by W.H. Harrod
~~ Chapter Twenty-Eight
Leaving their primary mode of transportation parked safely behind the professor’s house, the three middle-aged reconstituted political activists trudged the hilly path of participatory democracy that lead to the plaza in front of the university’s main administration building, historically recognized as ground zero for student dissent at Berkeley. Throughout the sixties and on to the present day, students aired their gripes upon this hallowed ground. As the three neared the plaza, an air of anticipation enveloped Allison. They saw groups of students carrying signs proclaiming their opposition to the war in Iraq. Stop the War, No More Blood for Oil, and Students for Peace were but a few of the hastily constructed protest signs carried by many of the gathering demonstrators. Exhilaration best described Allison’s response to this public outpouring to the gross abuses of power by the leaders of the country. Only one small thing dampened her enthusiasm, a line of policemen blocking the entrance to the administration building targeted for occupation by the protestors.
“We may have our work cut out for us,” remarked Allison.
“What work would that be, by the way?” inquired Sam as he too looked around at the swelling crowd consisting mostly of students.
“We need to do everything we can to keep this protest from turning violent, that’s what.”
Sam looked out over the nearly one thousand protestors gathered in the plaza. “Okay, I have a plan. I’ll take this side. Allison, you take the left side, and Bobby, you go over there to the right. When this crowd gets riled up and starts to look as if they’re ready to tear-ass around the area wreaking havoc upon the community, we’ll stick out our arms and say, ‘Stop, you shouldn’t do this.’ They’ll be so grateful that we stopped them from doing something that might get them into trouble with the police or university officials they will probably want to buy us lunch. When that happens, be sure to mention we’re partial to a certain organic pizza and pasta place. What do you think, Bobby? Sound like a workable plan to you?”
“Thank you, Einstein, for another of your brilliant ideas,” responded Allison, trying not to laugh. “I suggest we table that plan for the moment and consider simply talking to anyone who starts frothing at the mouth. If we can calm a few of them down before they start going nuts, maybe it will help. That’s all.”
Sam and Bobby looked at each other and then back to Allison. “We can do that,” they said in unison.
By noon, the rally picked up steam. Speakers ascended to a microphone on the steps of the administration building shouting their opposition to the war. As the school administrators along with the campus police stood by, protestors, at the exhortations of their leaders, raised the decibel level of the anti-war chants. ‘No Blood for Oil,’ they chanted repeatedly. Along with the anti-war chants, other demands were also made by the protestors. Among them was a demand to make the University of Baghdad a sister university, and a guarantee that the university would not increase student fees.
“Some of these people sound more like junior war profiteers than protestors,” commented Sam to his companions. “Someone should remind them of the need to stay on message. Don’t these kids know any vulgarities? I’ve heard worse language from girl scouts selling cookies door to door. Plus, all of them look as if they’ve bathed recently. These people aren’t protestors; they’re a bunch of politically challenged adolescents auditioning for parts in an upcoming docu-drama about the sixties campus revolution.”
Allison ignored Sam’s comments and turned her attention to a group of young republicans attempting to distribute yellow ribbons to the protestors. A bad idea by the looks of the less than warm reception they were receiving. Allison admired their dedication, and she regretted that the protestors, when they didn’t accept the ribbons offered, showed their anger by grabbing the ribbons and throwing them to the ground to be stomped on. The distributors of the ribbons could not understand why a person would not take a ribbon to support the troops even if they did oppose the war. Such an inclination for compartmentalization was commonplace on both sides of the political spectrum, Allison thought as she went over to assist a young man in his efforts to retrieve the ribbons taken from him and thrown to the ground. Surprise covered the young man’s face when he saw Allison and her anti-war sweatshirt down on the ground with him helping gather up the ribbons. This poor guy’s mind is probably really messed up now. When they both rose to their feet the young man smiled at Allison before turning to move away. Before he could get away, she felt compelled to say something.
“Young man,” said Allison, “The message to care for the troops you’re promoting with those ribbons is a wonderful message, and I think very few people here oppose it, but there is also another message conveyed by those ribbons to the individuals who sent our soldiers to war -- that what they have done is okay. That’s the message we oppose.”
The young man said nothing as they both stood together. Then with a nod of the head, he bid Allison good day and went on his way.
Turning back around, Allison saw that Bobby and Sam watched with mild amusement as the well-worn rhetoric emanating from the steps of the administration building persisted. Allison hoped it stayed that way. But no sooner said than undone, right then, without her having witnessed any commands coming from the protest leaders, they turned and led the protestors into the building. No officials tried to stop the surging wave of students. Allison did hear individuals toward the front of the crowd reminding the protestors going into the building as well as the majority of the protestors who were to stay outside that this was a peaceful protest. So far, so good, thought Allison, so far, so good.
Allison and her two sidekicks could not have gotten into the building if they wanted to -- which they didn’t. She was content to stay outside and voice her support for the student occupiers along with the hundreds of protestors who were now relegated to a supporting role in the recasting of this oft-performed collegiate, coming-of-age happening. One young girl standing close to Allison started displaying signs of becoming overexcited. She repeated the words, “Now I’m really a student activist! Now I’m really a student activist!” Casually, so as not to be noticed, Allison edged closer to the excitable young lady. With each series of anti-war chants the young girl’s anger intensified. Allison looked to see if she carried anything that could be used as a weapon, but saw nothing. This young woman was a prime candidate for intervention.
“Wow, this is great isn’t it,” said Allison as loud as she could to the frothing young woman.
“Huh?” was the shocked response from the girl. “What?” Her spell temporarily broken, she turned her stern countenance towards Allison.
“Right on man, give peace a chance, power to the people, how many times must a cannon ball fly?” Allison answered, using up all of the ‘60s catch phrases that she could remember.
The young girl starred at Allison as if she were a raving lunatic. “What are you talking about lady? Is that some kind of geriatric speak? What do you want, I’m busy!”
Allison displayed her warmest smile to the rude young woman as she went about the hurried task of talking herself out of grabbing the girl by the ear, sitting her down, and telling her to cool off. Hoping to avert a crisis, Allison started to throw another round of ‘60s catch phrases at the recalcitrant potential troublemaker. When the young woman spotted the wording on Allison’s sweatshirt, her whole demeanor changed.
“Damn lady, that gear you have on is pure money!” the girl said to Allison. Allison, unable to comprehend the meaning of her words, looked to Sam for help.
Sam whispered over Allison’s shoulder, “She likes your sweatshirt.”
“Oh, thanks. I got this when I was here in ‘69 doing this same thing,” she said to the girl.
“Wow, that’s so phat! You were here in ‘69? That’s before my folks even. Lady, this is so cool. I can’t wait to tell my sperm donors I met a legend who was here ten years before they were and is still here doin’ the radical.”
A
llison listened once more for Sam’s translation being whispered into her ear. “She’s impressed,” is all he said.
“Ah, thank you, but are you enjoying the protest? Have you done this before? You seemed as if you were upset.”
“Hey, no problem, I’m just chillin’. This is my third time this year. Most of the time I’m just another propeller head, but this lets me vent and have some interaction with the radical Arnolds. Plus, like the rag says, War Sucks! See ya.”
The girl promptly walked away, and as she did, the pleasant smile again became an angry snarl, shouting obscenities towards the heavens.
As Allison turned to confront her two friends, she found them both enjoying a good laugh. Allison made a mental note not to do anything like that again. The conversation with the young protestor had aged her by years. She had no idea what the girl said, except for the part about her being older than her parents. That part did register.
For the next couple of hours, the three of them walked around the plaza watching the mostly younger protestors enjoying themselves. Other than shouting and yelling, the group outside the occupied building showed no indication of violence. Things got a little hairy when the campus police informed the protestors inside the building that unless they promptly vacated the premises they would be arrested. Many protestors decided they had displayed enough resistance to authority for one day and got up off the floor and exited the property. The ones who defied the edict, later reported to be one hundred seventeen protestors, were taken out of the building one by one. Most walked out escorted by the police, but several had to be carried outside where they were cited for trespassing and released. All during this process the university officials in attendance requested the students act in a non-violent manner, which they did.
The whole event couldn’t have gone much better to Allison’s way of thinking as the crowd slowly began to drift away. No one as far as she could see got hurt and nothing had been set on fire. So far, the day had been a success. What else was on their agenda? Turning to her faithful comrades to get their ideas, she got no further than Sam’s goofy smile. Instantly, she remembered his request to have lunch at Lia’s place. Not bothering to mention the subject, she asked Bobby. “Are you up for some more organic fare, Bobby? I am if you are. We do need to take a pizza back for Ernest.”
Bobby offered no resistance, and the three of them began the several block trek to Lia’s restaurant. Sam set the pace early on, but he soon realized his companions were not as excited about the plan as he was and slowed down to a more reasonable gait.
“What’s your opinion to this point about the methods of protesting around here?” Sam asked Allison as they walked along.
Allison answered promptly, “I’m very pleased at the way it’s being handled here at the university on the part of the protestors and the public officials. This is what I had hoped for. Are you guys going to join me this evening at the Civic Center Park where the mayor and some city council members plan to meet to publicly oppose the war? But back to the protest, the only part I’m worried about is what’s going on across the bay in the downtown area. I keep hearing reports from different sources that both the protestors and the police are becoming more aggressive in their tactics. I hope things settle down before the big march this Saturday. I plan to be right in the middle of that one.”
“If you guys are there, I’ll be there with you,” said Bobby.
“How about you, Sam? What’s your plan?” asked Allison.
Sam walked along at an easy pace as he considered the question. “I’m honestly getting pessimistic about the whole thing -- the protestors, the public officials, us. Just about everybody, I guess.”
Allison’s ears perked up. Sam provided his thoughts and insights in spurts, and this might be one of those times. He often seemed as if he was disconnected and self-centered, but Allison knew he assessed things as he went along.
“Go on,” Allison said in response.
“I’ve already told you what I think about these fair weather warriors who are leaving their comfortable homes and setting aside their lives of relative ease to come here for a short time to stand in the street and condemn the actions of our government without stopping to realize that to a great extent it’s each of their lifestyles that encourages our government to act the way it is. This country cannot function as it does without our government securing and protecting the natural resources we have to have. We must have military forces placed strategically around the world or other countries will take these scarce resources for their own use. Are we ready to change our lives radically enough to eliminate our dependence on these resources and to take back control and responsibility for our lives? If we’re not, I believe we’re wasting our time here. I think we should sit down and discuss this before we go across the bay and get in the middle of that mess for nothing.”
“I also see the possibility of future historians comparing our generation in the same light that they’ve shone so disparagingly upon those poor dumb southern crackers who so gallantly and stupidly fought and died in the Civil War to preserve an elitist, aristocratic way of life in the old south that held them in complete and utter contempt.”
“To a great extent much the same thing is going on right now. Only this time the southern aristocrats have been replaced by an oligarchy made up of lying, greedy politicians, and rich corporate swindlers. The politicians are primarily shills for the corporations to make sure that laws are created or eliminated depending upon if they help or interfere with the systematic plundering and pillaging of our twenty-first century’s economic landscape. The nation’s leaders secure their positions by completely ignoring economic issues or realities and appealing to a large group of voters and their most closely guarded prejudices relating to God, religion, homosexuality, abortion rights, or any other subject that can be listed in the morality category. And you know what? They fall for it! Millions of supposedly intelligent people completely ignore relevant issues relating to poverty, hunger, disease, human rights, nuclear proliferation, unfair taxation, the national debt, budget deficits, government waste, corporate malfeasance, environmental contamination, destruction of the family farms, the systematic elimination of the entire middle class, and many, many other issues. Instead, like a bunch of lemmings they fall in line and publicly concern themselves with matters more appropriately left to each individual’s conscience. The oligarchs through their shills, the politicians, audaciously inform these idiots that it’s not the economy, adequate health care, or jobs that matter. It’s our lack of morality that our country should concern itself with. It’s not because of the oil. It’s because of the weapons of mass destruction Iraq might have that we send our young people to be killed thousands of miles from home. It’s not because we use our military to go around the world scaring the hell out of people, that the world doesn’t like us. It’s because they’re envious of our success.”
They neared their destination and Sam hesitated prior to offering his closing comments. “You know? A hundred years from now the descendents of the survivors of this Orwellian tragedy may very well be saying, ‘Those fools! They had it all. They had life by the ass, and they screwed it up. Generations of hardworking men and women toiled and fought to provide a place for their children to have the opportunity to live free in a country where they could enjoy the fruits of their labor and pass their bounty on to their children. By the time the twenty-first century came around, the descendents of these pioneers had grown accustomed to their leisure and the lack of want. They forgot the hard lessons of their forebears, and they lost their ability to be self-sufficient. They, instead, ceded these responsibilities to the politicians and the corporations. While these fools busied themselves with matters concerning the way other people confronted the existence of God or a person’s sexual orientation or women’s right to choose, the oligarchs brought the journey of their ancestors full circle and made these unworthy descendents wards of the corporate state, free only to argue religion and the finer poin
ts of morality for the remainder of their now meaningless and increasingly impoverished lives.’”
“Hey, we’re here. Let’s eat!”
