Fight Plaque, Not Iraq
by: Sarah Munroe

Walking quickly, but not as quickly as we sometimes walk, maybe because the sidewalks are sloppy from the half inch of snow we saw from the four to eight inches they were predicting, or maybe because we are carrying now lukewarm drinks in an attempt to fend off the cold for a few minutes longer, we make our way towards the starting point to join the crowd assembling to march against the impending war with Iraq. As we get closer, we see others, running a little late like us, carrying signs and bundled up. Overhead we see and hear a news helicopter hovering over the beginning of the procession.

For both of us, this is our first protest. I don't know what to expect. In my head I see the pictures and videos from high school history class about the Vietnam war protests - masses of young hippies chanting in unison, violently opposed by police forces, courageously making their voices heard, peacefully placing a daisy down the barrel of a guard's gun. I'm certain it won't be like that; perhaps the only similarity will be that they are both war protests. Whatever happens, if I have children, when they learn about this crisis in school, whether as a war (by the grace of God, I pray not) or as a war averted, I will be able to tell them proudly that I marched in opposition to the war. In some way that brings a rather selfish self-righteous satisfaction, which doesn't seem quite right.

We can see the crowd now, filling the street, barely beginning to move.

Take a picture.

A man hands us a yellow flyer with the agenda of stops where we will hear speakers discussing war issues. On the other side of the paper are written out chants and cheers so that we can join in as we are led.

We duck into the crowd somewhere near the front, where we can see the truck that leads us, carrying a PA system and people the people who are supposed to be motivational and informative speakers as well as chant leaders.

The pace is slow. The chants, to my surprise are weak, perhaps because it is still early in the march. We lament not thinking to bring a microphone and minidisk player to record the noise. We don't chant. I'm taking in the crowd. The people seem to be of all ages. From teenagers on cell phones (it must have been ridiculously difficult to hear anything), to elderly-looking folks, to middle-aged blue and white-collar workers, to the twenty-something artsy type, to young families with small children. The age variety comes as a slight surprise, but it is very heartening - people of all ages and all walks of life are united together in protest of the war.

We walk for a few minutes more before we are stopped. Someone in an orange vest (to designate authority) makes an announcement. What I catch is something along the lines of, "Blah, blah counted blah, blah, blah ten thousand people here blah, blah." Ten thousand, huh? We look around. Standing on tiptoes, I try to see how far back it goes. Ten thousand - we're skeptical, maybe four or five thousand. I wonder if there would be any effective way to accurately determine the number of participants.

Next comes a speech, which proves to be very ineffective. Perhaps she had good points somewhere in her speech, but because of the sound quality and her speech style, it was very difficult to take anything from it. Maybe the next one will be better. The crowd gets restless, standing still in the wind and the cold. I don't know that she actually has finished her speech, but we're moving again. They try a cheer: "The people united will never be divided," and in Spanish.

I read the signs the people around me are carrying. Some are clever, some make a point, some cleverly make a point - those are the interesting ones, but they are also the fewest. There are some that bash Bush, bash the government, bash policies, bash anything related to the war - those are mostly the ones that I don't agree with.

We're stopped again. The speech is again not conducive to active listening or understanding. The crowd is still rather quiet. I marvel that crowds at a Penn State game, though larger, or even a high school football game, are often louder and more united in their cheers for a sport than this crowd is in protesting a war. Farther back in the crowd however, we can hear drumming and some sort of organized cheer that's louder than the one we're among. Another cheer: "We're fired up! We don't want to go to war!"

A father lifts his small child, maybe he's three, above his head and asks how far the crowd goes back. The child gives no answer. The father lifts his other child, who's maybe five or six, and asks the same question. The boy answers, "Far."

The man on the truck says that he can't see the end of the crowd. We come to a slightly elevated area, providing a better vantagepoint. I look back. I don't know about not seeing an end, but it does go back a ways.

Hold the camera above your head. Take a picture.

The drumming group passes us, and walking among them, we see friends. After making our way to them. Because of the drums - they are actual drums and percussion instruments as well as buckets and other various plastic and metal objects that make a satisfactory noise when struck with a drumstick - the dynamic in this area is completely different. The loud drumming is organized. Periodically a whistle blows four times in rhythm and everyone hollers in the same rhythm, "DROP BUSH, NOT BOMBS!" Except us. The fervor is rather catchy and electrifying. I find myself wanting to join in, but I don't because I'm not in complete agreement with what they're yelling.

We gradually get separated from our friends and end up farther back in the crowd. We're all stopped again for a speech, this time we can't hear it.

Climb a wall. Take a picture.

There's a friend. We make our way to him. He's carrying a banner with two other people. Back here, he's not sure why we're stopped. We explain about the speeches.

This part of the crowd has yet another dynamic. There are lots of large banners and it's much quieter. Very little organized cheering because they can't hear the front and no one is leading.

We're moving again.

Good shot. Take a picture.

We walk faster than the crowd pace, passing the drumming section again. We can hear the people on the truck leading cheers again. This time it's: "We're cold, we're tired, and we don't like the government!" Not terribly clever and not terribly productive in the cause of peace in my mind. People seem to be more into cheering this one though.

The march is nearing the end of its route at the Liberty Bell. We're cold, our car is parked only a couple blocks away where the meter is going to expire in a few minutes, so we step out of the street and onto the sidewalk.

I think about what a hassle it must be for all the motorists who have wanted to use the roads we've been walking on for two hours, and I wonder who organized all this so we could block the roads.

Though I was never "fired up" enough to holler my position, and I carried nothing to depict my stance, I did march for peace. I may not have agreed with everything that was posted or yelled, but how many people actually did? We all brought different positions and ideas with us. The important thing was not that we were united in all of our beliefs, but that we were all united in the belief that waging war against Iraq would be wrong. There is something to be said for masses of people around the world gathering to march in protest against government actions.

And while I don't feel qualified to spout arguments, I will say this: I believe that the Jesus that I love and follow is a God and man of love and peace, and I, as an individual, should seek to follow his example, and I, as part of the United States of America, should try to spread his love and peace here and abroad. War does not seem to me to be an effective way to do this.

Neither does Bush bashing. I don't agree with all of his policies, and I certainly do not agree with his general direction of war, no matter what reason he claims it's for, I do believe however, that as our President, no matter how he was elected, we should support him with prayer - prayers for wisdom, prayers against war. We can bash and holler all we want, but it seems to me that the more bashing we do, the even less listening the government will do. Prayers, on the other hand, not only help us to be in tune with God and his desires, but they also have the power to move the heart and hand of God.

James 5:16 reads: "Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." Our country needs healing. Iraq needs healing. Korea needs healing. We all need healing. I think peaceful demonstrations are definitely a good thing, and we could use more of them. But what we definitely need more of is the prayers of righteous men and women.

posted 02.18.03

2003 White Elephant Productions