J20
“AS INAUGURAL Day dawned, the west lawn of the Capitol began to fill with fur coats and cowboy hats as Bush supporters with premier tickets took their seats. Along Pennsylvania Avenue, evangelicals prayed for the president. And all across town, anti-Bush protesters ranging from Billionaires for Bush "auctioning off" Social Security to antiwar activists and anarchists took to the streets. As the inaugural ceremony began, anti-Bush protesters at the other end of the city marched down Connecticut Avenue toward the National Mall. This group -- calling itself the Women's March and Funeral Procession -- featured jazzy music that set its two blocks of marchers swaying as they walked. One woman carried a hot-pink purse and pumped her hot-pink umbrella in the air, Mary Poppins style. But their message was the jarring opposite: They carried coffins draped in American flags, with signs reading "Bush lied and troops died."” --AP
“Out in the cold, just beyond the closed doors of a thousand $500 Republican brunches and cocktail parties, tens of thousands of citizens are in the streets, raising their voices against the right-wing agenda. And in addition to marching and chanting, they're talking to one another, trading phone numbers, organizing a movement that will make the next four years see the biggest groundswell of grassroots resistance a president has ever faced. Wealthy Republicans are holed up in the lobbies of expensive hotels, toasting the windfall of corporate profits and tax breaks to come. Bush is blowing a lot of hot air about "patriotism" and "freedom" while a small army of Secret Service agents and police officers makes sure that nobody worth less than a million comes within a block of his person.” --News Article
J20 goes like this:
Thousands of people in the streets chanting “not my president”
“not my president”
I amBush
the president
at his inaugural:
Eight of us CodePINK women pass through security seamlessly, with banners stuffed in our underclothes, and we position ourselves in the seated VIP section where we quickly make friends with all the die-hard republicans around us. Ariel even goes so far as to make a photograph of the elder couple a row in front of us, on their request. After the long processional of “important” people, Bush begins his speech. Midway through, when he is getting to the part about freedom and the liberty of America, we all stand up on our seats and unfurl our banners. Mine reads, “Freedom?” And there is a long one, velcroed together, that reads, “Bush Mandate: Bring our troops home now!” The Republicans execute a surgical strike to stop our action, instantly forming and launching snowballs, ripping the banners out of our hands; one succeeds in twisting my wrist in half and pulling my glove off my fingers. We sit down calmly. And after a few minutes, we pull out more banners and resist sashes, and stand up another time. By the time we sit down again, the police are flanking the aisle next to us. So, we get up a third time, this time shouting “Bring our troops home now” and “Stop the war.” And we are escorted out of the inauguration by overly zealous cops who can’t quite figure out what to do with us. Medea instructs Diane to hold onto her and the two of them refuse to move until they are arrested.
Outside, we hold up our banners and receive the attention of all the people pouring out of the Mall. Many people congratulate us and state their support (who knew that hidden under all those fancy petticoats and suits there were so many dissenters? Then again, all the Democratic offices received tickets to the inauguration). We speak with many journalists and figure out a rendevous point to get picked up.
Later that day, Ariel and I try to do a banner drop: The scene of us attempting to get on Pennsylvania is absurdly humorous: Ariel is on the phone doing an interview with a conservative radio station while I stand in line trying everything to move through more quickly. I befriend an activist, then I feign clausterphobia and crowd sickness and make myself green in the face, foaming at the mouth and putting my head between my knees, mumbling about nausea and swaying quite fiercely. A Republican woman to my right barks at me that everyone is sick of waiting in line and does nothing to come to my rescue. In my next breath, I am simultaneously grateful that my sickness is, for the most part, an act, and frightened by the thought that I might one day be in a situation of real helplessness and have only a numb and cruel person such as this lady at my side. Even my role play, in which I pretend to be a lawyer’s assistant, does not convince the army men at the gates to let me in. And finally the processional passes, and I pull Ariel away and through the streets to the location of the other CodePINK banner drop. As we run through the busy streets, Ariel makes a loud and declarative statement to the talkshow man on the phone about the lack of freedom she feels as a woman in the United States, citing rape and domestic violence statistics, and the glass ceiling women face in the workforce. I am proud to have this strong woman by my side as we speed to the next action.
CodePINK drops a large pink slip banner off a tall building, and we get some media attention, and rile the spirits of the protesters who are making their way out of the city. Mostly, everyone appears to be exhausted from the long day—the protesters in their now bedraggled costumes and still gripping dented and bent signs, the reporters and camera people clutching their bags stuffed with full roles of film and scrawled out notepads, and the people who came to really watch the parade whose faces appear pale and whose lipstick has long since faded to match the color of the stripes on the dead animal skins that hang on their bony, anxious shoulders. $45 million dollars later, all anyone wants is to get out of the cold and have a moment of tranquility.
But we do not rest; instead we cross town and arrive at the Freedom Ball at the train station, where we hold an outdoor protest. This protest, in my opinion, has varied success, considering the anarchist kids in black bandanas who jibe and yell at the ball-goers, even denouncing some of their children. To me, this a violent form of protest, and I quickly grow disillusioned with the scene, though I admire the attempts of the organizers to keep everyone unified and focused. One scene is particularly humorous: a white middle aged man in a tux breaks into an intense argument with some of the young skater-esque protesters and all the cameras focus on the drama. The man finally throws up his hands, declares that “money does buy happiness,” and storms away. It is only exceedingly funny when we see him later that night at the Billionaires for Bush mock-ball, and realize that the whole thing was a play for him. The cameras were none the wiser.
Across the street from the protest, we meet a woman who is distraught by the ball and the audacity of the Republicans in spending so much money on the inauguration during wartime. The conversation we have with her is the most meaningful of the night, for me. She has a deep desire to show the ball-goers that she is just like them—the same age, the same socioeconomic bracket, and yet she is completely disheartened by the war, and by the grandiose expenditures.
Scott, Amanda, Z, Ariel, and I all bash the night away at the Billionaires ball. Scott arrives wearing a suit and rollerblades, and numerous reporters approach him, wanting to know the inner significance of his outfit combo. Oh, to be a zealous, clueless reporter!
The night ends with a cab ride to Scott’s cozy house, and the discovery, online, of the fantastic AP photo of Ariel and I walking out of the inauguration. And we sleep soundly.
Great articles to check out include:
http://www.codepinkalert.org/National_Actions_J20.shtml (the CodePINK summary of the day’s activities, with many photographs)
http://www.commondreams.org/headlines05/0120-09.htm (the Common Dreams headline story about the counter-inaugural, with some vivid AP photos)
http://insidebayarea.com/review/ci_2532373
http://newswww.bbc.net.uk/2/hi/americas/4193465.stm (with a quote from, and picture of, my soul sister Ariel!)
http://www.commondreams.org/news2005/0120-06.htm (the mostly-accurate press release about our counter-inauguration action)
“Out in the cold, just beyond the closed doors of a thousand $500 Republican brunches and cocktail parties, tens of thousands of citizens are in the streets, raising their voices against the right-wing agenda. And in addition to marching and chanting, they're talking to one another, trading phone numbers, organizing a movement that will make the next four years see the biggest groundswell of grassroots resistance a president has ever faced. Wealthy Republicans are holed up in the lobbies of expensive hotels, toasting the windfall of corporate profits and tax breaks to come. Bush is blowing a lot of hot air about "patriotism" and "freedom" while a small army of Secret Service agents and police officers makes sure that nobody worth less than a million comes within a block of his person.” --News Article
J20 goes like this:
Thousands of people in the streets chanting “not my president”
“not my president”
I amBush
the president
at his inaugural:
Eight of us CodePINK women pass through security seamlessly, with banners stuffed in our underclothes, and we position ourselves in the seated VIP section where we quickly make friends with all the die-hard republicans around us. Ariel even goes so far as to make a photograph of the elder couple a row in front of us, on their request. After the long processional of “important” people, Bush begins his speech. Midway through, when he is getting to the part about freedom and the liberty of America, we all stand up on our seats and unfurl our banners. Mine reads, “Freedom?” And there is a long one, velcroed together, that reads, “Bush Mandate: Bring our troops home now!” The Republicans execute a surgical strike to stop our action, instantly forming and launching snowballs, ripping the banners out of our hands; one succeeds in twisting my wrist in half and pulling my glove off my fingers. We sit down calmly. And after a few minutes, we pull out more banners and resist sashes, and stand up another time. By the time we sit down again, the police are flanking the aisle next to us. So, we get up a third time, this time shouting “Bring our troops home now” and “Stop the war.” And we are escorted out of the inauguration by overly zealous cops who can’t quite figure out what to do with us. Medea instructs Diane to hold onto her and the two of them refuse to move until they are arrested.
Outside, we hold up our banners and receive the attention of all the people pouring out of the Mall. Many people congratulate us and state their support (who knew that hidden under all those fancy petticoats and suits there were so many dissenters? Then again, all the Democratic offices received tickets to the inauguration). We speak with many journalists and figure out a rendevous point to get picked up.
Later that day, Ariel and I try to do a banner drop: The scene of us attempting to get on Pennsylvania is absurdly humorous: Ariel is on the phone doing an interview with a conservative radio station while I stand in line trying everything to move through more quickly. I befriend an activist, then I feign clausterphobia and crowd sickness and make myself green in the face, foaming at the mouth and putting my head between my knees, mumbling about nausea and swaying quite fiercely. A Republican woman to my right barks at me that everyone is sick of waiting in line and does nothing to come to my rescue. In my next breath, I am simultaneously grateful that my sickness is, for the most part, an act, and frightened by the thought that I might one day be in a situation of real helplessness and have only a numb and cruel person such as this lady at my side. Even my role play, in which I pretend to be a lawyer’s assistant, does not convince the army men at the gates to let me in. And finally the processional passes, and I pull Ariel away and through the streets to the location of the other CodePINK banner drop. As we run through the busy streets, Ariel makes a loud and declarative statement to the talkshow man on the phone about the lack of freedom she feels as a woman in the United States, citing rape and domestic violence statistics, and the glass ceiling women face in the workforce. I am proud to have this strong woman by my side as we speed to the next action.
CodePINK drops a large pink slip banner off a tall building, and we get some media attention, and rile the spirits of the protesters who are making their way out of the city. Mostly, everyone appears to be exhausted from the long day—the protesters in their now bedraggled costumes and still gripping dented and bent signs, the reporters and camera people clutching their bags stuffed with full roles of film and scrawled out notepads, and the people who came to really watch the parade whose faces appear pale and whose lipstick has long since faded to match the color of the stripes on the dead animal skins that hang on their bony, anxious shoulders. $45 million dollars later, all anyone wants is to get out of the cold and have a moment of tranquility.
But we do not rest; instead we cross town and arrive at the Freedom Ball at the train station, where we hold an outdoor protest. This protest, in my opinion, has varied success, considering the anarchist kids in black bandanas who jibe and yell at the ball-goers, even denouncing some of their children. To me, this a violent form of protest, and I quickly grow disillusioned with the scene, though I admire the attempts of the organizers to keep everyone unified and focused. One scene is particularly humorous: a white middle aged man in a tux breaks into an intense argument with some of the young skater-esque protesters and all the cameras focus on the drama. The man finally throws up his hands, declares that “money does buy happiness,” and storms away. It is only exceedingly funny when we see him later that night at the Billionaires for Bush mock-ball, and realize that the whole thing was a play for him. The cameras were none the wiser.
Across the street from the protest, we meet a woman who is distraught by the ball and the audacity of the Republicans in spending so much money on the inauguration during wartime. The conversation we have with her is the most meaningful of the night, for me. She has a deep desire to show the ball-goers that she is just like them—the same age, the same socioeconomic bracket, and yet she is completely disheartened by the war, and by the grandiose expenditures.
Scott, Amanda, Z, Ariel, and I all bash the night away at the Billionaires ball. Scott arrives wearing a suit and rollerblades, and numerous reporters approach him, wanting to know the inner significance of his outfit combo. Oh, to be a zealous, clueless reporter!
The night ends with a cab ride to Scott’s cozy house, and the discovery, online, of the fantastic AP photo of Ariel and I walking out of the inauguration. And we sleep soundly.
Great articles to check out include:
http://www.codepinkalert.org/National_Actions_J20.shtml (the CodePINK summary of the day’s activities, with many photographs)
http://www.commondreams.org/headlines05/0120-09.htm (the Common Dreams headline story about the counter-inaugural, with some vivid AP photos)
http://insidebayarea.com/review/ci_2532373
http://newswww.bbc.net.uk/2/hi/americas/4193465.stm (with a quote from, and picture of, my soul sister Ariel!)
http://www.commondreams.org/news2005/0120-06.htm (the mostly-accurate press release about our counter-inauguration action)
posted by rae @ 3:41 PM
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