In January 1970 I became a hero overnight in Puerto Rico. There was an ongoing struggle over the status of the island—whether it should become a U. S. state, remain a commonwealth, or be an independent country. In this conflict two approaches had developed, one nonviolent and the other violent. In recent years, those with the nonviolent orientation have been the most active, organizing many demonstrations and political actions.

In 1970 the U. S. Navy announced that it was planning a major target-practice exercise and invited other South American countries, including Brazil and Argentina, to join in the exercise. The target at which they were aiming was the small island of Culebra, close to—and considered part of—Puerto Rico. Culebra is populated by people of Spanish descent and by cattle. Some cattle had been killed by occasional bomb misfires, and of course there was danger to people as well. In fact, the island had been used for many years by the U. S. Navy for occasional target practice after the population had been moved from one part of the island to another—against the will of the people. This remained a source of continuing resentment both on Culebra and on Puerto Rico itself.

The nonviolent "independistas" decided to use the naval exercise as an opportunity for a major demonstration. They planned to march on the part of the island where the bombing would take place and camp there as long as necessary to prevent the bombing. The organizers decided to invite a few members of CNVA in order to show there was support in the United States. Eight of us volunteered, arriving two days before the planned demonstration. We learned that part of the plan was to build a church as a symbolic act because when the people had been moved, a church had been torn down. This fact was in part responsible for the anger that still smoldered in the local people. When the Puerto Ricans showed us the design for the church, we expressed the opinion that the church was too small—more "like a dog house." They turned to me, "the special builder for CNVA," and asked if I could do better. I said they should get more material and bring it from the mainland by ferry. I designed the church as a prefab so that we could cut the parts in advance with power tools and carry them to the site.

The Navy had been busy in anticipation of our demonstration and had brought in their Sea Bees (who can build whole airports in twenty-four hours when necessary). They constructed a tall wire fence across the entire island to keep us out. When we arrived at their fence, the commander in charge read an official notice warning us that we were not permitted beyond the gate. Well, according to Spanish law, by which the island was still governed, all of the shoreline is open to the public. All we had to do was walk along the fence to the water's edge, go around the fence, and stay on the beach. Navy officials apparently assumed they could arrest us once we were on the beach, but the law gave us permission to be there, and one of our group had the legal papers to prove it.

When the Sea Bees realized that their fence was not going to stop us, they tried to wrest the pieces of wood from our members, who numbered forty or more. A tug of war ensued, all of which was being recorded by television reporters and photographers. "The Marine commander suddenly came to his senses and yelled 'Negative!' The Marines withdrew in uncertain order, even returning the lumber already taken—and the next day a San Juan Star headline read, 'Navy beats retreat in beach invasion'" (Robert Swann, "Culebra: Island Besieged," The Nation, March 1, 1971, pg. 263).

We went to work with the prefab parts and had the building up by nightfall—much to the chagrin of the Sea Bees, who stood at a respectful distance making derogatory remarks, at least until we completed the building; then they began to respect us. That night we had a party. Dozens of friends came from the main island with food, drinks, and music. Everyone in Puerto Rico had heard the news or seen it on TV. The Sea Bees had been ordered not to fraternize, but with all the fun going on, some of them couldn't resist. In the darkness they took off their military clothes and joined in. The next day the front page of the San Juan Star had a picture, nearly half the size of the page, of our church with its two-by-four-foot cross.

After eight days Washington had enough; orders came down to "arrest those guys if they won't leave." Six men volunteered to stay and be arrested. All six (including one American) were sent to jail. One, of the six told me as he was about to be arrested that he had resisted the idea of nonviolence: "'Not until today have I understood how powerful nonviolence is. We have stopped the Navy, and they are powerless to do anything about it. Now I am ready to go to jail.'" ("Culebra: Island Besieged," p. 264) Years later, one of the Puerto Rican demonstrators was elected to the local legislature.

Much later, in 1982 Susan Witt, my partner, and I decided to go to Puerto Rico on vacation. Because I had told Susan about my experience on the island of Culebra, she wanted to see the church. When we arrived on the ferry, the first thing we noticed was a bus with the sign "Flamingo Beach." We hopped the bus, along with a couple of dozen young Puerto Ricans going to the beach. When we got there, my eye caught sight of the church building I had designed. It was being used as a shed for picnicking. The entire former military-target area had been turned into a public park, which dozens of people were using right now! We asked the bus driver what had happened. He told us that after the demonstration the U. S. military had torn down the church but just left the material lying there. After the United States returned the island to Puerto Rico two years later, the local people rebuilt the church.