In the coldest part of winter, it can be warming to remember the events of a fine sunny day of the past summer, such as the day when the Gathering of Eagles came to our street-corner vigil.
I arrived at the usual time, noon, at our usual corner, to our regular Saturday vigil, to a beautiful sight – a dozen American flags on poles along the sidewalk, billowing in the breeze, tended by about a half a dozen newcomers to our street-corner. Of course right away, I knew that the police would have to come and tell these newcomers to take the flags down, as they always did whenever we erected any sort of sign on the strip of grass between the street and the sidewalk. I politely said so to one of the women that was there, and she said that the police had already been there, and “we are in the process of taking them down.” The process seemed a bit inefficient, as it apparently involved sitting in lawn chairs and listening to country music. But that’s okay, I liked the flags, they were a nice touch. So I looked thru my sign collection and selected a red-white-and-blue “Peace is Patriotic” sign, which matched the flags and I thought would serve as a counterpoint to the Eagles’ “Give Victory a Chance” sign. I must say, their signs were small and hard to read. I could have told them how to make their signs more legible, so that the passing traffic would be able to read them, but it was really too late now, and I wasn’t sure if they would take constructive criticism graciously, so I decided not to bother with that point.
As I stepped up to the sidewalk, Dave comes to me and says,
“Remember, we are non-confrontational.” To which I reply,
“I’m not being confrontational, I’m walking on a public sidewalk.”
Dave, I thank you for that intervention. It set the tone for what followed.
Another tone-setter was the next newcomer I came to, who managed to call me an idiot 5 times in his first 4 sentences of introduction. I pointed out that abusive language earned no points in a debate, and he changed his language, abandoning “idiot” for “Hillary supporter” in the same contemptuous tone of voice. However, I’m not a Hillary supporter, and I told him so, and I told him why, that her husband’s NAFTA treaty had ruined the economy for the working class by outsourcing jobs. These folks seemed to be working class, with their jeans their motorcycles. Anyway he gave up on Hillary, and moved to his fear of Islam. He maintained that the Muslims were trying to convert us all to Islam. I point out that here in America we have the right to practice whatever religion we choose, and that includes Islam. He conceded that point with a grunt. He still wasn’t done – on to the war in Iraq, which is, in his view, in retaliation for 9/11. Ah, you have fallen for the big lie, I inform him. In the few words he would let in, I tried to point out that none of the hijackers were from Iraq, that Sadam and Osama were not pals, etc. He found fault with on my pronunciation of “Yemeni”.
Eventually he tired of verbal sparring, and took the tactic of standing in front of my sign to block it from the view of traffic. I moved over, he moved in front of me. I held my sign high, he reached up to block it. I moved left, he moved left, I moved right, he moved right. Then he laughed and said,
“You don’t get it.”
“Oh I get it – you are trying to deny me my right to free speech.”
“I am not.”
“That is exactly what you are trying to do. You are trying to prevent people from reading my sign. You are trying to deny me my right to free speech.”
He stopped blocking my sign. Finally he could start to see beyond the paper tiger he had been fighting to the individual that is me, enough to ask why we do this. I vented my outrage and indignation that my tax dollars being used to kill innocent people, including children.
“How do you know?” He asked.
“I have seen photographs,” I answered.
He denied that this destruction was intentional.
“Shock and Awe, mister. Shock and Awe” was my response.
Finally he had enough of me, and I moved away from him to the next Eagle. This next denim-clad man, smaller in stature, was not as outspoken as the first, but his hatred seethed right near the surface. He accused me of not supporting our soldiers. I told him of my deep respect for those who would put their lives on the line to defend our country and our freedoms.
“We support the troops, it’s the leadership who sent them into an immoral, illegal, and poorly planned war that we oppose.”
“Why doesn’t your sign say so?” he asked.
“We have such signs,” I told him. “Today I chose this sign because it matches the flags.”
He insisted I should change my sign.
“In this country we have the right to free speech,” I said.
“In this country, you have the right to do as you are told!” he shouted.
Whoa, that hit a nerve, I thought. I must have been staring at him, because I had no response. He decided he needed to illuminate his outburst.
“Do you have a job?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“In your job, do you do what they tell you to do?”
“Well, to tell the truth, in my job, they often ask me what we should do. They value my opinion and often take direction from me.”
Here was something he hadn’t expected, an officer amongst the grunts.
By now, the regular vigil crowd felt emboldened enough to stand amongst the Eagles with their various signs, including some signs calling for impeachment of the leadership who had caused this immoral illegal and poorly planned war. We had met their hatred with calm rational courtesy and firm resolve to defend our rights. We were waving to the honking cars, with the flags flying on a beautiful day. Peace prevailed. The Eagles held a quick meeting in the parking lot behind us. Then they took down their flags and packed them up. One of their women came up to me and explained that they weren’t leaving because we had won, they were leaving because, well, they had been there for a long time and were getting tired. “It’s a free country,” I replied. “Thanks for coming. And thanks for bringing the flags, that was really nice.” And I smiled a friendly smile and waved as they drove off on their motorcycles with the little trailer full of American flags.
