The Collage Foundation: Archive

by Sherry Ayres

Late evening, August 30, 2004. I found myself on a cross-town bus seated behind a business man, jacketed in pinstripes. His non-offending tie was loosened and knotted low. He was on his way home from what must have been a long day at the office. It was after all the opening day of the Republican National Convention at New York City's own Madison Square Garden.

Confetti, balloons, the ubiquitous use of red, white, and blue... who doesn't love a political convention? Well, New Yorkers, for one. Reluctant hosts, much of the city greeted the political spectacle with office closures, telecommutes, and late summer vacations. The rest of us —like those riding the MTA at nine-o'clock that evening —were caught in between and doing a lot of belly aching about it. "You surviving?" my fellow passenger sympathetically asked the driver. A low incomprehensible growl conveyed a 10-hour day of negotiating teeth-gnashing midtown gridlock. Just barely seemed to be the answer. As we silently commiserated with our driver, the business man's cell phone sounded. Typical greeting, salutation, and one-side of a conversation ensued until, a sharp, "What do you do want to protest for?" followed swiftly by a disdainful, "You don't even like Kerry."...

With a potent mix of teleprompted speeches, high-gloss placards, ear worm slogans, and the fervent zeal of the party's faithful, political conventions hope to broadcast across the country the invincible energy that nothing else generates like preaching to the converted. But this year, as August waned, the Republican Convention was not the only event making headlines. Before the Garden's seats had filled with eager delegates, protestors had staged the largest demonstration to fill the streets of New York City in a decade and the likes of which no party's convention had EVER seen. Organized by United for Peace and Justice (UFPJ), an umbrella coalition of more than 800 anti-war groups, the march became a larger umbrella still encompassing a multitude of issues people fervently have with the policies of the current administration. It was the kind of welcoming party that you might expect the 'bluest of blue' cities to throw the 'reddest of red' presidents. And I was part of that welcoming committee of close to half a million people.

Sunscreen, protein bar, water bottle, shades... you would think I was packing for a tailgate if not for the National Lawyers' Guild phone number tattooed on my arm. I started out early to meet a group of marching comrades downtown at 11 AM (Yes, on a Sunday morning - don't believe anyone who tells you the life of a protestor is all glamour, mugging for the police cameras, and getting interviewed by CNN). Everyone was decked out with dissent; Joel was sporting a 'Stars and Stripes' sarong, wrapped beneath a homemade T-shirt that read, "The American flag belongs to everyone." Excitedly, we hit the parade route and joined the colorful throng of blaring bull horns, raucous chants, ear-rattling drummers, bouncing inflatable globes, Pinocchio Bush puppets, and irreverent banners reading, "The WMD are in MSG," "Osama Bin Forgotten," and "What Would Jesus Bomb?" We had only started down the route when we were brought to an abrupt halt. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, sweating underneath the blazing summer sun, we inched forward up Seventh Avenue, covering one and a half blocks in as many hours. "I don't mind the wait," said Joe a friend made that morning, "that means that there are more people joining the March ahead of us." Sage perspective and, as we later learned, a correct assessment. The March stretched for two miles as the separate contingents —women's rights, civil rights, and labor —poured onto Seventh Avenue from adjoining side streets. We were squarely at the back of a sea of people not typically seen together. They were acne-marked teenagers and card carrying members of AARP. Self-sustaining anti-capitalists and Gucci wearing trendsetters. Anarchists and Kerry supporters. Peaceniks, Tree huggers, Gay marriage honeymooners, Supporters of a free Palestine, Prison rights advocates and AIDS activists. They were from all over the country. Some traveling thousands of miles to participate in what they hoped would be a defining historical moment.

It is truly an awing experience to be one among hundreds of thousands of people, who are so varied, yet share a common purpose. And unlike my biz man friend on the bus assumed, we were not out in the streets merely to put Kerry in the White House. The March was about more than that. I think Neville, a member of the Green Block from Sacramento, California, described it best in an interview with NPR, "This is not about picking between two-corporation backed politicians. It's something that happens everyday that's rooted in community. It's about people taking a part in decisions that affect their own lives. It's about taking a step beyond voting." I think marching filled a deep intrinsic need for many of us to have our voices be heard. To let the people across the nation and around the globe know that Bush's vision of the world is not our own. That we do not support an administration that falsely leads the country into war, recklessly squanders a billion dollar budget surplus and plunges us into debt, restricts freedom of speech and access to public information, pillages the environment, and rewrites the constitution to suit ideological prejudices. The most poignant sign for me was a flimsy 5"x4" piece of cardboard with the question "Do you feel safer than you did four years ago," scribbled in thin black maker. "No," I answered quietly to myself. Physically, socially, psychologically, spiritually, I don't.

As thousands of us filed past Madison Square Garden, the electronic JumboTron flashed "Thank You, New York!" In unison, we shouted back. "You're Not Welcome!" "You're NOT WELCOME!" "You're NOT WELCOME!!"

All is not well with the state of this country and come November —one way or another - we're going to take the first step in making things right again.

The excited squawking on the other end of the cell phone continues unabated for a few minutes. The business man pauses, and then replies, "Well, when you put it that way, I guess it makes sense." I threw him a knowing smile and then jumped off at my stop at 42nd.

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