PORTLAND – They were still as statues, silent as stones. Wearing black from head to toe, they stood on the broad brick sidewalk. The wind brought the temperature at the busy downtown intersection down to 12 degrees, but the seven figures on the corner were oblivious. In nearly four years of standing vigil, they have endured worse.

These are the “Women in Black” – a misnomer this day, in that two of the participants were men. Week after week, they gather on Friday evening opposite Portland’s art museum to stage a plea for peace.

“There is an anchoring aspect to our presence,” said Margaret Kuhlen, 63. “I think the being there, in all kinds of weather, has an impact over time.”

It was Kuhlen, an artist, who brought the worldwide Women in Black movement to the corner of Congress and High streets. Through a loose network of activist acquaintances around the country, she learned of the protest effort that began when Israeli and Palestinian women first stood together in January 1988 on Jerusalem’s busiest street corner to protest the intifada, or Palestinian uprising.

Earlier demonstrations by women wearing black had taken place in South Africa and Argentina. But in Israel, the protesters became a fixture, holding signs and saying nothing, attracting attention with their relentless presence.

Vigils organized by Women in Black spread across Israel and around the world. Members hold weekly protests outside the New York Public Library, in downtown Baltimore and in a sprinkling of other U.S. locations.

Five years ago, the movement was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. At every vigil site, protesters wear black to symbolize mourning for victims of violence. In some places, demonstrators cover their faces with veils because it is too dangerous for them to be identified.

In Portland, Kuhlen stood on the corner alone for the first few weeks. Then others began to join her, forming a core of about a dozen steadfast believers. They hold banners mourning “all victims of war and violence” and declaring: “We stand for peace.”

Kuhlen began the Portland protest before the U.S. invasion of Iraq; it is not geared to any specific conflict. But at a time when their country is at war, said Richard Paradis, a carpenter who offered to bring hot coffee to the group one recent Friday, the vigil participants “are making a statement.”

Paradis, 58, says he sees the protesters every week and admires their tenacity – especially when the thermometer plunges to 18 degrees below zero.

“To me it is an effective protest,” he said. “They are taking a chance. They are putting themselves out there. And every one of them has got something better to do.”

Lobsterman Mike Grady, 38, was less generous in his assessment. Casting an appraising eye at the group, Grady scoffed: “What is this, a takeoff on ‘Men in Black’?”

Grady said the protesters’ dark attire and blank demeanor sent out “a negative aura.” He said he respected their intentions, but “it seems to me like a bunch of retired people that have a lot of time on their hands.”

With virtually every change of the traffic light, one or two cars honk at the contingent on the corner. Some wave to show support; there have been obscene hand gestures. Shelley Schweizer said it was an improvement over the early days, when some people tossed beer bottles.

“When it gets warmer, maybe once every three weeks, someone comes up and gives us a little face-to-face hassle,” Schweizer said as the group gathered for its ritual Thai dinner after a recent vigil.

“Here’s what we hear: ‘Get a job,’ or ‘Go back to Russia,'” said Schweizer, a special education teacher. “It is what I call ignorance-based criticism. I would actually welcome some well-informed discussion, but we never get that.”

Civil-rights lawyer Seth Verner, 49, calls himself the cynic of the group.

“I am not sure that this will accomplish anything specific,” he said. “But I think it is important that I do what I can do. I think it is important that the public be given the message – be reminded that peace is an option.”

Kuhlen said the vigil was able to take root in Portland because it captures broader concerns and uncertainties.

“What I found was that a lot of people were overwhelmed by what was going on in the big, wide world,” she said. “They were immobilized. They didn’t know what to do, and so they shut down.”

The silent, weekly gathering at the height of Friday evening rush hour “is not controversial, and it is not political,” Kuhlen said.

“We are witnesses,” Schweizer explained. “We witness through silence. We find a voice through silence – and silence is a very frustrating thing for people, because it asks them to look inside.”

City officials have neither acknowledged the group’s presence nor attempted to stop it, Kuhlen said. In a sense, she said, the small vigil has become a weekly fixture here.