Yes, another diary about the march and rally in DC, but I promise not to bore you with stuff you’ve already heard from Damnit Janet, Boston Joe or suzq or any of the other 9/24 diaries that have been posted)
It was Thursday afternoon, September 22rd, and I was running around in desperation, looking for some America flags to take with me to the march in DC. My son and I were planning to drive down to DC from Upstate NY on Friday morning and I wanted to bring some American flags with me to carry at the rally. The only problem? No one had any flags in stock!
More after the fold . . .
Not Target. Not the two supermarket chains in my city. Not the local hardware store. Not Walmart (well to be honest I refuse to shop at Walmart, and even if they had had flags I wouldn’t have gotten them there). I heard the same story at each store: Sorry, but we stopped stocking flags after July 4th. We won’t get any more in until Veteran’s Day. Not what I wanted to hear.
It was important to me to have a flag to display at the rally. I feel strongly that we need to reclaim the symbols of patriotism and love of country from those on the right who are so eager to claim them as their own exclusively. And what better place to start than with the flag? The Stars and Stripes ought to stand for something more than just a prop to for warmongers.
Except no one had any flags.
My last stop was Home Depot. If they didn’t have any, I was going to be out of luck. I just didn’t have any more time to devote to what was quickly turning into a wild goose chase. There was too much else to do before we could leave. To be honest, I was a bit disheartened, as I walked up to the man at the customer service desk.
“Have any American Flags in stock?” I said.
“What we have’s right over there at the front of that aisle,” he replied, pointing. “It isn’t much,” he added.
“Great! Thanks!” At that point I didn’t care what they had, just that they had any at all made my afternoon. As I got closer, however, I saw what he meant. They only had two sizes: really really small flags (8″ by 12″) stapled to wooden dowels, or really, really big flags (3′ by 5′) for hanging off the porch of one’s home (complete with mounting brackets, screws and aluminum poles). Which way should I go? Big or little. I could buy a bunch of the small ones to hand out to a lot of people at the rally to wave, or a few large ones and hope I could find some people willing to carry them as banners.
Pros for the little ones: sheer numbers (the more bang for the buck approach) and convenience. I was pretty sure handing out small flags to wave wouldn’t be an issue at the rally. Finding people to hold flags up as a banner I felt would be more of a problem. Cons? Well, little flags make a smaller impression, perhaps. And they were made in China, to boot. The big ones were 100% made in the USA.
That cinched the deal. Big ones it was. I bought two, and tossed them in the back of my minivan for the trip down, still in their plastic packaging, metal poles and all.
When we got to DC the next day, however, I began to have second thoughts. My son and I took the flags out of their wrappings and unfolded one of them to its full length. It was bigger than I anticipated. No way anyone could carry this as a banner all by themselves, and I wasn’t keen on the idea of using it like a shawl, wrapped oround someone. That felt somehow sacriligous to me. Besides, I wanted it seen, and in a big crowd who would ever notice it bundled around someones shoulders and arms? I toyed briefly with the notion of taking the metal poles with me to the rally, but then my son reminded me that (duh) security at the rally might not be too keen on that idea.
Oh hell, I thought finally. I’ll Just take them in my pack and play it by ear once we were actually there. If worse came to worse I’d just donate them to one of the organizations who had set up tents there. Maybe Camp Casey would like some more flags? Or Veterans for Peace? Something would come up, I told myself. Little did I know.
The next morning a bunch of us from Booman, Daily Kos and My Left Wing met up early for breakfast downtown (a story in itself, but I’ll leave that one for others to tell) and then marched down to the Ellipse. Many familiar names to match with new faces, including Mary Scott O’Connor in a pink dress and floppy hat (her pictures don’t do her justice, believe me), Pastor Dan and his Missus, RenaRF with her Bullhorn and great big orange flag to rally around, Damnit Janet and her brother, Ryan, Boston Joe (great cheerful face — perfect for the early morning), Miltary Tracy in her Crawford TX regalia, and a host of others, including two people who will come to play a prominent role in this story: suzq and frisco, both kossacks.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The rally was everything you can imagine and then some. It had a carnival atmosphere; a great big street festival of signs and balloons and music and speeches and people of every variety you can imagine. Young, old, black, white, rich, poor, parents with children, student organizers, veterans, and fabulous costumes: Uncle Sam on stilts, Lady Liberty and Bill Cllinton in drag, a group of chorus girls performing raunchy anti-Bush rallies with a grinning Dubya roaming around looking lost among them. In a word: extraordinary. But you’ve seen the pictures if you’ve looked at this diary, this one or this one. You don’t need my words to add anything. Let’s just say it was quite the first ever protest rally for me.
As the time for the kickoff of the march edged closer I began to get nervous. It was past time to take out my flags and see if I could convince anyone to carry one of them while my son and I carried the other. I took them out of my pack and began to ask if anyone would like a flag. Most people seemed distracted by all that was going on, and in my typical non-assertive, soft spoken manner, I wasn’t making much of a dent in their collective consciousness. Frankly, my prospects didn’t look too promising right then.
But fortune smiles on the bold, it is said, and even on rare occasions on the not so bold. RenaRF, the intrepid organizer of our group somehow took notice. Unbeknownst to me, she had brought with her a collection of cardboard tubes to be used to attach signs to. She had precisely 2 poles left when she spotted me with my flags. A little clear ductape later and “voila!”
Of course, now I had two large flags on poles to carry. I began calling out to people, asking if anyone wanted to carry one, and initially Cabin Girl’s two boys took one apiece, but soon enough I had both flags back in my hands. That is where frisco enters my tale. He heard my plaintive cries for another flag bearer, and kindly agreed to take one of them off my hands (literally). You can see a picture of the two of us holding the flags in a group of other kossacks, my left wingers and booman tribbers here. It’s the 6th photo down. I’m the guy with the grey hair and frisco is the one without. His flag is a little more in the picture than mine.
Finally, flags in hand (the 2 American flags following the great orange one) our group made its way down to the jumping off point of the march at Constitution Avenue. Because the crowd became, well — crowded, we had to hold the flags up as high as possible so as not to have them flap into the faces of our fellow protestors. I felt like a statue at times with my hand pointing up holding aloft the flag, as I’m sure frisco did too. I’m sot sure how, but shortly before the march really started going suzq took the flag from me and agreed to carry it.
And now for the juicy part of the story, the scene where Cindy and Jesse make their grand entrance and come to know my flags up close and personal. But first, one final little bit of prologue (please no groaning).
My ten year old daughter is perhaps the most avid Bush opponent in my entire family, or at least the most vocal about it. She traveled with me last October to campaign for Kerry in Cincinnati, Ohio and regularly works on her schoolmates to give up their support of Bush. She was sorely disappointed that she wasn’t going to make this trip with me, and I had to promise I would bring her home something special. As for how special? Well I’ll let suzq tell that part of the story:
This is the story of my 30 minutes as a flag bearer for Jesse Jackson during the anti-war protest in Washington, DC on Saturday.
As per usual, Kossacks couldn’t stand not being in the know about what was going on at the march, so we worked our way up to the front. Because of our impatience, we managed to actually get in front of the leaders of the march, namely, a coalition of mothers who lost sons in the war, Jesse Jackson, Julian Bond, Al Sharpton and Jim Hightower.
We were walking along when all of a sudden, fellow Kossack, RenaRF yelled out, “Cindy Sheehan and Jesse Jackson are behind us!”
RenaRF, channeling her best Paul Revere, is yelling out “Cindy! Daily Kos is here! Daily Kos is here!”Me? I stick the large American flag I was carrying in the pocket of my waistpack, take out my digital camera and begin snapping pictures. I snapped a picture of Jesse Jackson pointing my way.
[imagine a picture of Jesse here]
Surely, he was pointing toward someone’s cute baby or a funny sign. Suddenly, one of the “security” folks walked up to me and said, “Jesse wants your flag.” “Sure,” I said, and started handing it to her, when she said, “He wants you to carry it behind him.”
I know what you’re thinking. Oh yeah, that’s Jesse alright. Pharaoh of the photo op. King of the Kodak moment…but who among you would have refused Jesse if he had asked you?
At this point, Jesse and Cindy had made the turn from 15th Street onto Pennsylvania Avenue. I met up with fellow Kossack, Frisco who was carrying the other flag. He was enlisted as well. He had the right flank and I the left. Why is it that I always end up on the left?
That’s right! My two flags had been commandered by Jesse Jackson to accompany Cindy Sheehan as they made their way down Pennsylvania Avenue right past the White House. There in front of all the cameras were the two flags I had just managed to find at the Home Depot two days before. Fate is a funny thing, my friends.
But so what? you say. Big deal. Jesse grabbed my flags for a photo op. Well, to me it was a big deal. And to my daughter it was a big deal, a really BIG DEAL! Because when I got home she became the proud owner of the two flags that marched with Cindy Sheehan with hundreds of thousands of our fellow citizens, all of us in opposition to this horrible, illegal war. She was so thrilled she was screaming “You’re the best Daddy ever!” Those flags and the role they played mean a whole hell of a lot to her.
And you know something? My daughter is right. It was important. But again, let me refer to suzq’s diary, because it makes the point better than I could about why these flags were important:
WHY THE FLAGS WERE IMPORTANT
As the dignitary group passed the White House, the press had gathered to accompany them. As we marched, it became very clear to me why Jesse wanted the flags there.
We are Americans and what we are doing is American. Whenever people exercise their rights under the U.S. Constitution, it is appropriate for a flag to be present. By our very presence yesterday, we were consecrating our flags. I stood with Jesse and Cindy as they said a short prayer and held a brief press conference. She thanked the crowd around her several times–and wished to extend a big thank you to all the marchers. Afterward, Cindy, overwhelmed with emotion, wanted to return to the Ellipse. I left to rejoin the march at that point.
This was in stark contrast to a sign we saw on the corner of 15th Street and Constitution, held by a small group of counter protestors:
TRY TO BURN THIS FLAG.
The sign was clearly professionally manufactured. A picture of an American flag was on it. And it made me think about the nature of slurs in general. Some people insult what you believe. Others insult what you are. And still others offer a projection of what they think you should be. They taunt you by daring you to do the very thing that will allow them to feel justified to disagree with you–or even hate you.
WE MARCH AS PATRIOTS
You know, this wasn’t Cindy’s march or Jesse’s march. It was OUR march. We are no different than any American who ever marched in disagreement with the policies or practices of this nation. Whether it be slavery, women’s rights, poverty, even abortion, if you disagree, you have a right–a duty–to protest.
We march because the United States is not a military government. Our military is guided and directed by civilian authorities.
We the People, in order to form a more Perfect Union, establish Justice, ensure Domestic Tranquility, provide for the Common Defense, promote the General Welfare march because we need to remind our political leaders that when We the People no longer believe this war serves our best interests they need to pay attention to us!
The flag identifies us, in that way.
But we march to remember as well. We march because they can’t anymore. They can’t march into a town to try to liberate Iraqis, or fight insurgents, or try to make the best of the mess we’ve gotten them into.
Yesterday, we marched for the dead and the living soldiers who cannot march down Pennsylvania Avenue, stop, and say a short prayer for this nation and our President. Say what you will about who speaks for you. But as Americans, each one of us has the right to speak out about what we believe about this war. If we do not exercise that right, our leaders will never know the truth about the strength of the popular support for this war.
So, to frisco and suzq, thank you for bearing my daughter’s flags in protest of this war.
To RenaRF, thank you for providing the poles and the tape to make these flags fly high and be proudly displayed.
To Cindy Sheehan and Jesse Jackson, thank you for the great honor of allowing my daughter’s flags to accompany you on this historic march for peace.
And most of all, thank you to everyone who came to the protest rallies, whether in Washington DC, or around the country. You are the real American Patriots.
