By Suhail Shafi
 
In the summer of 2008 when I started telling my friends and colleagues I was moving from Buffalo to Alabama, the reactions I encountered from people were as much a reflection of the deep seated prejudices in many American minds about the Deep South as they were a sign of concern for my own well being.

"No! Reconsider! Do not move to Alabama, they’re going to eat you down there" one of my coworkers told me. "What’s this I hear about you moving to Alabama", a friend asked chidingly. "They are just way too redneck and backwoods down there". "The Alabamians" deadpanned my former landlord – "aren’t they kind of uncouth?"

In all fairness, many Buffalonians did speak highly of Southern hospitality, fine cuisine, the famously relaxed lifestyle, and of course the year round sunshine – the latter was particular a source of envy for many sun-starved Western New Yorkers. But the attitudes seemed decidedly ambivalent – many northerners think of southerners as being somewhat laid back, relaxed, less than worldly, and, let’s face it, just plain different from their cousins north of Dixie. As an antiwar activist I could not help thinking that even as the senseless wars in Afghanistan and Iraq rage on, with their untold damage to the American psyche, prestige and national coffer, the relics and vestiges of the American Civil war linger on, ever so subtly in the mindset of ordinary folk, manifesting themselves as what could be perhaps considered a North-South divide.

Northerners are seen as liberal, worldly, secular, progressive, and outward looking, and generally hostile to the wars overseas. Southerners on the other hand are viewed as being conservative, family oriented, devout – as well nationalistic to the point of being gung-ho supporters of hard-line foreign policies. While these preconceived notions do of course conceal huge diversities in viewpoints and lifestyles, they explain why as an antiwar activist, I was prepared to encounter far less enthusiasm for my views in Alabama than I did in Buffalo.

Finding an outlet for my antiwar views in a small town in Alabama home to the US Military’s largest helicopter training facility, Fort Rucker, has proven something of a challenge. Not that I have kept my views a secret – my tiny little car seems out of place in a town full of SUVs and trucks, even without its prominent ``Attack Iran ? NO’’ and ``End this war’’ stickers. Many of my friends warned me that bumper stickers proclaiming opposition to the war were a bad idea in a supposedly redneck area, and that I was either incredibly brave or extraordinarily dumb (maybe both) to keep the antiwar stickers on my car. But to give credit where it is due, not once have I been the target of hostility due to my antiwar bumper stickers, nor has my car been vandalized - in a town where almost half the jobs are with the military. Rural Alabama may not be a bastion of progressive views, but neither is it necessarily intolerant of them.

I had hoped to join a local antiwar organization. Some of my fondest memories of Buffalo are from the weekly antiwar vigils at Bidwell Park, holding up placards to the enthusiasm and occasional hostility of the passing motorists. I also had the opportunity to see luminaries like Cindy Sheehan and Col. Ann Wright give speeches in person, visit Washington DC three times in one year to attend rallies, have my letters published in the local press, and volunteer with the Western New York Peace Center. Most rewarding of all I had the chance to meet, know, and make friends with so many humble and conscientious antiwar activists who taught me enough compassion, idealism and determination to last a lifetime.

Ozark, Alabama does not have the same antiwar community.

But its proximity to Columbus, GA meant that I had the chance last November to participate in one of the biggest events in the antiwar calendar. I attended the School of the Americas protest outside the gates of Fort Benning. The place where any number of Latin American torturers and sadists were trained is now a focal point for antiwar activists from across the US. They protest there yearly, calling not just for the much reviled military base to be shut down, but also, for a truly just and ethical foreign policy to become the order of the day.

The town I live in is also a four hour drive from Atlanta, the New York City of the south. This meant that over the New Year, while the world watched in horror as the Gaza Strip was mercilessly pounded by Israeli warplanes, I channeled my sadness and outrage into a long car trip to Atlanta to participate in rallies calling for an end to the violence and freedom for Palestinians. And in order to show that the determination to call for an end to the senseless war in Iraq has not waned with the election of Barack Obama to the White House, I even flew from Atlanta to Washington on the sixth anniversary of the invasion.

One of the most rewarding moments in all these activities are the times when a fellow antiwar activist with the International Action Center in Atlanta, manages to run into me again and again, only to exclaim joyously - "Oh you did it again, you came all the way from Alabama". Yes, we think globally and act locally – we feel a sense of pain, sadness and helplessness at the world’s myriad of injustices – but channel those sentiments into positive energy through activism, vigils, protests, petitions – and ultimately political action, exemplified by the changing of the guard in Washington. That ability to convert negative sentiments into positive actions, with the ultimate aim of achieving a world with no more injustice, is one that is inherent in the antiwar movement.

And having moved from upstate New York to heart of Wiregrass country, I can attest this is as true in the arch-traditional South as it is in liberal, worldly New York.