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January 22, 2001
It was drizzling and cold the day
George W. Bush assumed the duties of President of the United States. In his
speech, he spoke of national unity and opportunity for all. Unfortunately, the
agents of dissent heard none of it. They were too busy preparing their ambush
about a half mile away. Signs had to be readied. Bullhorns tested. Bandanas
tied across the face just so. Had they heard the new president’s hopeful
speech, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. In street
theater, as on the Broadway stage, the show must go on.
The ambush site was along the parade route, on
Pennsylvania Avenue, across from the National Archives, in front of the Navy
Memorial. Journalists must have been tipped off about the location as there
were quite a few standing with the disenchanted.
In this mob—as in most mobs--there were three
groups of participants. Organizers, college students, and homeless people. The
organizers were a small cadre of ideologues who planned the protest and would
rouse the rabble during the execution of the ambush. The college students were
split between the socially conscious and those who came hoping to hook up. The
homeless guys had nothing better to do.
To get the party started, someone
had to commit an inflammatory act. Someone had to light a spark. Since none
was ignited spontaneously—(perhaps the rain had something to do with
that)--it was up to the cadre of ideologues to create one. Wearing bandanas
over their faces to conceal their identities and bicycle helmets on their
heads to suggest the possibility of police brutality, the professional
agitators rushed the flag pole in front of the memorial and pulled down the
nautical pennants and official standard of the United States Navy. Then up
went the black and red flag of protest on one wire and the upside down Stars
and Stripes on the other. Once secured to the cleat with the proper knot, one
of the masked young men stepped back, looked toward the desecrated emblem of
his own country, and extended a middle-fingered salute.
The college kids and homeless guys cheered.
"Fuck yeah, baby!" a filthy, toothless, wild-eyed old man wearing a
clean, brand new NARAL T-shirt screamed. "This is what democracy’s all
about!"
The police came to correct the flag situation. They
were wearing riot gear. The crowd starting snarling "Pig! Pig! Pig!"
The prop director was prepared. A giant pink, paper mache, pig head appeared
and was tossed among the throng of people.
The police tried to push the protesters back away
from the flagpole. They were polite and orderly. They conducted themselves
well. But they did push, and in doing so, they played right into their part
perfectly. Without them, there could be drama. And the professional agitators
knew they needed drama. Something to make the crowd wild, and, more
importantly, something to make the cameramen crush out their cigarettes and
take notice.
So the cops moved in, and hit their marks
beautifully. The crowd didn’t budge. They dug in their heals or went limp.
Perfect. And someone started to shout, "The whole world is watching. The
whole word is watching." Brilliant. That was the cue for the TV men to
run up and work their magic. "Thank God something’s finally
happening," one of them remarked to a colleague from another network.
A few arrests were made.
Fantastic.
But they’d climaxed too early. The motorcade was
still a few blocks away. The bandanas needed to keep the crowd pumped in the
interim. That is when the hand of Divine Providence showed itself. The crowd’s
attention was momentarily turned inward by two old women who were trying to
get through. They were not wearing campaign buttons but they were wearing fur
coats. Two horn-rimmed young girls in leather shoes, leather belts, and
leather jackets taunted them with, "Why don’t you wear the bloody side
out?" and "Hey Ladies, be careful, you’ve got animals on your
backs." The crowd roared and the frightened ladies scooted off as quickly
as they could.
Soon after, it was again
"places everyone." It was time to ambush the actual parade. And who
was in the front of the procession, but the cadets from West Point. Followed
by the midshipmen from the Naval Academy. Could this be more perfect?
"Fascists! Fascists!"
Of course.
More military people. More booing.
Then, finally, the Presidential limousine rolled into
view and everyone got focused.
The signs went up in unison:
Lick Bush in 2004
Re-Elect Gore in 2004
I’m Hot 4 Your Lesbian Daughter
Free Mumia
The chants—true economies of words--were belted out:
"Heil to the Thief! Heil to the Thief!"
"Fuck Bush. Fuck Bush!"
Police held most of the crowd at
bay, but a few of the rabble refused to play along (or played along perfectly)
and they were arrested. Fortunately for the organizers, the television cameras
caught that.
A minute later, the President was gone. The signs
came down. The angry screams were replaced by shouts of self-congratulation.
Two hours in the drizzle and cold
was enough. When the cameramen split, a mass exodus occurred. The students
hustled off to the Metro station or to Au Bon Pain. (A few of the
less-committed went to Starbucks, which was closer.) They were now the proud
owners of a crazy college story they’d be telling for years to come.
The professional agitators loaded up their gear for
use on another day. They’d done their jobs well. The choreography was
perfect. From the inflammatory act to the police response to the crowd
rebuttal. And who could have planned for those cadets or the old women in fur?
What fucking luck! Confirmation of their mission accomplishment would come
later that evening on the national news, thanks to the cameramen who got the
shot they were looking for.
And the homeless guys, well, after ten minutes they
were about the only ones hanging around outside. It had been a pretty good day
for them. They’d killed some time and helped out some people who were good
enough to talk to them. At least for awhile. They even got new T-shirts.
All in all, everyone got what they
wanted.
Jim Sosnicky
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