There were about 15 people wearing plain white masks, their identities oblique. One was yelling at the police, “NO! We have a right to wear them!”
“They’re trying to make us take off our masks,” one said to me.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the placard around his neck stenciled with an Arab name and the number 19.
“It’s his age when he was killed by our army in Iraq,” he said. They were all wearing them, and there wasn’t a number over 25.
“I’m sorry,” officer number 3256 intoned, “but you’re going to have to remove the masks. It’s not my choice, but either you take them off, or you leave.”
“I can’t believe this,” one protestor said.
Reluctantly they started to take them off. They conversed in hushed tones, apparently deciding to stand in a line holding the masks just a few inches away from their faces.
One of them yelled at officer 5674. “Is what we’re doing not ‘National Service?’”
…
I wandered past a short man in shirt and tie wearing a yarmulke (the small cap orthodox Jewish men wear to remind themselves of their relationship with God). He was holding up a sign printed with the faces of Barack Obama and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the president of Iran. He was talking to three other men also wearing yarmulkes. “This man,” he said, pointing to Ahmadinejad, “has called for the dissolution of the Jewish state. He’s in support of another holocaust. Six million Jews. Think about it.”
“That has nothing to do with…”
“Six million, and Obama wants to meet with him.”
“That has nothing to do,” the man repeated, “with what the Israelis are doing to the Palestinians.”
“It has everything to do with it.”
“You’re wrong,” said the man. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” Then he walked away and his shoulders were hunched and he was shaking his head.
I asked the man with the placard what he was about. “Barack Obama,” he simply said. “He wants to open diplomatic relations with Iran… I don’t want our President speaking to the leader of the number one state sponsor of terror in the world… I was there on 9/11. I saw the second plane hit the building. I couldn’t breathe, it was so smoky.” He paused and then said, “You don’t talk to terrorists.” Then he stood staring at me, and he didn’t look away until I turned and left.
…
I walked over to a group of people holding placards with “don’t vote” printed on them. There was a middle-aged, academic-looking man standing and talking to them.
“But I still don’t see why I shouldn’t vote,” he said.
“To vote is to authorize government authority,” said a small man who bobbed up and down when he spoke.
“But I think America would be a better country under Obama,” said the academic.
“But too many people think all they have to do is vote. They vote for some president, and then they go home and they think their job is done. And what is a president? We need more change than voting will bring.”
“Well…”
“Voting never changed anything!”
“But look, you can vote and still protest and write or what-have-you. They’re not mutually exclusive.”
A man who’d been listening jumped in. “Exactly, man. When you have two paths, pick a third.” He held up his fist for a “pound,” but the academic obviously didn’t know what to do. He reached up and took the man’s fist the way you’d take someone’s hand to shake. Then he held the fist for a moment and they both looked awkward.
…
I wandered through the crowd, listening to snippets of conversation.
“Don’t you believe in the power of individual competition? Everything I’ve done, I’ve done on my own merits.”
“The proletariat must be armed.”
“The only solution is the destruction of authority and the dissolution of the state.”
And no one seemed to notice as eight o’clock came and went, and John McCain started to talk about his “National Service” in Vietnam. And an hour later, when Barack Obama talked about his own service in Chicago’s South Side, no one noticed either; but they never stopped talking to each other.
No comments:
Post a Comment