Utahns rejected nuclear weapons in the '80s. Local advocates want to do it again. 

• Cover design by Derek Carlisle

The rain bore down upon the Salt Lake Valley on the evening of Aug. 23, with occasional strikes of lightning to accentuate the periwinkle blue of the clouds above. Amid the tumult—in the quiet reaches of the South Salt Lake City Council chambers—local citizens and elected officials deliberated on matters of peace and nuclear disarmament.

In an enthusiastic, unanimous vote, council members joined South Salt Lake Mayor Cherie Wood in endorsing the United Nations' Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (2017) as well as recommending the steps advanced by the U.S. grassroots coalition Back From the Brink. It represented an effort to "break the nuclear status quo," in the words of the city's resolution, "and build broad support for fundamental change in U.S. nuclear weapons policy."

"As a city, we're taking this small step," City Councilmember Clarissa J. Williams said. "We're trying to protect humanity as a whole, not just for certain groups of people but for everyone."

• Wes Long
• Deb Sawyer, back row far left, and other Utah Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons members worked with South Salt Lake City to pass an anti-nuclear weapons resolution.

For Deb Sawyer and her colleagues at the Utah Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (UCAN), the council vote was the culmination of a year's worth of advocacy work. "They did a wonderful job," an ecstatic Sawyer said of the council.

South Salt Lake's resolution was adopted just in time for this year's International Day of Peace on Thursday, Sept. 21, and UCAN is one example of the many Utahns working to build a more peaceful world, one that more readily reaches for the book or the plough than the sword.

UCAN is working to advance similar resolutions in other Utah cities and is eager to work with anyone for the realization of a more peaceful world.

Advocates hope that a wide-scale rebuke of nuclear proliferation could prevent Utah from once again playing host to the nation's expanding industrial militarism, a fight that echoes long-standing pro-peace efforts in the Beehive State and a successful campaign in the late 1970s and early 1980s to prevent Utah's west desert from being used for the U.S.'s MX Mobile Missile Program.

"Until people make the connection between the threat to their existence and the welfare of their kids," remarked peace advocate and retired educator Stanley Holmes, "too few will do anything."

Working for Peace
Arguably, the earliest significant peace movement in Utah sprang up through the initiative of area women and, surprisingly, Czar Nicholas II of Russia.

At the suggestion of the foreign monarch, an international conference was arranged for 1899 at The Hague for the purpose of arms control and the establishment of arbitration among nations. The Hague Conference inspired a multinational committee of women to organize a universal peace demonstration for May 18, directly before the Hague Conference began.

The conference was a global media phenomenon, as described in 2018 by New Zealand-based historian Maartje Abbenhuis. Such engagement "spoke to people wanting to register to their governments that their voices mattered, that this moment mattered, that disarmament should count, that arbitration should be something that government engaged with," Abbenhuis said.

The National Council of Women was among the leading forces organizing peace demonstrations around the conference. And having been involved with the council since its formation in 1888, Latter-day Saints like Emmeline B. Wells (1828-1921) and Elmina S. Taylor (1830-1904) utilized the organizations over which they presided—the LDS Relief Society and the Young Ladies' Mutual Improvement Association (YLMIA), respectively—to sponsor peace meetings in Utah with the collaboration of such groups as the Ladies' Literary Club, the Utah Women's Press Club and the Council of Jewish Women. Starting in 1901, these peace demonstrations began to be held on an annual basis.

According to a public notice in 1902, committees were to be formed at local Relief Society and YLMIA units with the recommendation that each committee consider reaching out to "women of different religious beliefs and invite them to take part and unite."

• Cora Di Brazza Foundation
• Utah peace activists flew this flag during demonstrations in the early 1900s.

Sporting the tri-color peace flag of yellow, purple and white with the motto pro concordia labor ("I work for peace") and decorating their halls in sunflowers and hyacinths, many Utahns heeded the call. Churches and schools devoted time each May to dwell on the themes of peace and the evils of bloodshed.

"If the introduction of peace flags, peace symbols and peace literature can effect a change and convert the youth of the age to a higher ideal of life and its pursuits than the paraphernalia and characteristics of war, then positive results may be expected from the organizations of women," commented Wells in the May 1902 issue of Woman's Exponent, "and the public demonstrations now inaugurated if kept up annually will keep the thought of peace in the minds of the people."

Utah's annual "Peace Day" reached a new stage in 1907, when then-Gov. John C. Cutler (1846-1928) proposed the creation of a state-level peace organization, which by 1908 became an official branch of the American Peace Society. But Utah's annual Peace Day observance and its state Peace Society chapter only continued for a few more years and were ultimately abandoned during America's entrance into World War I in 1917.

Since those days, many notable—if sadly forgotten—groups and individuals have worked to advance peace in varying ways around the Beehive State. One was Grant H. Redford (1908-1965), who, as a student, led a protest at Logan's Utah State Agricultural College—now Utah State University—in 1935 against militarism and war propaganda. An editor for the Student Life newspaper, he had ample opportunity to speak his mind.

"Why must we be so blind," Redford wrote, "as to let the vile economic and political militarists slip these patriotic-coated pills into our unsuspecting mouths?"

Some peace activists got involved in the electoral process, like Bruce "Utah" Phillips (1935-2008) who ran for Senate as a candidate for the Peace and Freedom Party. Others, like Phillips' mentor Ammon Hennacy (1893-1970)—who ran the Joe Hill House of Hospitality—embarked on lone protests in the street.

It was during the Vietnam era that Dayne Goodwin got his start in activism. Among the many "exciting battles" he has fought was his involvement with an anti-war demonstration on May 15, 1971—Armed Forces Day. Led by a contingent of 25 active-duty GIs—as well as participants from Vietnam Veterans Against the War, the Utah Council of Churches, La Raza, Gay Liberation, Mothers for Peace and others—this demonstration was the largest anti-war event then held in Salt Lake City. Gov. Cal Rampton (1913-2007) even showed support by declaring May 15 as another "Utah Peace Day."

Goodwin told City Weekly that after all these years, "qualitative change" is still lacking in Utah, but he hopes that today's generations will be up to the challenge. To his mind, organizational knowledge is a must, a grasp of the depth of commitment required is another. He lamented the tendency of many to treat peace activism as a pastime that can be left on the backburner.

"In my day," he said, "it was our lives."

Stanley Holmes recognizes that people are busy, but he joined Goodwin in emphasizing the necessity of getting (and staying) involved. "If you decide you're not going to do something," he said, "then the folks who are in charge basically take that as tacit support for the status quo."

Holmes knows whereof he speaks. He was a key participant in the massive grassroots effort to halt the U.S. military's MX Mobile Missile program in the late 1970s and early 1980s. He has been involved in many peace efforts over the years, and small victories keep him going. But the MX fight, he said, was "a big win."

David and Goliath
Proposed in the summer of 1979, the MX project would have taken over the deserts of Nevada and Utah for a massive system of mobile nuclear missile bases.

Featuring thousands of miles of "racetrack" upon which hundreds of multi-warhead missiles would be constantly rotating in an enormous Cold War shell game (intended to leave portions of the U.S. arsenal intact in the event of a Soviet nuclear strike), the project was initially viewed as a done deal, with Senators Orrin Hatch and Jake Garn both voicing enthusiastic support.

But upon hearing of the project in a committee meeting, state Sen. Frances Farley (1923-2004) was horrified. Working with activist/legislator Steve Holbrook and KUTV 2 documentarian Chad Dobson, they discussed releasing the plans to the public and organizing opposition. This effort gave birth to the MX Information Coalition, which worked to inform the public and coordinate with interested parties.

Holmes was set to leave for Tacoma as a VISTA volunteer when Farley and Holbrook reached out to him. He decided to stay and serve as a coordinator for the information center, which found space to operate in the basement of the Campus Christian Center (232 S. University St.). "It was very empowering," Holmes recalled.

Working with other young people like himself, holding rallies and bringing disparate Utahns together in a shared opposition to the MX program enlivened Holmes' hope that "a popular movement can actually win in this country."

Historian Jacob Olmstead wrote in 2009 that "bound by a common interest, the opposition movement brought together an unlikely consortium of citizens, special interest groups and religious leaders spanning the political and ideological spectrum." Whether it was on environmental, moral, economic, political or professional grounds, more and more people—from ranchers and homebuilders to hippies and students—turned against the MX program.

Churches proved crucial, as more religious leaders—such as the Rev. Richard Henry with Salt Lake's First Unitarian Church; the Rev. Otis Charles, Episcopal bishop at the Cathedral Church of St. Mark in Salt Lake City; and the Rev. Dr. Stephen J. Sidorak, pastor of the Salt Lake Centenary United Methodist Church from 1978 to 1980—took part in speaking out against the storage of MX missiles. But there was initial silence from the "big kid on the block," as Holmes described The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

"But the LDS Church was very willing to listen," Holmes said. "Anytime we brought in an expert to talk about [MX], Richard Lindsey and Bill Evans of the church communications department never turned us away."

The "Stop MX" campaign's most influential liaison to the LDS church was University of Utah professor Edwin B. Firmage (1935-2020) who tirelessly sustained efforts to communicate the impact of the MX to LDS leadership.

Olmstead writes that after a lengthy information-sharing process with people like Firmage—as well as hearing moral arguments from religious leaders like Sidorak—LDS church leaders became convinced that "the MX issues were moral at their core and, therefore, rightly within the realm of the church's purview."

On May 5, 1981, the Latter-day Saint's governing First Presidency issued a statement denouncing the MX project and citing multiple issues with the proposal, such as devastation to a "fragile ecology," depletion of the West's "woefully short" water supply and the "deadly fallout" such a system would engender.

"Our fathers came to this western area to establish a base from which to carry the gospel of peace to the peoples of the earth," the First Presidency statement declared. "It is ironic, and a denial of the very essence of that gospel, that in this same general area there should be constructed a mammoth weapons system potentially capable of destroying much of civilization."

Lingering public support for the MX project quickly evaporated following the First Presidency's opposition. Countless Utahns were relieved and overjoyed at the subsequent announcement that the Air Force's MX project would no longer be pursued in the area.

"David beat Goliath," Holmes concluded.

The Business of War
Forty years later, Goliath got a second wind in the form of another nuclear weapons development project. With Pentagon backing, Northrop Grumman Corp. began building hundreds of new intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs).

These next-generation Sentinel ICBMs would replace the U.S.'s current fleet of Minutemen rockets, the production of which violates America's signed agreement on the 1968 Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty.

Back in 2020, the Utah Governor's Office of Economic Development and the Economic Development Corporation of Utah both touted the expansion of Northrop Grumman's operations in northern Utah, based on the employment it would offer to local communities. As Utah's largest private-sector employer in aerospace and defense, the company has since received multiple taxpayer subsidies, the economic projections of which have been kept secret despite a recent GRAMA request by Inkstick Media journalist Taylor Barnes.

Northrop Grumman is now primed for additional aid through the Utah Inland Port Authority (UIPA), specifically through an Amazon contract to manufacture rocket motors at their Bacchus plant in West Valley City.

At the UIPA's July 17 meeting, deputy executive director Benn Buys called the project a "perfect match of a targeted industry" and "aligned with [the Utah inland port's] focus."

Holmes surmises that the rocket program is likely linked to operations at the company's ICBM facility in Weber County. "Though the rocket parts are intended for Amazon's satellite program," he said, "Northrop Grumman will rotate workers back-and-forth between its inland port location and the Bacchus military facility."

Communication representatives for Northrop Grumman did not respond to City Weekly's inquiries for this story.

The silent, outward air of inevitability on the part of companies like Northrop Grumman is a daunting challenge to seekers of peace today. Their advantage is compounded by longstanding financial ties to those in elected office, including regular donations to Utah politicians.

"It's all money," Toshiharu Kano said.

Kano was in utero and in the direct vicinity when the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan in 1945. His entire life has been haunted by war and its weapons. He views his opposition to nuclear weapons as a personal duty, and said he is troubled by the rush to arm foreign countries with more and more weaponry.

Kano sees the same phenomenon taking place today as had occurred during both world wars as well as the wars in Korea, Vietnam and Iraq. "We can't afford to keep going back and making the same mistakes," he stressed.

What keeps him going is the belief that mankind collectively can—and must—break its pattern of repeating old mistakes of fear, greed and hatred.

"We need to have a relaxed environment," Kano said. "There's got to be some resolution somewhere. You keep talking about war; do you really want that?"

On this year's International Day of Peace, with so much to treasure from Utah's past and so much to do in its present, readers might seek out ways to get involved and bring communities, groups, churches and friends along.

"I know peace is possible," Kano affirmed. "But you've got to do it on the human level."