-Caveat Lector- Scenes from an Inauguration Day protest The Fire This Time <http://www.ironminds.com/ironminds/issues/010123/postcard.shtml> By Lori Kurtzman WASHINGTON On this blustery winter day, with misty rain gently collecting on his hat and the crowd around us engaged in furious chanting, Jerry tells me that his plan was to become a priest. That was years ago, though, and now Jerry lives in our country's least holy place and has six children, and 17-year-old James don't call him Jimmy, his father warns is standing to his right. James clicks his retainer into place and points to the bumper sticker on his back. "Green Day," it says, and Jerry is a bit confused. He expected something more along the lines of "Not my president!" We are, after all, at the inaugural parade for the nation's 43rd president, and Jerry and James are two of the many protesters who have come to declare that today is "the day democracy died." I'm about four blocks and three hours from the parade's start, in a line loaded with religious fanatics, man-haters, fur foes and pro-choicers. They've all come out today everyone except the Bush supporters, who seem to be hiding in the street's wet corners, support buttons sitting deep in their pockets. I jump in this line somewhere near the end, and Jerry and James are right behind me. Over the chants of the protesters lining the street and the booming sermon from the "born-again preacher," (that's what he calls himself) on the corner, Jerry has decided to tell me his life story. It starts with the priesthood plan and keeps going, but it's raining and it's cold and I can't bother myself to pay attention. Jerry saw my notebook poking out of my black wool coat and thought I'd be a natural listener, but he was wrong. I've been in Washington for two weeks. I ride the Metro like a pro and have the D.C. yuppie look down. I've tried not to be a tourist, but at the top of my to-do list during my three-week stay here was a stop by the inaugural mess. Now I'm not so sure this was a good idea. As soon as I stepped onto the train today, I saw my first goateed protester, a pseudo-hippie with a black backpack and an embarrassed girlfriend. "Hail to the Thief," read his sign, an original slogan I'd see hundreds of times in the next four hours. He hid it behind the backs of his legs while we waited for our stop to approach. I pass through the gates, wave farewell to Jerry and James (who, as it turns out, aren't bad line company) and assess this lugubrious celebration. The rain comes down harder, the sky grows grayer, and the temperature seems to suddenly drop. I wish for gloves and a hat and shoes without holes. The parade is scheduled to start in two hours, and I have nowhere to go and I can still hear the vendors outside of blocked-off Pennsylvania Avenue with their teasing call: "Um-ba-rellas-um-ba-rellas-um-ba-rellas!" I pick my spot, a few feet from the street and a few more from the tickets-only bleachers. There are "hundreds of thousands" of people here, as the next day's paper reads, and most of them are already yelling. Before the day is over, I'll see a near-riot break out, hear a choir of a hundred voices join in the chanting of "fuck you" and have a William McKinley-obsessed smoking fiend bum two of my cigarettes and stare at me for an uncomfortably long time. The parade starts an hour and a half late, and tensions are soaring. A man behind me yells something profane, his brow tightly knitted, and the spittle soars a good foot from his mouth. A man next to me is poked by an umbrella several times and finally gives the nylon canopy a good shove. This, I tell myself, is a celebration that happens only once every four years. A marching band toots its way bravely by the crowd and is greeted with several hundred turned-down thumbs and one unanimous "Boo!" Today, the sidewalks of Pennsylvania Avenue are the Great American Platform, and if one thing is clear, it is that we are doomed. Trash bins are overflowing, chaos is reigning and hate, well, hate seems to be the theme of Inauguration 2001. There is a hatred for the president, the Supreme Court, the electoral college. But where it's aimed at doesn't seem to matter. This crowd is young, and it is raging. As we wait for the president's motorcade, choppers cut through the air overhead. Snipers atop buildings peer down at the masses, and a man up front offers middle fingers to the chanters. The bleachers fill up, and blue ticket-holders are not happy. "I paid 200 dollars and I don't even get a seat?" one woman wrapped in fur asks. No worries. Her husband, a pudgy man with a brown fedora, pulls her to the front of the crowd, butting and bumping and ignoring those of us who've been holding our spots for three hours. A few people swear at him, but most don't mind. Nobody's really here to see a parade, anyway. I'm told President George W. Bush's weak inaugural address centered on civility and unity, and I have to wonder if he's witnessing what I am. This is in fact the breakdown of civility, and the only people uniting here do so when the presidential limousine rolls by and they chant "Not my president!" A gang of four dressed in black from head to toe has taken to a flagpole. The group strips every flag and re-hangs the American banners upside down to the approving cheers of the audience, which chants "peace-ful, peace-ful" when the riot squad is called in. Dirt and ripped-up signs are thrown; someone is hit by an officer's club. A man with a strong tenor voice breaks into "My country 'tis of thee" while the rest of the crowd, protesters included, joins in. And the rain keeps coming down. <A HREF="http://www.ctrl.org/">www.ctrl.org</A> DECLARATION & DISCLAIMER ========== CTRL is a discussion & informational exchange list. Proselytizing propagandic screeds are unwelcomed. Substance�not soap-boxing�please! These are sordid matters and 'conspiracy theory'�with its many half-truths, mis- directions and outright frauds�is used politically by different groups with major and minor effects spread throughout the spectrum of time and thought. That being said, CTRLgives no endorsement to the validity of posts, and always suggests to readers; be wary of what you read. CTRL gives no credence to Holocaust denial and nazi's need not apply. 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