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Not endless Discussion, Real Disarment Now -Ulla's Story

Ulla Roder | 25.06.2003 12:49 | No War F15 | Repression | Social Struggles

I looked at the seat in the cockpit in the streamlined white Tornado warplane, which I had just entered. In my mind I had the picture of a young pilot, boy, son, father; the many years of fear for the people of Iraq; for their survival; for a new world war nuclear war; fear of losing the little bit of freedom we people have left in this world, to a state which has officially declared that it wants "Full Spectrum Dominance" on earth as well as in space and which has shown all willingness and cynicism to use whatever means of power to gain this. All this made me lift the red and black bolt-cutters in my hand. Crash! I shouted out aloud in the hangar. There was no-one to hear, but it helped. "We don't want your war, Bush and Blair!" This for all the dead civilians in Iraq and all the children still suffering at poor hospitals, caused by 12 years of sanctions against civilians. Crash! The control panel was out of commission.

The echo of the hammering was still in the air when I started on the wings. The hard surface resisted my attempts. This for my disabled friend who cannot afford a decent wheelchair. This for my other disabled friend who daily has to crawl up a stone stairway outside his house, because a proper house with disabled access cannot be provided for him and his family. This for all the marginalised people, the sick and older folks; this for all the people in poverty whose basic needs are not fulfilled; this in hope for the future of our children in the world. I had done enough.

The nose cone got the rest of my anger and all the energy I had. Lies! Disarmament treaties and negotiations thirty years! International law! Ignorance! All lies to buy time for the weapon industries and military to re-arm for the warfare of the 21st Century. Shame! Shame! Shame on all nuclear weapon states. Shame for all the time the courts have ignored the arguments of ordinary people. Now really tired, I slammed the bolt-cutters down on the back of the plane. This for all the arrogance from intelligent, learned people, who have never glanced long enough into the eyes of a young drug addict to understand why they suffer, but coldhearted send them away for shoplifting for their daily needs instead of giving them access to proper treatment because that is too expensive. A fiver a week or you go to prison! Problem solved. Then I returned to the cockpit and silently put the bolt-cutters down. On top I placed a piece of bread and in silence I symbolically shared it with all the hungry breaking off small pieces and spreading it around, praying for peace and justice in the world. I then went down to two fuel containers on the ground looking like two ugly fat bombs . On each was placed the sign: TO THE GULF. I put my last bit of bread on each of the signs. My job was done. No more will anyone face the horrors of war from that plane. One more war machine was disarmed. I felt a deep inner peace.

I now waited for someone to arrive. After a while I was very respectfully and peacefully detained and led away, while the alarm sounded through the whole base. Good! More delay in the preparations for war.

And now I am facing a trial, maybe for £25 million pounds worth of damage more than my entire family will earn in a lifetime by hard and decent work. A Tornado costs £70 million pounds. We paid for this plane and we will pay for all the other planes I saw out there that night, being got ready for an illegal war.

All this world needs is love.


Ulla Roder
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