January 1985

Peace Wars

As the elegant redhead from Il Tiempo approached my signs, her eyes were wide with amazement. The notebook in her gloved hand bounced with emphasis as she snapped, "What's wrong with you people? I thought your message was supposed to be about peace? How can you expect anyone to believe you if you can't get along among yourselves?" Concepcion had been speaking harshly about me, she said.

My heart sank. "Here we again," I thought with despair. "Please, don't judge us all by the behavior of one," I said aloud, then tried to explain Connie's rage, which only compounded the problem, and the need to commit our lives to the reversal of the threat of nuclear war. But I could see, no matter how eloquent my appeal, the damage had been done. Here was one more already-skeptical reporter made hostile by Connie's paranoia.