Last Night In America's Heartland
They were there on the corner last night. A little unusual to see them there on a Monday night. Usually they're there on Saturday. In fact, they've been there on the corner every Saturday from noon to 1 p.m. for more than a year.
On one corner the signs read "Support Our Troops;" on the other, "Vote Bush Out." They are mothers and fathers with their children in tow, veterans in camouflage, teens and college students. Some have sons or daughters in Iraq; some remember the horrors of other wars. Some are well dressed, some on the raggedy side. But every Saturday they come together to make their voices heard in our community.
They stand on opposite corners of our busiest intersection, flanked by Kroger and Starbucks, and wave their hand-lettered placards and shout their slogans. Sometimes they shout at each other; sometimes they vie to see who can shout the loudest or who can provoke the most sympathetic honks from passing cars. Not as many show up when it storms or snows, but there are always some who come and have been coming every single Saturday since we invaded Iraq.
What is interesting is that, unlike Vietnam, they are not college students and this corner is not on a college campus. These are everyday Americans, frustrated and angered by a war over which they have no control, a war that it seems will never end and can never be won, a war that daily grows more costly, particularly in terms of human life. They are not destructive; there is no danger that they will turn into an angry mob; they barely attract the attention of the police who cruise by. They are just everyday Americans expressing their views in a time-honored American tradition -- through protest.
September 11 was unusual though. Last night they were on their respective corners, their ranks swelled to overflowing in remembrance of the tragic events that forever changed our country, but last night their placards all carried the same message and they all chanted the same song: Peace.
On one corner the signs read "Support Our Troops;" on the other, "Vote Bush Out." They are mothers and fathers with their children in tow, veterans in camouflage, teens and college students. Some have sons or daughters in Iraq; some remember the horrors of other wars. Some are well dressed, some on the raggedy side. But every Saturday they come together to make their voices heard in our community.
They stand on opposite corners of our busiest intersection, flanked by Kroger and Starbucks, and wave their hand-lettered placards and shout their slogans. Sometimes they shout at each other; sometimes they vie to see who can shout the loudest or who can provoke the most sympathetic honks from passing cars. Not as many show up when it storms or snows, but there are always some who come and have been coming every single Saturday since we invaded Iraq.
What is interesting is that, unlike Vietnam, they are not college students and this corner is not on a college campus. These are everyday Americans, frustrated and angered by a war over which they have no control, a war that it seems will never end and can never be won, a war that daily grows more costly, particularly in terms of human life. They are not destructive; there is no danger that they will turn into an angry mob; they barely attract the attention of the police who cruise by. They are just everyday Americans expressing their views in a time-honored American tradition -- through protest.
September 11 was unusual though. Last night they were on their respective corners, their ranks swelled to overflowing in remembrance of the tragic events that forever changed our country, but last night their placards all carried the same message and they all chanted the same song: Peace.
