By Greg Guma Global Research, December 31, 2013, Maverick Media
In September 1948, when delegates to the young United Nations met at the grand Palais de Chailot in Paris, a twenty-something American wearing the flak jacket of a bomber pilot pitched a tent on the Palais steps. Guards descended and angrily ordered him to leave, but he politely declined.
I’m no longer in France, the man explained, eyes twinkling. I’m standing on “international territory.”
As
a crowd gathered, so did the world press. With days the name of this
pilot-turned-peacenik, Garry Davis, was known around the world.
Newsreels captured a mounting drama that featured curious crowds,
inspired celebrities and perplexed authorities.
When
a reporter asked Davis what he was about, he replied, “I’m a world
citizen.” With that simple assertion a global movement was born.
Garry
Davis, who died on July 24, 2013 just shy of 92 years old, was part
rebel, part performer and completely original, a world-class Don Quixote
who for more than half a century jousted at the biggest windmill of all
– nationalism. It was a wild ride that took him around the world, in
and out of 34 jails, and across countless frontiers.
After
renouncing his US citizenship as an anti-war protest, camping out in
Paris, and crashing a UN session to deliver a speech, Davis launched his
first major organizing project, a registry for world citizens. More
than a million people responded to the call. Forced out of France, he
next went on tour, stateless and without documents. This time thousands
of people turned out to meet him and local governments passed supportive
resolutions. Yet, over the next few years he was also repeatedly
thrown in jail and deported.
In
1953, for example, while he was appearing as an actor in a London stage
production of Stalag 17, the show closed unexpectedly when the Queen
died, and Davis found himself without a visa. A kindly magistrate gave
him an idea: build a home on public property. But he was arrested anyway
and taken to Brixton prison.
Officials
there laughed at first when Davis wrote to the new Queen. But they had
to eat some crow when she responded with a thank you note. She would not
step in, Her Majesty explained, but she did appreciate his situation.
Three
years later, wearing a homemade uniform and carrying a “World Passport”
he had printed himself, Davis traveled to India. Necessity was helping
him to become adept at intimidating low-level bureaucrats and exploiting
the local media. His discussions with border officials were often
hilarious, exposing the arbitrary rules and artificial boundaries of
nations. But once inside country, he shifted focus to study with a
Buddhist guru. The break also helped clarify his mission and prepare him
for the next phase of the journey.
At
this point, for Davis, world government already existed. After all, he
had announced its formation in a 1953 declaration. Before a small
audience in Ellsworth, Maine, he had called it the World Government of
World Citizens, and explained that its legitimacy was based on three
laws – one God, one world, and one humankind. And although he was only
one person, all humans were potential world citizens. They just needed
to “claim their rights and assume their responsibilities.” Yet Davis
also understood that many more people would have to reach the same
awareness before things began to change.
In
the early years, the tactics Davis used sometimes put not only his
freedom but his life at risk. A year after his stay in India, for
instance, Davis was almost shot before he could show his passport in
Germany. It happened in Berlin after he left his bicycle near a barbed
wire fence that separated East from West. Crawling under the wire in a
pre-dawn mist, he was caught by several gun-toting police, arrested,
interrogated, and ultimately put on a train to West Germany.
As
the scenery passed he could not help but remember another view of the
same countryside — from the cockpit on his bomber during the war – and
also what the experience had taught him. “We are born as citizens of the
world,” he realized. “But we are also born into a divided world, a
world of separate entities called nations. We may regard each other as
friends, and yet we are separated by wide, artificial boundaries.”
Garry
Davis spent the rest of his life trying to change that. One of his main
strategies was to develop and issue documents, including the
extraordinary World Passport. Recognized on a case-by-case basis by more
than 100 countries – and officially by a handful – the passport has
evolved into a convincing document in seven languages, issued to at
least a million people over the years. Davis often argued that the right
to travel, outlined in the passport, was grounded in the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights.
Just as important as the fundamental
right involved, however, was knowing how to use tools like the passport
and other identity documents. As explained in Passport to Freedom, a
book we co-authored in 1991, many nations have accepted World Passports
and other documents issued by the World Service Authority, the
non-profit organization Davis founded. But step one in effectively using
them is to know what you are talking about. “The official, as part of
the machine, knows little more than his narrow function and the
regulations on which it is based. When you ask questions, you shift the
burden of responsibility.”
Other steps include remaining cool,
going to the top of the chain of command as soon as possible, always
assuming you are right, keeping track on your paperwork, choosing the
right words, looking good, and remaining firm. It’s basic but solid
advice for anyone who has to deal with arbitrary authority. That said,
over the years Davis refined the approach into a long-running piece of
political performance art that he repeatedly took around the world.
In
April 1984, for example, he arrived at Tokyo’s Narita Airport. At this
point Davis was already in his 60s and could look like an elder
statesman if he wished. Determined as ever, he was nevertheless detained
after a mind-boggling exchange and told he could not enter the country.
The next night, however, when the authorities attempted to put him on a
return flight, he protested so effectively that the captain threw him
off the plane.
A day later he escaped from detention and went downtown for public interviews at a daily newspaper.
When
he was caught, the Japanese put Davis in detention, then on a plane for
Seattle. There he was told that he would be placed on trial for
entering the US illegally. He was now classified as an “excludable
alien,” the officials claimed. It was beginning to look like he was
trapped in a Kafka-like tale.
Two
weeks after setting out for Japan, Davis stood before a US immigration
judge. Both governments were refusing to admit him. ‘Quite a dilemma,”
mused Judge Jones. But before he could decide how to handle the
convoluted case, a telex arrived from Washington, DC. The news was
almost inconceivable: Davis’ entire file had somehow been “lost.”
As a result the Seattle case was closed and the world citizen was free to go.
Five years later Davis was back in
Japan. This time he opened an office in Tokyo and helped many
undocumented workers and Chinese students who were fleeing repression.
For them the World Passport and other documents meant proof of identity,
access to a job, or a way to get from one place to another.
During
this extended visit, Davis met the Japanese Prime Minister and had a
private, personal talk with Andrei Sakharov. The Cold War was winding
down then, and the Soviet Union would soon dissolve. Like Davis,
Sakharov had reached the conclusion that it was time to move beyond
nationalism and create a democratic world government.
After
more than a year of looking the other way, however, Japanese
Immigration eventually decided to pounce and had Davis arrested in July
1990. He was jailed for several weeks and questioned each day by the
same immigration official who had handled his original case more than
five years earlier. Gradually, Davis managed to convince this man his
claim to world citizenship made sense. The Japanese deported him anyway.
When
Davis landed in Los Angeles in August 1990, he fully expected to be
arrested again. This time he was handled a letter instead. It announced
that the Secretary of State had unilaterally decided to classify him as a
“parolee in the public interest” and let him go.
During
this period Davis moved to Vermont, a safe haven that remained his home
for the rest of his life. However, he never stopped fighting for his
vision for a world without borders. In July 2013, just a week before he
died, Davis was still finding ways to spread the word. At this point NSA
whistleblower Edward Snowden was trapped in a Moscow airport after his
US passport was revoked. For Davis the response was obvious: the World
Service Authority would issue him one.
The
World Passport did not reach Snowden, but Davis made his point one last
time. “All we’re doing is conforming to the idea that human rights must
be protected by law,” he told reporters. “The world passport opens the
door. Anyone can get it; everyone is a human being, everyone has a right
to travel.’”
Greg Guma knew Garry Davis for more than 20 years, co-authoring and editing two of his books, Passport to Freedom: A Guide for World Citizens and Dear World: A Global Odyssey. A memorial service for Davis will be held at Burlington City Arts in Burlington, Vermont on January 5, 2014 at 3 p.m.
Bob Marley agreed and he's dead, too. Cancer? Gout? He, Bob, didn't make it as long as Garry Davis in years, but SPIRIT? The spirit of Bob and Garry are now agreeing together in an unseen as well as seen 'plane' of 'energy'. Thank the spirits for spiritual truths/tbc
ReplyDelete