Sunday, September 25, 2005
Note: I tried to post this yesterday, but Blogger was acting weird, so any references to "Today" are really from Saturday. ;)
Today, I participated in the antiwar protest in Washington, D.C. – by far the largest protest I’ve ever been a part of, and in the nation’s capital, at that. It was both an invigorating and disheartening experience, and consequently I’ve been left with many thoughts and feelings to sort through, and many new experiences to draw from.
The day was invigorating because of the sheer number of people rallying for such a great cause – after all, who doesn’t love peace or loathe war? I saw folks from all walks of life – the “hippies” and “radicals,” sure, but also elderly couples, whole families with small children, gay and lesbian couples, Veterans Against the War, the Code Pink crew, representatives from many states far and wide, Iraqis who have immigrated to America for a variety of reasons – the list goes on. It was awe-inspiring to be surrounded by hundreds of thousands of like-minded people, rallying behind a political, social, moral, and ethical stance that I am proud to be in line with. It warmed my heart. And that was even before I joined the march.
Oh, the march was fantastic. So many people, yet again, making their way around the White House from the Ellipse, travelling down Pennsylvania Avenue, past the Old Post Office, where tourists gazed down from atop the bell tower. Drummers keeping time with thousands of marchers, who were chanting their own slogans (both in unison and separately), followed by a bagpiper playing tune after tune, followed by more chanting, in English, in Spanish, in other languages I can’t even begin to recognize. The old and the young holding banners together. The hopeful faces. The (surprisingly!) calm police, standing watch in riot gear, their shields resting by their sides. The veterans, the elderly, the babies, dogs, men, women, and everyone in between. All together for one cause, reveling in the hope that one day, ONE DAY, peace will overcome and our troops will come home. My heart simply sang with joy.
But the counter-protesters. I was pleased to see they were few in numbers, standing across the metal barrier in a single-file line across from the Old Post Office on Pennsylvania Avenue. But oh, the hatred they flung at us. The insults they hurled at Mike, at me, at everyone else, both those quiet (I much prefer to turn the other cheek, even though today that was easier said than done) and those somewhat more provocative. Though I didn’t know them, and they don’t know me, the insults and barbs they flung my way were so hateful, so hurtful – and dare I say that a few actually penetrated my brain and my heart and stung a bit? I couldn’t believe it, but there it was. Mike and I flashed them a peace sign back and walked on.
But the worst were the ones who called us traitors. Those who said we were terrorists because we wanted to get out of this war in Iraq. Those who said we were against the troops because we were against the war. One of my best friends is a Marine, has served in our armed forces most recently on a deployment in support of Operating Enduring Freedom, and I both support his work and love him dearly. Why would I not support my troops? Why would I not grieve for those who have died or come back in worse shape than when they left? Why, pray tell, would I be considered a “traitor” for wanting my friend to come back safe and sound after serving my country? It baffles me.
I wanted to speak with them, but the police wouldn’t allow such a thing – and I don’t know if I would have had the wherewithal to maintain any semblance of eloquence anyway. I really feel like that if we could just sit down and talk, hash things out, we could at least see each other’s point of view much clearer, beyond the insults, beyond the preconceived notions and stereotypes that I’m sure both of us harbor. And I’d be willing to bet that save for some nuances here and there, some ideological differences in the religious and political realms, we’d actually find a whole heck of a lot to agree about. We both love America. We both love our troops. We both want what’s best for them, our country, and our world. We may never get each other to coalesce to one particular point of view or another, but wouldn’t it be worth our time to just talk it out for a while and see what happened?
All of this was going through my mind as we marched past the counter-protesters, who at the end of the day I’m glad I saw. They made me realize what a massive amount of work we all as Americans have to do to get this country back to some sort of united body, and they also oddly gave me hope that we can do so if we just go about it the right way. Let’s trade the insults for a thorough discussion and go from there.
The rest of the day was inspirational. Rep. Maxine Waters spoke to the crowd with her usual zeal and zest, and afterward a speaker from Louisiana spoke about the mountain of work this nation’s got to do to get the South back on its feet. But then came one of the highlights of my life thus far, someone that made me feel closer to my parents’ generation – and indeed, my parents themselves – than nearly anyone else: Joan Baez.
Oh, she was beautiful and gorgeous and had not lost one single note of talent over the years. She moved me to near tears with “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?” and ended her four-song performance with “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall.” And through it all, I felt both chills and hope. Chills for what has transpired thus far; hope for what could transpire next.
I’ll do everything in my power to help peace transpire next. We as a country deserve it.
:)
Today, I participated in the antiwar protest in Washington, D.C. – by far the largest protest I’ve ever been a part of, and in the nation’s capital, at that. It was both an invigorating and disheartening experience, and consequently I’ve been left with many thoughts and feelings to sort through, and many new experiences to draw from.
The day was invigorating because of the sheer number of people rallying for such a great cause – after all, who doesn’t love peace or loathe war? I saw folks from all walks of life – the “hippies” and “radicals,” sure, but also elderly couples, whole families with small children, gay and lesbian couples, Veterans Against the War, the Code Pink crew, representatives from many states far and wide, Iraqis who have immigrated to America for a variety of reasons – the list goes on. It was awe-inspiring to be surrounded by hundreds of thousands of like-minded people, rallying behind a political, social, moral, and ethical stance that I am proud to be in line with. It warmed my heart. And that was even before I joined the march.
Oh, the march was fantastic. So many people, yet again, making their way around the White House from the Ellipse, travelling down Pennsylvania Avenue, past the Old Post Office, where tourists gazed down from atop the bell tower. Drummers keeping time with thousands of marchers, who were chanting their own slogans (both in unison and separately), followed by a bagpiper playing tune after tune, followed by more chanting, in English, in Spanish, in other languages I can’t even begin to recognize. The old and the young holding banners together. The hopeful faces. The (surprisingly!) calm police, standing watch in riot gear, their shields resting by their sides. The veterans, the elderly, the babies, dogs, men, women, and everyone in between. All together for one cause, reveling in the hope that one day, ONE DAY, peace will overcome and our troops will come home. My heart simply sang with joy.
But the counter-protesters. I was pleased to see they were few in numbers, standing across the metal barrier in a single-file line across from the Old Post Office on Pennsylvania Avenue. But oh, the hatred they flung at us. The insults they hurled at Mike, at me, at everyone else, both those quiet (I much prefer to turn the other cheek, even though today that was easier said than done) and those somewhat more provocative. Though I didn’t know them, and they don’t know me, the insults and barbs they flung my way were so hateful, so hurtful – and dare I say that a few actually penetrated my brain and my heart and stung a bit? I couldn’t believe it, but there it was. Mike and I flashed them a peace sign back and walked on.
But the worst were the ones who called us traitors. Those who said we were terrorists because we wanted to get out of this war in Iraq. Those who said we were against the troops because we were against the war. One of my best friends is a Marine, has served in our armed forces most recently on a deployment in support of Operating Enduring Freedom, and I both support his work and love him dearly. Why would I not support my troops? Why would I not grieve for those who have died or come back in worse shape than when they left? Why, pray tell, would I be considered a “traitor” for wanting my friend to come back safe and sound after serving my country? It baffles me.
I wanted to speak with them, but the police wouldn’t allow such a thing – and I don’t know if I would have had the wherewithal to maintain any semblance of eloquence anyway. I really feel like that if we could just sit down and talk, hash things out, we could at least see each other’s point of view much clearer, beyond the insults, beyond the preconceived notions and stereotypes that I’m sure both of us harbor. And I’d be willing to bet that save for some nuances here and there, some ideological differences in the religious and political realms, we’d actually find a whole heck of a lot to agree about. We both love America. We both love our troops. We both want what’s best for them, our country, and our world. We may never get each other to coalesce to one particular point of view or another, but wouldn’t it be worth our time to just talk it out for a while and see what happened?
All of this was going through my mind as we marched past the counter-protesters, who at the end of the day I’m glad I saw. They made me realize what a massive amount of work we all as Americans have to do to get this country back to some sort of united body, and they also oddly gave me hope that we can do so if we just go about it the right way. Let’s trade the insults for a thorough discussion and go from there.
The rest of the day was inspirational. Rep. Maxine Waters spoke to the crowd with her usual zeal and zest, and afterward a speaker from Louisiana spoke about the mountain of work this nation’s got to do to get the South back on its feet. But then came one of the highlights of my life thus far, someone that made me feel closer to my parents’ generation – and indeed, my parents themselves – than nearly anyone else: Joan Baez.
Oh, she was beautiful and gorgeous and had not lost one single note of talent over the years. She moved me to near tears with “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?” and ended her four-song performance with “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall.” And through it all, I felt both chills and hope. Chills for what has transpired thus far; hope for what could transpire next.
I’ll do everything in my power to help peace transpire next. We as a country deserve it.
:)
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