SPANISH LESSONS NEWEST PASSION FOR EX-ACTIVIST.

Byline: Esther Schrader Knight-Ridder Newspapers

In this Berkeley of Mexico where everyone is an activist, it's hard to find a soul who isn't interested in arm wrestling the government.

But look no further than the tall man with the trademark St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap strolling down the street in rolled-up khakis and hiking boots, his two prosthetic legs painted like jaguar pelts.

Nine years ago an angry Brian Willson put his peace principles and life on the line, sitting defiantly in front of a munitions train rolling out of California's Concord Naval Weapons Station. The train ran over him.

These days, the 54-year-old lawyer and Vietnam veteran who became a hero to anti-war activists prefers studying Spanish to agitating for the Mayan rebels of Chiapas. He walks right by demonstrations and heads to language class. And he'd rather the town's activists leave him alone.

``I'm not trying to change the world anymore,'' Willson said, his long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. ``I used to be much, much more angry. I felt like I could stand up to the nation-state and change it. Now I am more interested in knowing how people struggle, in understanding instead of confronting.

``My philosophy now is to garden and to farm, to live as far outside the global economy as you can,'' said Willson, who winters in Chiapas and farms the rest of the year in rural Massachusetts. ``I believe in ignoring the government.''

Calm, peaceful words from a man classified as a ``domestic terrorist'' after a 47-day fast on the Capitol steps to protest U.S. involvement in Central America. That was 1986, when Nicaragua and El Salvador were daily news and the charismatic Willson was one of the best known activists in California.

A year later he would achieve international notoriety at the expense of his legs. Yet he was unbowed. As soon as he could, he made the rounds of universities and protest groups, traveling to 30 countries to make the flesh-and-blood point about standing up for your beliefs no matter what the risk.

About two years ago Willson tired of being in the spotlight. No longer certain that he could change the system, he began a slow, painful journey to stop fighting for everyone else and start fighting to regain himself.

He left Northern California for a $200-a-month whitewashed room in San Cristobal. He left a life of protest for one of reflection. He left behind the fury for what he calls ``empowerment and beyond.''

``I have had the motivation to liberate myself from my wounds, to find a new life, to walk a new way,'' Willson said. ``Would I lie on those train tracks again? I might; you never know. But I tell you, I'd rather be working in my garden.''

Willson has other reasons for seeking a new way. His marriage fell casualty to the munitions train and the strain of the publicity and lawsuits that followed. His 23-year-old stepson, Gabriel, lives on the streets of Northern California cities, one step away from a mental hospital or jail. Willson said Gabriel was deeply affected by witnessing his being run over by the train.

Willson said he suffered bouts of extreme depression while fighting the emotional wounds that came with the physical. He said he still cannot believe that the three Vietnam veterans operating that munitions train did not stop. The U.S. Navy ruled it an accident; he still believes it was a deliberate attack on him and his protest group.

``When I lost my legs I had to grapple with the fact that I had lost my legs, my legs and no one else's. Coming to terms with that was difficult,'' Willson said. ``In order to do that I had to deal with my own feelings of pain, of hurt. I'm still in that process.''

These days he no longer practices law. He lives on what's left of a $920,000 legal settlement with the U.S. government, a $1,600-a-month disability check and occasional lecturing fees. His living expenses are low; he grows food on farmland he owns with eight others in Wendell, Mass. And, since 1981, he has refused to pay taxes.

In San Cristobal, where Willson has journeyed the past two years to escape East Coast winters, his home is a $200-a-month room on a quiet street. At night he slips off the prostheses - one pair decorated like a jaguar, the other like rhododendrons - and drags himself around the dusty tile floor of his room.

``I find I can't do anything in a hurry now,'' he said. ``I used to, but now it takes me time. It takes me time to walk, it takes me time likewise to figure things out spiritually.

The road continues to appear before me, and I continue to walk on it. But, slowly. I'm taking the time to look somewhere else but straight ahead.''

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Photo

Photo: Ex-peace activist Brian Willson, 54, temporarily liv es in a one-room studio in San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico, while he attends Spanish language school.

Knight-Ridder Tribune Photo Service