Saturday, September 24, 2005

Hey, Hey, Ho, Ho...ah, forget it.

Today, I attended my first anti-war march in D.C. Absolutely massive: north of 100,000 people, easily. Pleasingly, the percentage of gray-bearded, broken down hippies and, even more loathsome, young, smelly neo-hippies, was startlingly low. For the most part, the demographics of the rally were similar to a Summerfest crowd: young people, old folks, hippies, hipsters, punks, wide-bottomed soccer moms, grampas, grammas, yuppies, clergy, college kids and, of course, hot young chicks (I may be anti-war, but I'm staunchly pro-tits) The politics were similarly diverse: anarchists, socialists, ANSWER-type Stalinists, the Communist Party-USA, libertarians, Democrats, even a few alienated Republicans were all in attendance. The day started with a rally on the south lawn of the White House: Cindy Sheehan, George Galloway, and a bunch of other folks talked for an unnecessarily long time. Annoyingly, there was a bunch of loose talk about non-Iraq issues (end U.S. imperialism in Haiti? Haiti?), but for the most part, it was a well-focused presentation, with a lot of emphasis on New Orleans and the relationship between the gratuitous suffering there and the diversion of National Guard troops to Iraq.

The march featured some of my least favorite components of the genus political demonstration: excessive chanting ("Hey, hey, ho, ho...1,2,3,4...this is what democracy looks like...what do we want? Peace! When do we want it? Now!"...the people united can never be defeated...all the lame 60s retreads you can think of) and big, dumb-looking puppets that look like junior high school art projects...that will BLOW YOUR MIND! And bongos. Goddamnit, I hate bongos. How the fuck does a bongo signify opposition to war? Are you banging out "Troops Out Now" in Morse code, you patcholi-soaked burnout?

It was still a charged experience: thousands of people crushed together, making their way through downtown Washington. For a moment, you could feel the power of mass mobilization...until you realized that the parade route was a giant, fenced in circle next to the Mall. Then you could feel the return of flailing impotence.

The jerk-ass counterdemonstrators were there, of course, many of them combat aged, physically fit young men who apparently think that waving a sign at some chick in a peasant blouse is a greater blow to their terrorist enemies than actually toting a weapon in the cause they believe in. I counted less than a hundred, total, and I'll be willing to bet dollars to cockrings that they get as much play in the media accounts of the march as the hundreds of thousands of anti-war demonstrators.

Celebrity sightings: Ward Churchill, the most hated Indian since Crazy Horse, waiting for a bus, Al Sharpton (damn fine hair process you've got there, Al), Harry Belafonte (day-o!), Jim Hightower, and your mom.

Best signs: "End the Mass Killings: Iraq, Darfur, Canada's Seals" and "The Politics of Failure Have Failed!" Simpsons references will always score high with me, especially references to Citizen Kang: Best. Political Satire. Ever.

The whole experience was interesting, but as I left, the inevitable surge of futility overtook me: us protestors all undoubtedly feel better about ourselves for marching, but beyond that, I don't know what effect we could possibly have. The media will downplay the massive demonstration (with Rita making landfall, it's that much easier) and even if they didn't, most Americans think protesting is sort of gay: too much drumming, too many long haired men, too much earnestness. I'll admit it myself: as a card-carrying member of the Irony Generation, all that passion is a little discomfiting, especially when you're right in the middle of it. My overpowered self-consciousness chip is part of the reason that I can't bring myself to chant and sway as I march, but mainly I don't want to fully embrace the self-satisfaction of righteous protest. I fear that making yourself feel better is the only reason to do this sort of thing, and so I figure if I don't feel any better afterward, then feeling better isn't the only reason. If that makes sense.

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