Patriots Protest

My wife, son and I had the distinct honor of walking among tens of thousands of anti-war protesters at Washington, D.C.’s National Mall yesterday.

As a child of the ’60s who shared lungfuls of teargas with rioting anti-war protesters on the Washington Monument lawn over 35 years ago, I found yesterday’s protest to be both nostalgic and quite surprising.

Despite “peace” and “love” being the buzzwords of the Vietnam era, anti-war protests were neither peaceful nor loving. Obscenities flew and vulgar chants echoed off Washington’s marble and stone. At a circa ’69 star-studded Fourth of July concert in support of American troops in Southeast Asia, a tie-died, hirsute mob managed to drown out a military band with “One, two, three, four, we don’t want your fucking war,” and my favorite, “Fuck Bob Hope, fuck Bob Hope.”

Why they were mad at Bob Hope, I still haven’t figured out. But I do know the ’60s were about anger. The “hippies” had lots to be mad about and the Vietnam War has long since proven to be a monumental blunder, but the youth of that time were not just anti-war. They were often anti-government, anti-military and anti-American. They burned flags, touted socialism and often behaved as disciples of anarchy.

But Saturday’s massive protest was different. By my estimation, at least 100,000 came to the National Mall to voice their opposition to the war and Bush’s recently proposed “surge.” What erupted was, well, a festival.

There were plenty of college-age kids, but I estimate the average age of the protesters to be over 30. Many were over 40 or 50. Grandmothers, grandfathers, and sometimes entire families, carried signs. There were priests and nuns. With the exception of one sign that proclaimed, “Fuck George Bush,” the messages were civil.

The myriad slogans were direct, like “Bush lies, soldiers die” and “Bring our troops home now.”

One young man, who ostensibly woke up late and couldn’t think of a catchy slogan, proudly carried his home-made poster, which read: “War is bad.”

There were dogs with signs draped across their backs, a protester wearing a Richard Nixon mask and an Uncle Sam on stilts. A large, inflatable arch proclaimed the participants as the “True Majority.” A stage served as focal point for the protest and celebrities took turns deriding Bush’s decisions concerning Iraq.

One young man took the microphone and claimed to be an Iraqi opposed to our “occupation,” and while I have no reason to doubt him, his accent and speech reminded me more of a Saturday Night Live skit than the rabble-rousing, anti-war rant it was supposed to be.

A few protesters handed out underground magazines, like “Socialist Worker” and “Militant,” yet when rebuffed with a polite, “No thank you,” they smiled and moved on.

I never saw or heard a single anti-soldier or anti-American comment. No flags (that I know of) were burned. I heard no profanity. Red, white and blue was everywhere.

These protesters wanted their soldiers to come home and they were mad at Bush for sending them into harm’s way, yet there wasn’t a violent vibe in the clear blue sky. People laughed and children played. I smiled and soaked it up. Throw in a livestock competition and an apple-pie-eating contest and it would have been a state fair.

In this post-9/11 era when overzealous security threatens our daily liberty, 100,000 anti-war Americans gathered near the U.S. Capitol, the very seat of power in the free world, and you could hardly find a cop.

There were no police in riot gear slapping batons in their palms. The cops you did see were on the periphery, leaning against their squad cars, sipping coffee and watching like the whole event was a Shriner’s parade. The city even did it’s best to accommodate the crowds by placing block-long rows of porta-poties along the Mall.

My 13-year-old son had never seen such a protest in person. He was surprised so many anti-war protesters could get so close to the nation’s Capitol so easily. He asked what would happen if everyone suddenly charged the Capitol steps in an effort to take the building.

I told him I’m sure many would die, but most would get in. He looked at me, incredulous, yet eventually got the point. Trust is a vital element of freedom.

We wandered carefree amid thousands of strangers, each with a visceral devotion to ending the Iraq war, yet we felt as safe as if we were at a neighborhood park. The reason is simple, but unique to this country. We were with fellow Americans … patriots, every one.

Painful Pundit

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