Peace Button

— 16 March 2026 —

[I wrote this piece in 2003, when the US invaded Iraq, while I was living in Washington, D.C. Twenty-three years later, with history repeating itself in an even more heinous and horrifying way, I felt like posting it here.]

Peace Button

~ Shivani Chaudhry ~

I’ve been wearing a peace button and a ‘no war’ button every day, to express my opposition to the illegal invasion of Iraq. They can’t see the peace in my eyes or in my heart, so I need this badge to show them what I feel.

Washington, D.C. is really the belly of the beast. A strange place to be in at a strange time. Many here seem afraid of saying anything. Afraid of the repressive state machinery, afraid of being questioned, afraid of confrontation, afraid of being arrested, afraid of being judged. It is sometimes easier not to take a stand. It is sometimes safer to be silent.

But for me, silence is consent. So I wear this peace button. It speaks louder than words. People see it; many ignore it, some react to it. Eye contact is something most people avoid these days. But I make it a point to look at people. To try and read their eyes and the feelings behind them. To make a human connection. Often, I sense their discomfort. It’s as if I’ve crossed this forbidden line by looking at them; invaded their privacy by acknowledging their presence in a shared physical space.

From those who do look at me, I get all kinds of glances. Deathly stares, looks of suspicion (brown + anti-war = potential danger?), of disagreement, of contempt, but also of support and encouragement. Almost every day there’s someone who shows me a peace sign—in the metro, on the street, in the grocery store. I hear random shouts of “peace” from across the street, or “go girl,” or just “yeah!” Sometimes, it’s just a warm smile of solidarity. Young and old people often stop to talk to me on the street. Strangers, passers-by, people who just want to crib about the current situation, vent their frustration, or express their support. People who feel they can say what they want to and be safe. Because they can gauge my reaction. Of course; it’s written on this button.

And then something strange happens. The statue of Saddam Hussein falls in Baghdad, and the media blares that Iraq has been ‘liberated’. Ah, the perversion of a perfectly sound word, that reduces freedom to a false symbol. The imperious inversion of the words ‘aggressor’ and ‘saviour’. The amnesic power of a singular image that erases all the ones before it. Limbless children, shattered skulls, detonated homes, ravaged cities, haunted streets, strewn corpses. The thousands of homeless, hungry, ill, grieving, distressed, displaced people... all forgotten? I gasp. Forget the argument about being unpatriotic, now it’s just so passé to be anti-war. It was all ‘justified’, they declare. ‘You were wrong’, they seem to say. ‘Wake up’, I want to scream.

I feel oddly betrayed, and saddened. 

The voices for peace seem more subdued. But there’s still the woman on the street who hugs me when she sees my peace button. The construction worker who gives me a flying kiss. The bartender who doesn’t ask for my ID, because he says he trusts someone who wears a peace sign. The young man in the train who whispers, “I’m with you.” The father who asks his little girl to show me the peace sign. The eighty-year-old woman who holds my hands in hers, and says, “I wish you strength and love, my dear.”

Yes, I have been touched and deeply moved. Right here in the empire of war. And I think, this is what a movement is, this is what humanity is, this is what peace looks like.

If you have a peace button, wear it too. You won’t regret it.