PEACE AND JUSTICE ARCHIVES AT UMASS BOSTON
Peace Abbey Archives and Permanent Collection
The Peace Abbey and The Life Experience School gifted over 40 years of archival materials to the University of Massachusetts Boston in July of 2012. Twenty-six boxes of documents, photographs, CDs, videos, correspondence, newspaper articles, personal effects of notable pacifists and Courage of Conscience Award materials are available for peace and justice research and for public viewing at the Healey Library, University of Massachusetts Boston.
Visit the Peacemakers Table, the protest model of the 9 foot Gandhi Statue and the busts of Oscar Romero, Samantha Smith, Gandhi and Emily the Cow at UMB.
The archival holdings are in the following categories:
Peace Abbey Letters and Correspondence
Clip Board Notes and Messages
Display Case Materials
Courage of Conscience Awards
Emily the Cow
The Pacifist Memorial
Peace Pilgrim
Newspaper articles
Photographs
University Archives and Special Collections is open for onsite research Monday – Friday, 10:00 am to 4:00 pm. Please contact library.archives@umb.edu to schedule an appointment or to request reference assistance, and consult our online collections and Finding Aids at http://OpenArchives.umb.edu.
PASSING THE MANTLE
By Lewis Randa
November 12, 2025
“If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” — Sir Isaac Newton
As I have grown older, I have found myself reflecting less on what I have accomplished than on what has been entrusted to me. Newton’s words, which I came across more years ago than I can recall, remind me that none of us begins life’s journey alone. We inherit a world shaped by the countless souls of others, some whose names are remembered, many whose names have been forgotten. Their courage, compassion, sacrifice, and vision become the foundation upon which we build our own lives.
The question that eventually comes to each of us is not, “What have I achieved?” but rather, “Whose mantle have I received, and what mantle will I leave for others?”
I have sought to pick up where those who inspired me left off. Bobby Kennedy taught me that compassion belongs at the center of public life and that justice must always have a human face. Martin Luther King Jr., having picked up the mantle of Gandhi showed that nonviolence is not passive, but the greatest force available to those who seek to transform the world. Daniel Berrigan demonstrated that conscience requires resistance to accepted power. Howard Zinn reminded me to listen for the voices history too often ignores. Pat Farren, Barry Crimmins, and so many others who names adorn the walls at the Pacifist Memorial taught me that peace begins in the way we live with one another every day.
I have never imagined that I could equal these remarkable people. I simply hoped to carry their torch a little farther before placing it into other hands.
My own journey began humbly in Des Moines, Iowa. What eventually became my journey to Boston was an odyssey of conscience, a search that led me toward a way of life embracing nonviolence, civil disobedience, sacrifice, and the belief that conscience must not remain an idea, but must become a way of living.
That same conviction gave birth to the Peace Abbey. It was founded on the belief that the world’s great faith traditions, at their best, call humanity toward compassion, justice, forgiveness, and peace. Yet history also teaches us that religion, when imprisoned by creed, dogma, certainty, or the pursuit of power, has too often divided humanity and even justified cruelty and war in the name of God. The Peace Abbey has always sought to honor the deepest truths of peace found within every tradition while reminding us that no creed is greater than compassion.
The Pacifist Memorial was created in that same spirit. It is not merely a monument to those who opposed war. It is a reminder that every generation receives an unfinished moral inheritance. Those who come after us are under no obligation to preserve our ideas unchanged. Their responsibility is greater than that. They must discern what advances justice, what enlarges compassion, what deepens peace, and what best serves humanity. If anything I have helped to create deserves to continue, it will be because future generations judge it worthy of carrying forward.
As my own understanding of nonviolence deepened, I found myself asking whether compassion should end with our own species. That question eventually led my wife Meg and me to embrace vegetarianism and soon afterwards veganism, not as a claim of moral perfection, but as another expression of the same conscience that first led me to reject war. To live as cruelty-free as possible is, for me, simply another way of saying that peace is indivisible. Every living creature possesses an inherent worth. Human beings do not determine moral value. I hope our lives have encouraged others to widen the circle of compassion to include all creation.
If there is one lesson my journey has taught me, it is that none of us enters this world alone, and none of us leaves it alone. We are shaped by countless influences, many invisible to us. Through our own witness, others may discover those who inspired us, just as we discovered those who came before us. That is how the moral life continues, not by imitation, but by inspiration. If Peace Memorial Park exists for a reason, surely it is that.
The creation of the Courage of Conscience Awards emerged from the recognition that courage is one of humanity’s greatest forces for good. By honoring those who choose conscience over comfort, the awards affirm that moral courage is contagious. The lives of courageous people remind us that ordinary individuals can make extraordinary choices when guided by principle.
Stonewalk extended this message by transforming remembrance into action. Rather than simply observing the suffering caused by war, participants physically carried the weight of remembrance by moving the two ton memorial stone and caisson across the globe. In that act of shared effort and sacrifice was a profound lesson: peace requires participation. It requires people willing to carry burdens together.
The War Correspondents Memorial continues this same theme of passing the mantle. Journalists carry a mantle of truth. Through their witness, often at great personal risk, they reveal the realities of conflict and help the public understand the consequences of war. Many have sacrificed their lives in pursuit of truth, reminding us that an informed humanity is essential to the pursuit of peace.
The creation of the Animal Rights Memorial honoring Emily the Cow represents another expansion of conscience. My own journey toward vegetarianism and veganism grew from the same foundation as my commitment to pacifism: the desire to reduce suffering and extend compassion.
Nonviolence cannot end with our own species. If compassion has boundaries, it is incomplete. Every creature possesses inherent worth. No being is truly more important than another, even though human systems of power and control have often created hierarchies that justify domination. To live compassionately is to continually enlarge the circle of concern.
My wife Meg and I have sought to live this understanding through a commitment to cruelty-free living, not as a claim of perfection, but as an effort to align our choices with our conscience. The hope is not to impose a belief upon others, but to offer an example that may prompt others to reflect on the fact that peace begins wherever suffering is reduced.
Ultimately, none of us enters this life or leaves it on a journey that is entirely our own. We are shaped by countless people whose names we know and countless others whose names we never will. Through our lives and our witness, others may discover those who inspired us.
That is how the mantle is passed.
As I look back, I do not measure my life only by what was accomplished, but also by what remains unfinished. Every generation inherits an unfinished world. Every generation must decide how it will respond.
As those of us in the Baby Boom generation reach our final years, it is natural to wonder who will pick up where we leave off. Yet the truth is our task is not to dictate the future but to offer it our best. Those who follow must decide what is worthy of embracing, what must be transformed, and what should be left behind. Such is the responsibility of every generation.
If I have any legacy, I hope it is not only found in memorials, organizations, awards or even words. I hope it is found in having tried to choose conscience over convenience, even when it led to nonviolent actions that led to my arrest. Choosing peace over violence, and love over fear gets easier and easier if you allow those principles to settle in to the way you define yourself. You truly become who you claim to be.
In the end, I ask for nothing beyond trusting in the lives that may have been touched by my own. If someone is inspired to live more compassionately, to stand more courageously for justice, to seek reconciliation rather than revenge, to honor conscience over conformity, or to extend kindness to one more human being, or one more living creature, then my journey will have been worthwhile.
We do not own the mantle we wear. It was entrusted to us by those who came before. Our privilege is simply to wear it with humility, mend it where we can, and place it gently upon the shoulders of another, trusting that they will carry it farther than we ever could.
For in the end, the journey has never been about us. It has always been about humanity becoming a little more humane, the world becoming a little more peaceful, and love proving, once again, stronger than fear.
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