On January 14th, eighteen Theravada Buddhist monks walked through Charlotte as part of their long pilgrimage for peace. I was privileged to stand among the crowd that welcomed them to the Queen City. By the time the sun dipped below the skyline, the temperature had fallen to a bitter nineteen degrees. We waited more than two hours for a glimpse of the monks.
And I loved every minute of it.
Eighteen Theravada Buddhist monks left Fort Worth, Texas in October 2025, to stop at 9 state capitols on their journey to Washington D.C in February, 2026, in a 2,300 mile walk for Peace.
I stood with a dear friend and her fifteen year old son, whose two year growth spurt had turned him into a 5’11” bundle of constant hunger (growth like that demands feeding every two hours with no exceptions, apparently). Luckily, I had snacks which I shared with him. Around us, we did what humans have always done when asked to wait together: we created community.
We stood beside a grandmother, daughter, and granddaughter. Nearby were a group of coworkers, a college student with hope written all over her face, a single mom with her grade school children, and girlfriends huddled together for warmth. Across the path, a college professor chatted with a friend in sign language. Children laughed as they kicked around a soccer ball. A few well-behaved dogs sat patiently at their human packs’ feet. The crowd looked like Charlotte—every walk of life, every shade, every story.
As the cold crept in, discouragement crept up too. I’ll confess: I considered going home. My feet and back ached, and the cold air made my bronchioles spasm. I knew this night would cost me in the days ahead—wheezing, back pain, recovery time. But the peace community—complete strangers—encouraged one another to stay.
“You’ve waited this long. You can do it.”
“This is historic.”
“You’ll tell your children and grandchildren about this.”
Things change when people take a walk. Ask Harriet Tubman, Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., or John Lewis.
People talked quietly about why they were there. A woman fresh off a third-shift night said, “We need this. There’s too much stress, tension, anger, and hostility. We need to be reminded of peace.” A college student hoped it would inspire more activism in her generation. Another person hoped it might serve as a wake-up call to those in power. What I felt most was steady, quiet optimism—purpose without shouting.
19 Buddhist monks walk for peace in Charlotte, NC
It was no accident that the monks came just after the holidays. Christmas reminds us of angels proclaiming God’s peace and goodwill to all. The New Year whispers that it’s never too late to begin again. And then they arrived the week before we honor Dr. Martin Luther King, who taught us about peaceful protest and the Beloved Community.
When the monks finally appeared, two things stunned me.
First: the silence.
In a crowd that large, reverent quiet settled like snowfall. I expected at least one voice to break it. None did. Charlotte, noisy, joyful, expressive Charlotte, held silence out of respect. It was holy.
Second: the speed.
Nineteen monks and their police safety entourage passed our group in forty-three seconds. Forty-three. They moved with purpose. My complaints shrank instantly. These monks had been walking nearly thirty miles a day for eighty-one days and would continue, some barefoot through bitter cold. They walk from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day. They do not touch money. They rely entirely on the generosity of others. They walk for one reason only: to remind us of peace.
I had nothing to complain about.
Looking back, I’m still awed. They walked for peace, and our city responded in kind—people of every background gathering peacefully, encouraging one another, bearing witness. We were not just spectators. We were participants.
Walking for peace.
Present for peace.
Together.
What a blessing.
Gassho. 🙏🏾
Rochelle Brandon, MD