Sealed with controversy: anatomy of activism at the local level.

When Stow, Ohio, Councilmember Cari Orris leaked an internal memo to the press in duly 1996, the thirty-five-year-old former journalist and community counselor had no idea how much her faith in reason would be challenged. Orris would ignite a firestorm in her middle-class suburban community of over 30,000 (just south of Cleveland) that still rages today.

The memo she leaked described a nine-year court battle between the city of Edmond, Oklahoma, and the American Civil Liberties Union over Edmond's official city seal. The seal included a Christian cross--similar to the one on Stow's insignia--and had been declared unconstitutional. The case went as far as the U.S. Supreme Court, but the justices refused to hear it, sending a message to the hundreds of municipalities across the nation with religious symbols on their city equipment, flags, and stationery to reexamine their insignia.

With the Edmond case as ammunition, Orris began fighting a similar battle in Stow against other city councilmembers to remove the Christian cross and Bible from Stow's official seal. The battle was further intensified by opposition from the organized religious right. Orris' physical health deteriorated. Relatives lobbied her to give up. Hateful letters full of antiSemitism and vague threats began appearing at city hall. But Orris--raised a Byzantine Catholic--also got calls of encouragement from people who said they were too frightened to say so publicly.

Donna Schall, a fifty-seven-year-old Quaker, went on record at a city council meeting the following month as the first resident to speak publicly against Stow's seal since a high school student named Neil Agarwal confronted lawmakers eight years earlier. Agarwal and his Hindu family had been silenced with death threats; the city council had ignored his complaint.

Schall remembered Agarwal and supported Orris' motion to repeal the city seal on the grounds that it was not inclusive of all faiths. But no one on the council would second Orris' motion to hold a vote on the church-state issue.

Then, in September 1996, the Ohio ACLU blew fire into Orris' fight by threatening to sue the city over the seal. The potential suit not only created a financial issue but raised the ire of the radical religious community. By the following month, the religious right was out in full force, organizing not only Stow residents but sympathetic congregations in neighboring cities to appear and speak at meetings and to write letters to councilmembers and local news papers.

"We are in the middle of a culture war," said Christine Link, executive director of the ACLU in Ohio. "And we're outnumbered. We were shocked by the community outrage and by the lack of citizen support for the Bill of Rights."

The religious right, led by two Stow evangelical ministers, launched an absurd series of emotional arguments to defend the cross and Bible on the seal. They argued for the city's freedom of expression and freedom for religion in government. They cast the ACLU as communistic and anti-Christian and decried the immorality of a "Godless" government. They directly equated the rise in crime with the removal of prayer from public schools and predicted more evil to come if the cross were stripped from the city seal. Seal proponent Don Miller argued, "If you read the Constitution, nowhere is there a separation of church and state. The ACLU coined the phrase `wall of separation between church and state.' A lie repeated often enough becomes the truth in the minds of many." By fervently massing at meetings, the religious right created the appearance of community consensus--save for a few persistent voices that kept piping up.

One of those voices belonged to Paula Copestick. Retired from the military, she was a part-time sociology instructor at Kent State University, a Unitarian Universalist, and a member of the ACLU. Copestick was the only Stow member of the ACLU to respond to its appeals for members to attend meetings and speak out. Once at the podium, she pointed out to the council and the dozens of seal supporters that the city was becoming more diverse. She asked if the cross invites people of different religious backgrounds to feel welcome in Stow.

Denny Proux, an industrial consultant and Vietnam veteran, was flipping television channels when he came across the local cable broadcast of the meeting just as Copestick was speaking. He said he was impressed by her calm, rational manner and was stunned by the reception she got. "People were actually booing her," he said. So he jumped into his car and drove down to city hall to support Copestick. "After Denny Proux spoke, there was one person clapping--me," Copestick said.

Orris was once again heartened during a meeting that December when a second councilmember, Karen Fritschel, swung over in support of changing the seal. During what seemed more like a religious revival, complete with "hallelujahs" and"praise the Lords," Fritschel changed her stance and seconded Orris' motion to vote."The cross belongs in our heart but not our government,n Fritschel said in her statement.

Although the council voted to take no action on the seal, concerns were expressed about the estimated $300,000 it would cost to fight the ACLU. Mayor Donald Coughlin suggested a citizen defense fund and waved what he said was the first $1,000 "personal" check in the face of the U.S. Constitution. (The check was later found to be drawn on Coughlin's campaign chest.) Offended by the mayor's grandstanding, Marty and Larry Adams, a Jewish couple who had been present but silent at the meeting, began making telephone calls.

The meeting the following week was a turning point. Isolated voices for change had snowballed into dozens. Speeches were informational rather than emotional in tone. Ron Taggart, who owns a printing business in Stow, gave an eloquent historical review of the Bill of Rights and the clause establishing the separation of church and state. Councilmember Ron Alexander, a constitutional lawyer, finally changed sides to join Fritschel and Orris. He said he now realized that his vote to take no action had been mistaken as a vote to preserve the seal and fight the impending lawsuit.

Four of the seven councilmembers still spoke passionately in favor of the seal and for not backing down to the ACLU. However, hoping to test the political winds once more, they agreed to Orris' suggestion for a public hearing before voting again.

Invigorated, the novice group of seal opponents met in the city hall lobby after the meeting. A mailing list was passed around. People were encouraged to add names of friends and acquaintances who might be sympathetic to the cause. Laurence Schiffman, a Jewish dentist, volunteered to create a database and write a letter urging attendance at the upcoming public hearing.

Ninety-two people from both sides of the issue--including several brought in from churches in other cities--spoke at the hearing. The long line of speakers snaked behind the podium facing councilmembers, down the center of the room, and along the back wall. A rabbi, a preacher, a school teacher, a World War Veteran, an engineer, a homemaker and her daughter, a high school student with Bible in hand--everyone got two minutes to speak. The final ratio of speakers was two to one in favor of the seal.

But Schiffman's letter had worked. Those arguing against the seal might not have been the majority, many remarked afterward, but they held a firm ground amidst a sea of fervent seal supporters wearing "Save Our Seal" T-shirts and carrying Bibles.

Over the next two weeks, a writing battle ensued. Both sides wrote letters to the editor of the Akron Beacon Journal Editorials ran in favor of changing the seal, and the council was deluged with both pleas and hate mail. Throughout the months of controversy, seventeen of Stow's nineteen Christian churches had been strangely silent on the issue. Then, at the eleventh hour, a coalition of Catholic churches joined seal opponents with a written appeal published in the newspaper on the day of the second council vote."What brought the issue to our attention," said Brian Williams, chair of the Catholic Commission for Summit County,"was the anti-Semitic and religious intolerance that had been expressed."

On the evening of the vote, Williams sat quietly on a folding chair at the end of a row near three uniformed police officers, who stood scanning the packed council chambers and somberly discussing evacuation plans should the crowd turn ugly. A wall of journalists armed with camera equipment, tape recorders, and note pads stood ready to capture any sign of conflict.

The meeting opened with a prayer--a ritual that each person present attended to with heightened awareness, although not everyone participated. All eyes were on the seven councilmembers awaiting the final tally.

Before the vote, each of the seven read position statements. Cari Orris cast her vote for change in memory of Neil Agarwal's short-lived campaign to remove the Christian cross from the city insignia."Facing the majority--or the mob--can be frightening," Orris read, lifting her eyes to scan the range of expressions in the room."The majority's power must never stifle the civil rights of a few. Government must remain neutral on the subject of religion."

As the other councilmembers read their statements, the vote appeared tied. Then, Council President John J. Parker offered what he thought would be the final comment." There has been a wedge driven into our community," Parker said. "In my heart I believe we should choose to fight the ACLU and retain the cross." The room erupted in cheers, and more than half of the onlookers rose to their feet."Unfortunately," Parker continued, "that is not a road we can follow. I vote to retire the seal."

The peaceful ending Parker had hoped for when he cast his vote for change is unfortunately not yet in sight. The culture war, it seems, has just begun. Seal proponents, as part of their newly formed group Citizens Concerned for Constitutional Freedom, were successful in circulating a petition to get the issue on the November 1997 ballot. Both sides are now focused on the fall elections.

Seal opponent Marty Adams, who canvassed neighborhoods trying to discover the true sentiment of the community, said she faced her fear of conflict in order to help educate others, and her life has changed forever as a result. When people understood the facts about the exclusionary and discriminatory nature of the city's insignia, as well as the financial and legal facts, she said, they often changed their minds.

Donna Schall, who spoke for change early on, said silence can be dangerous. "It's really important for people to be alert," she said."We need to support one another. In order for our democracy to work,we can't be apathetic."

Heidi L. Shaffer is a freelance writer and pbotojournalist living in Kent, Ohio.