"so me and 500,000 of my closest friends went to D.C. ..."

DancingBear

(1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore

Sun Sep-25-05 10:57 AM
Original message

"so me and 500,000 of my closest friends went to D.C. ..."

Edited on Sun Sep-25-05 11:00 AM by DancingBear

I live in Virginia, and conventional wisdom is that if you want to go to D.C., you go on Friday, because everyone else is leaving. With most of the populace heading west or south, eastbound traffic in is a picnic. So when we got 10 miles outside of D.C. on I-66 East and traffic STOPPED we knew Georgie and the boys were in for some serious company. Get out the rollaway, Pickles – we’re staying the night.

We came from everywhere. The Metro lines were jammed tight, and there wasn’t a hotel room to be seen for miles. We owned the Red Roof Inn – 30 blocks away from the Washington Monument – and we smiled at each other in the hallways, and in the elevators, and at breakfast. Those of us who had been through Vietnam knew what we were looking at here –we were building another movement to stop another war, and we were seeing the same things we saw then. I had been to D.C. in 2004, and came back concerned about the lack of young people protesting this immoral invasion. Fast forward to yesterday – my oh my, what a difference a year makes. The young are waking up – scratch that, they HAVE woken up - and they are ready to take stewardship of this movement and lead it forward. If we failed to tell you yesterday, we are thankful.

“Tell me what democracy looks like – THIS is what democracy looks like” – that chant still gives me chills. Imagine hearing it block after block after block, from soldiers and grandmothers, and from students and teachers. Those who were here for the first time marched side-by-side with those of us that had been here before, and we listened to their stories as to how Our Great Divider had gotten them off their couches and into the streets. Downtown was so full that some marchers had to march on sidewalks, as the streets were not wide enough to hold them. As the march moved its way through the Capital, it picked up strength from the thousands upon thousands who lined the access roads and street corners, leading us in cheers, and in support.

And when it got in front of The White House it roared. I mean, it roared. It thrust its collective middle finger at The Crawford Pig, it screamed at the Secret Service standing on The White House roof, and it told the world that we would make come true the words. Not. In. Our. House.

I think of the things I saw. Of the young girl, dressed as The Statue Of Liberty, and holding a toy machine gun. Of the priest on 15th Avenue, holding a small sign that read, “There is no excuse for torture” as he watched with a look in his eyes that told me he believed we could win. Of the elderly woman who, upon reading the sign I was holding, broke down and was comforted by her elderly companion. Of Dick and George and Colin and Condi and Osama and Saddam, walking the route in orange prison jump suits and handcuffs. Of eight-year old Adam from Maine, who carried his penny jar with him and told us that “President Bush is using lots of these for the war.”

At first, I thought it was just me and 500,000 close friends that day, but I was wrong. It was thousands upon thousands of people throughout this country, holding marches and rallies in towns and cities all over America. It was the folks in New York City, who, after finding out their Amtrak train had "mechanical problems” and could not get them to D.C., held a spontaneous rally in Penn Station. It was parents at soccer games who finally realize the lie for what it truly is, and the man with the “Nebraska football” hat in Taco Bell who turned to his wife and sadly said “we’ll be in Iraq for years.”

And it is us. It is the people I had the pleasure of meeting and exchanging names with, and those who I knew were part of the community but who I did not get to speak with. Many of you came much farther than I, with hardships much greater. I commend you all, and as always I thank you for letting me play my small part.

The Hurricane President is gasping for breath, because yesterday a half a million people stood on his throat and stripped him naked in front of the world. He may think he can out run us, but he is sadly mistaken. We are faster than we have ever been, and we know where he hides. We will catch him, and we will stand again.

I don’t know about you, but the next time I’m bringin’ boots.