Aselin

Yesterday I had the opportunity to attend my first protest. It was held on the lawn of the state capitol in honor of a cause I feel deeply about, hence my attendance.

I’ve seen lots of protests before. America has a healthy history of people publicly exercising their First Amendment rights. While not all of us attended these notable protests, many of them are part of our national psyche. Who doesn’t stir at “I have a dream!” or thrill at the revolutionary sentiments “Give me liberty or give me death!” ?

Yesterday it was confirmed to me that in order to be a truly effective protester one must possess a good streak of crazy. Approaching the senate lawn where we were to gather we walked with a relatively sedate group of like-minded rebels. As we reached the fringes of the gathering it was quite a sight to see, and our little group stopped short of the throng just to take it all in.

It was quite the marvel as an eclectic parade of posters, signs, flags, police and news cameras paraded by. A fire truck, with its ladder fully extended was parked on one side of the demonstration covered in banners and flags. Like some sort of Broadway prop it had people on top and hanging from every angle.

There were people dressed as American Indians in burlap sacks and face paint. There was a man who I’m 100% sure is the Elvis impersonator I saw perform a few years ago dressed all in black, shackled in chains. He had an assistant that was adding to his bondage as we walked by. The kids asked if he was going to perform some sort of escape trick.

A couple in matching outfits, each on a recumbent bicycle covered in little American flags, parted the sea of people as they honked their little air horns. Veterans in black leather vests covered in a myriad of trading pins waved POW/MIA flags. A clown on a unicycle ineffectively sputtered through the crowd handing out booking fliers.

Children bearing the signs their parents told them to write got lots of notice. Mostly because each of these signs I saw first declared the age of the bearer, then the message. “I’m only eight years old and...” got lots of attention.

There was an unbelievably large man wearing a t-shirt in a size I didn’t know they made that said “cut the pork.” There was a homeless looking man holding a sign that said “I’m unemployed and you work for me!” And a ‘little person’ covered entirely in tea bags.

Yes, to get noticed you have to be willing to be noticed. But for all the standouts of the crowd, there was a thousand like me. Sweatshirt and tennis shoes, white shirts and ties, lots of us in jeans who felt strongly enough about the issue we would brave a little wind and cold just to be counted.

I didn’t fashion an effigy or burn my bra, but I feel profound gratitude for my ability to speak my mind, even if I was one of the less noticeable.

God bless America.