shouted, "Resistance!"
Fifty years later, the action of the so-called "Catsonville 9" continues to inspire those opposed to the violence and suffering produced by U.S. empire and militarism. As the Baltimore Sun recently reported:
Frida Berrigan [daughter of Phil Berrigan] said the fearlessness and teamwork of the Catonsville Nine have informed her own activism. In 2005 and 2015, she and others traveled to Cuba in defiance of U.S. law, to protest the detention of terror suspects at the U.S. Naval base at Guantanamo Bay.
"We certainly felt like we were going in the spirit of Catonsville," she said.
Last month, a group of Catholic Workers infiltrated the Kings Bay Naval Submarine Base in St. Mary's, Georgia in order to protest the nuclear submarines stationed there and the U.S. imperialism and wars abroad they represent. Calling themselves the "Kings Bay 7," the group specifically cited the Cantonsville 9, as well as the example set by Martin Luther King Jr., as a source of strength and a model for their direct action.
"The Trident and all nuclear weapons are the cocked gun held to the head of the planet," wrote Clare Grady, one of the Kings Bay 7, in a recent letter from jail. "These omnicidal weapons embody all three of the triplets [of racism, extreme consumerism, and militarism] Dr. King spoke of, seeking global dominance for resources. This always has a racial dimension effecting people of color. Black, Brown, Indigenous Peoples are always on the receiving end of deadly force as empire seeks to maintain its global dominance."
And Mary Anne, another member of the group, added, "We must encourage each other to be the resistance needed to end empire. The U.S. government is gearing up to spend over a trillions of dollars on more nuclear weapons. And the U.S. government's ongoing airwars, like lethal and illegal use of MQ9 Reaper drones over Afghanistan and elsewhere is another continual killing many are blind to."
How Friends and Family Remember Daniel Berrigan
What impressed me most about Dan was his kindness, his support for the journey I was on, his unwavering reliance on God, and how even at that late stage in life he continued his lifelong mission for peace, never losing his sharp edge. This often came out in memorable one-liners. When I broke the hard news, for instance, that the bishop in my hometown would not let Dan speak with me at a church event, he lightheartedly quipped, "If that wouldn't have happened, I would have worried that I had sold out."
While the media have published many thorough obituaries on Dan since he died last weekend, most stuck to a straightforward recounting of the well-documented highlights of his remarkable life. In the interest of giving at least a small glimpse of this inspiring human being -- when the cameras weren't on -- we have collected memories and anecdotes that speak to Dan's character, conviction and wit, from some of the family and friends who knew him best.
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"The world is full of evil geniuses. But there are some good ones too. When I used to see my dear friend Dan, I would kiss his check and ask him how he was doing. He'd laugh like my existence was a joy worth a reaction. His most common response to asking how he was doing was one of my favorite gems: 'Better for the sight of you,' he'd say. In one brief phrase he offered such a precise and precious idea - I make the world around me better. In just his greeting, I was already healing, I was already more powerful. Genius. Good genius.
- Luke Nephew is a co-founder of The Peace Poets, a trainer with The Wildfire Project and an artist for Liberation.
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"I met Dan Berrigan in 1995 at a Pentagon protest. He asked me to walk him to the bathroom. We went into the Pentagon and used the facilities. As we stood there, Dan said "In the 1940s, some suggested they should turn this place into a hospital after the war." A few seconds later, he added, "In a way they did. It is the largest insane asylum in the world."
- Jeremy Scahill, a founding editor of The Intercept. He is an investigative reporter, war correspondent, and author of "Dirty Wars" and "Blackwater."
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Growing up, it was always a lot of anticipation and excitement when my uncles would come to visit Syracuse. It's hard to grasp the depth and intensity of the brother's lives, because growing up it was the norm. It was normal for me to spend weekends visiting my uncle in jail, having many people in and out of the house, to have reporters and police calling the house and sitting outside the house trying to get information. My fondest memories of my uncle include sitting around the living room with a couple of drinks, joking and telling the stories of their childhood days. He and his brothers would sit around for hours. He was an uncle who always showed up and was around for many big moments in my life.
- Philip Daniel Berrigan, nephew
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"I first met Father Berrigan in the hall of Lincoln Center at Fordham. He was teaching a class called 'Poems by Poets in Torment' that semester and I was determined to get a seat. Fordham did not allow freshmen to take classes at different campuses, so I was unable to register for the class. A senior who was registered for the class suggested I get a physical add/drop slip, see if Dan would sign it, and then turn it into the dean. The school might enter it into the system and once it was in they'd be unable to change it from their end.
So after the first day of class, I approached Dan in the hall and explained the situation. I wanted to be upfront, so I explained everything to him as clearly as I could. He stared at the slip for a few moments and then looked at me and said, 'So, we'll be breaking the rules?' I replied, 'Yes...' He took out a pen, and while scribbling his initials on the slip, said, 'Good! I hope it will be the first of many times.' He loved to make mischief, and I will forever love him for it.
- Patrick Stanley lives in Athens, Georgia with his wife and 3-year-old daughter. He spends his time repairing books and bicycles.
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"A few months after I had been with Witness For Peace in northern Nicaragua, I mentioned the experience to Dan and he responded, 'Why don't we go down there again?' He made the connection with our mutual friend, Gene Palumbo, a Catholic Worker living and working as a journalist in El Salvador, and in June of 1983 we were off. The trip prompted Dan's book 'The Steadfastness of the Saints.' For me it sealed my decision to spend some time in Central America.
Dan's intellect, humor and groundedness were always inspirations for me. But where our spiritual paths had a special affinity was in the value he placed on art. He voiced his concerns movingly in poetry; I was more interested in the formal issues of order and chaos in painting and sculpture. Dan's apartment in New York was filled with pictures and sculptures. Most were figurative and peace-related; a few of mine found a place there, but I doubted that Dan would have much to say about my major interest in metal sculpture with no narrative content.
In the mid-90s, while back from Guatemala for a few weeks, I was visiting Dan, and he suddenly suggested that we tape a conversation about my sculpture. I had some images from a calendar printed that year by the Jesuit university in Guatemala. A sculpture for each month was the focus, but like any good conversation, the focus was a catalyst for musings about poetry, art and social change. Dan's comments were as clear and impassioned as any I had heard from artists.
He entered my world, as he did so many others, with interest, curiosity, wit and intelligence. At the close of our conversation Dan commented, 'I don't know, I can't give thanks loud enough.' That mirrors perfectly my own feelings, and makes his parting a bit more bearable.
- Dennis Leder, S.J. is a Jesuit priest and artist, who lives in Guatemala.
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- Mark E. Lang and Alison J. Murphy are a New York-based actor couple. Their current project is a biographical play about the actor couple Lunt and Fontanne.
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It was in 1999 that I first met Dan, and began a friendship that will remain one of the most important of my life. Dan had led a retreat that I attended, and when he needed a ride to the train station after the retreat ended, I jumped at the opportunity to spend an hour in the car with this person who had become a mythic figure, a hero in my life. I'm fairly certain that I spoke at breakneck speed for the first 45 minutes of the ride -- me going through my list of questions and Dan patiently listening. Then finally and mercifully, he stopped me. With that mischievous smile and twinkle in his eye that I would be fortunate to see so many times over the coming years, Dan said that he had one answer to every question I had asked.
Dan was known to occasionally make up words sometimes. With the gift of his words, his wit, his friendship, and his example of living the answers, I wish I had the ability to create a word to encompass what this priest, and poet, and prophet meant and continues to mean to me. I feel like an anchor, a touchstone, is now gone. And yet, what an incredible thing to have shared some time on this earth with Dan Berrigan. Of all the times to live, and people to live with -- I can't think of any better. And now. What an incredible responsibility we all have. A gift really. To carry Dan's spirit, and his work forth in community. Dan Berrigan. Rest in the peace you fought so hard for."
- Matt Daloisio is a member of Witness Against Torture and the New York Catholic Worker. He is also on the board of the War Resisters League.
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"In 2007, while I was on a 3,300-mile walk across the United States for genocide awareness (the Journey for Humanity), I recall talking on the phone with friends from Kairos, the peace community Dan helped found. Having discussed the media outreach work we were doing with mixed results, Bud Courtney reminded me that Dan taught us to 'do good for the sake of good itself,' so it's sometimes important not to fixate our minds on 'results' or 'success' per se. That's what I needed then, and I've never forgotten it.
Years later, at a Kairos meeting with Dan, I learned about a certain medical doctor who treated him for a small cyst in a New York hospital. It turned out that this doctor wanted to thank Dan because his was one of the draft cards burned in Catonsville, Maryland. 'That action spared my life,' he said, 'and I used it to get a medical degree. Now I'm here to take care of you, Fr. Dan.' Had Dan and the rest of the Catonsville Nine been seeking proof of results, they may not have simply acted in protest of that war and its draft. And yet, by the witness of Dan's long and beautiful life, the truth is affirmed that results can come in the most unpredictable of ways -- if only we do good for the sake of good itself in the present moment."
- Ed Majian, president and founder of Sartonk, a student of Zen and philosophy, and a magician with an emphasis on the spirit of social justice.
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Dan Berrigan will always be associated with his daring and courageous public resistance to war: Catonsville, going underground and eluding the FBI, appearing on the cover of Time magazine and hammering on nuclear weapons. But I remember him most as a brother Jesuit who patiently listened to my questions, fears and hopes. For the quality of his presence. For his generosity in responding to letters. For his deference to the experience and wisdom of other people in the room. And for his often small and subtle but always poetic and prophetic challenges to our common ways of thinking and acting.
Dan didn't want people to follow him. He wanted people to follow the Gospel. He repeatedly encouraged me, 'Stay focused on the Gospel and let the rest take care of itself.' He wrote to our young resistance community in Chicago: 'The formula has been deceptively simple; open the Bible together as a discipline of holy literacy, be attentive to the spirit of the words, see where they lead.'
Dan has challenged and inspired so many young Jesuits who are involved in the peace and ecological movements, anti-racism work, and the accompaniment of migrants. The work continues. Dan paved the way for us and helped us to imagine that protest and resistance and even civil disobedience are not only possible for Jesuits but essential to our vocation as human beings and as followers of the crucified and risen Christ.
- Luke Hansen, S.J., a former associate editor of the Jesuit journal America, is a student at the Jesuit School of Theology, a graduate school of Santa Clara University, in Berkeley, California.
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I believe it was 1968 that Philadelphia Quakers' largest gathering, the Yearly Meeting, invited Daniel Berrigan to be the keynote speaker. The weighty Friend Lyle Tatum was chosen to introduce him. In Lyle's introduction he said that, several centuries ago, Quakers Ann Austin and Mary Fisher had walked from Northwest England to Rome to try, as Lyle said, "to convert the Pope to Christianity." At that, Dan laughed as heartily as the rest of us. When he stepped to the microphone to speak, his first words were, "I hope you'll keep trying." For me, Daniel Berrigan was a model of how to focus on a point of passionate conviction and at the same time keep the broad perspective that supports a sense of humor.
- George Lakey is a columnist with Waging Nonviolence and co-founder of the Earth Quaker Action Group.
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"It was the first day of a class called 'Revelation: The Nightmare of God.' Father Dan explained the mark of the beast. The Roman empire used to tattoo DC on people, which stood for Divine Caesar. It meant that you were recognizing Caesar as holy and you were declaring that you would worship the empire. At the end of class, he said 'Alright, for our next class, don't show up here.' The class murmurs a general huh? 'We'll meet at Bryant Park and 42nd Street. From there we will march to the U.S. Military Recruiting Station because that is where they put the mark of Caesar on people today.' My classmates and I looked at each other with eyebrows raised.
Two days later, our class marched through the busy chaos of 42nd Street. We walked slowly and in silence, carrying cardboard coffins. The pictures some of the people carried showed people shredded by bombs and women wailing at the sky. When we arrived, our teacher and about 12 others locked arms and stood in front of the door of the recruiting station. Inside, the military men looked confused and tried to open the door, but the group refused to move. Class had turned into a march, and it was now turning into direct action. Our teacher was teaching by example. Within 10 minutes the little triangle in the middle of Times Square was covered with NYPD, who were ordering the protesters to leave. Instead of obeying the police orders, they were singing.
My classmates and I watched in awe as they made a final order for them to leave and their only response was a beautiful rebellious version of 'We Shall Overcome.' Somewhere deep in my heart I wanted so bad to believe. Minutes later, our teacher and his fellow peacemakers were being tossed in the back of the paddy wagon. The salty water of profound sadness in his eyes, our teacher gave us a solemn nod as if to say, 'This is the bare minimum of what is necessary.' The truth appeared stark and brutal. Our family is murdering our family and the rest of this city is rushing off to work -- too exhausted to notice or too complicit to dare acknowledge these wars.
This is a funeral procession. It is not just symbolic when there were people being murdered by war yesterday and today. These people getting arrested are refusing to let that happen without an act of resistance. The paddy wagon shut its doors. The police ordered the crowd to disperse. The blue and red lights flashed across the scene and our teacher was driven deeper into the belly of the beast. Class dismissed. Education commenced."
- Luke Nephew is a co-founder of The Peace Poets, a trainer with The Wildfire Project and an artist for Liberation.
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"In 2004, I asked Dan if I could interview him for the New York Catholic Worker paper and he declined. But we struck up a correspondence anyway. My son had entered the military in May of that year and I was despondent. My son was at Fort Benning, Georgia where my brother had trained nearly 40 years prior, and Granny had visited him there. My brother was sent to Vietnam.
Dan helped bring me back into my Catholic faith through his gentle love and support. He was still grieving his brother Phil's death two years prior and so we shared our grief through letters, not really knowing each other personally. I met him in person (other than seeing him when I was a child) in 2006, at his 85th birthday celebration. The moment he saw my face he turned away. He loved [my grandmother] Dorothy so much. We will miss him sorely just as we miss Dorothy. But we still have each other and the Eucharist, as Dan has said. Beloved community."
- Martha Hennessy, granddaughter of Dorothy Day, divides her time between family in Vermont and volunteering at Maryhouse Catholic Worker.
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"I was fortunate enough to have made a visit to Dan on April 22, Earth Day, and only a couple days before he became gravely ill. I arrived just as Dan was coming from chapel and midday mass. I joined him in the dining room for lunch. He was especially expressive that day, asking questions and commenting on various things. He pointed out the beauty of the planters in the solarium and made sure I saw them. When I offered him his coffee cup, he raised it to me and so we toasted. After a bit more back and forth, Margaret wheeled him to his room where he admired the bright, pink daisy I had put in his room. We chatted a bit longer and then I began to sense he was running out of steam. I asked if I could do anything for him before I left. He asked that I lower his blinds. I did that, then kissed him goodbye. I took his hand and he gave me a little reassuring squeeze. I said 'peace' to him and he replied 'peace.'"
- Mary Berrigan, niece
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"In 1981 I traveled from California to the East Coast to visit a number of foreign policy think tanks as part of my research for a book project on the consequences of the nuclear arms race. No one I spoke with could envision a world free of atomic weapons. At most, they thought we might be able to cut back on nuclear weapons by dramatically increasing conventional ones. Each appointment left me more and more depressed, and finally, when I arrived in New York, I suddenly thought to call Dan. I was in need of some pastoral counseling on the matter of nuclear weapons, and who better to see? We had never met, but he graciously welcomed me to his quarters.
For several hours, he shared with me his vision, which essentially boiled down to this: 'We live in a culture of death -- and it is up to us to resist it.' There was a lifetime of experience behind these words and I felt the weight of them. Then, as we were coming to the end of our time, I said, 'Dan, I'm going back to the West Coast. What can I do for you?' He then delivered a point-blank missive: 'Don't do anything for me. Find some people you can pray with and march with.' This handful of syllables hit their mark all those years ago, and I have done my best to practice them. Following his plain and provocative order, I did as he asked -- and my life took an unexpected detour onto a road of nonviolent transformation that I am still, in fits and starts, traveling. Dan, I am grateful for your mighty journey -- and the one it inspired in me and countless others."
- Ken Butigan is director of Pace e Bene, a nonprofit organization fostering nonviolent change through education, community and action.
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"Early on in his priesthood, Dan would say mass for a nunnery in Brooklyn that my aunt, Sr. Rene Donovan, belonged to. When I was a young man protesting the war (in 1970-71) my aunt shared a story about Fr. Berrigan. She said she liked him but many of the nuns did not. Why? Because most of them had to shove off to jobs, and needed to grab a quick breakfast, get up and out. She said Dan would say each mass, each word, with such feeling and pause after many lines in contemplation. He was feeling the words, and reliving the experience of the cross when he said each mass. She said many of the sisters would be looking at their watches, sighing, and relieved if they got a priest who would just zip through mass without any pausing."
- Anthony Donovan, hospice nurse and filmmaker. His latest documentary is "Good Thinking," about those who tried to halt nuclear weapons.
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My uncle Dan stood up against injustices in the world because it was the right thing to do. He saw changes that needed to be made and took action to make said changes. He became the voice for people whose voices couldn't be heard. To me, he will always be my uncle Dan with the sparkly blue eyes, bright smile and an affinity for sweets. A man who loved a good laugh and reminiscing on the past. His impact on others has been profound and he continues to inspire me to be determined, passionate in my beliefs, teach others and continue to make a difference every day.
- Jenn Berrigan, grandniece
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