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This article is an original creative writing piece/peace which describes a personal account of a day at a Peace Rally and March. Specifically written about a Peace Protest in San Diego, the ideas presented cross all boundaries. I hope you enjoy it. Peace, Drew Searing (the author).
At the Peace Rally
A guy at the Peace Rally who didn’t even know I was a writer handed me a four-by-five-inch leaflet and said,
“Write about your experience today and post it on our website. I encourage all writers who have lost their creativity, to begin writing.”
How did he know that my creativity hadn’t been challenged for sometime now?
How did he know that I have not felt the urge to write about anything since the experience in New York left me as empty as the giant hole left by the events of 9/11? With a president not elected by the majority, having destroyed what little faith I had left in this country; with a nation full of couch clones eager to believe the stupidest of lies from an obviously corrupt administration; upon seeing my home state of California – having been the last bastion of democracy in the U.S. – sabotaged by a right-wing-funded, bad acting, Nazi superhero, it has been difficult to muster any creativity to write, compose music, or enjoy any other artistic endeavor I normally peacefully pursue. But there comes a time when one has to numb oneself to the political destruction happening all around, and to instead, choose to live a peaceful and productive life in spite of the fear instilled by an imperialistic, war-mongering, cowboy of a President-Select, and the rest of his oil-baron cohorts. To do otherwise would infuse insanity into any rational reason I have left.
This is why I found myself at the Peace Rally in front of the Federal Building in downtown San Diego on that particular Saturday. This specific rally and march was to mark a year since the largest collected protest in the history of mankind, when over 15 million protesters worldwide declared their disdain for yet another senseless American war.
I had read on the internet that a recent protest at the U.S./Mexican border was met with violent and aggressive attacks by the local police force and the Border Patrol. The California Highway Patrol even took the initiative to form a blockade, effectively diverting all cars from taking the last U.S. exit off the Interstate 5 Freeway. This forced protestors to unwillingly drive into Mexico, make a dangerous U-turn, then wait in the three-hour border line to re-enter the “Land of the Free,” thereby missing the entire protest on the U.S. side. I am just old enough to remember the anti-Vietnam protests of the 1960’s and 70’s, yet to me, these blockade tactics are a new and horrendous scheme. The goings-on have become ever more like those leading up to Hitler’s reign in Germany of the 1930’s.
It was also for these reasons that I was determined to go to the Federal Building protest on this particular Saturday, even if it meant being arrested, tear-gassed, or some other unforeseen danger, perhaps being shot and killed by a police officer. With a fear factor so highly strung in this weapons-producing society, I would put nothing aside as a possibility.
I decided to ride my bicycle to the protest so as not to get caught up in a police-produced traffic snarl. With my homemade T-shirt denouncing any and all wars, with peace buttons splattered across my chest, I proudly rode through Balboa Park toward San Diego’s beautiful downtown.
I arrived about an hour prior to the one-o’clock rally kick-off. It is always a rush to surround oneself with like-minded individuals, especially when normally surrounded by the dead-minded majority. It was especially thrilling to hob-nob with the “elite” of the peaceniks – those who come early to set up, and those who have been pre-organizing for months. The San Diego Peace and Justice Coalition was in full-force, providing incoming protestors with pre-made, giant signage and banners for those who did not bring their own. Tables were set up with literature and information from several peace-loving organizations in town, including Amnesty International, the Green Party, and Dennis Kucinich supporters. I proceeded to gather two larger-than-life pre-made SDPJC pro-peace signs and promptly propped them in front of the free-standing Federal Building entrance sign. I then parked my bicycle, plopped my back-pack down, and stood guard at my post for the remainder of the pre-rally happenings.
More protestors arrived. Speakers began giving searing speeches from the small staging area. Quotes from Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson rang through the quad, reverberating our foreparents’ wishes for a truly peaceful and free State, so far removed from the current condition of our country. Advertisements for websites were thrown in with the dialogue, reminding me in which century we live. Veterans Against Bush spoke eloquently and passionately, declaring the ludicrousy of Rumsfeld’s “Bring ‘em on!” militarism. By far the most moving speech was from a representative of YANO, the Project on Youth and Non-Military Opportunities:
“We support our troops as humans, but not as a viable peaceful entity.”
Finally, someone agrees with me. I have never supported any troops of any military action. I cannot and will not support any link to violence and aggression, especially on a national and world-wide scale. This opinion of mine has been unpopular even with my peace-loving, Bush-bashing friends. I have remained quite silent on the issue, choosing to place my mental efforts on broader arenas. Organizations like YANO and the Committee Opposed to Militarism and the Draft (COMD) have finally begun to address why the majority of military recruits are under-privileged and minority “nowhere-else-to-go” youth, being preyed upon by the lure of monetary rewards and other “benefits” of joining the military, temporarily blinding their keen minds from seeing the connection between what they consider glory, and genocide.
More speakers began commenting on the billions of dollars being wasted by a “stupid, white pirate who is shredding the Constitution.”
Other speakers had different ideas on how the U.S. gets its petroleum; “They are frying us to death with Global Warming from the burning of oil, which they are stealing from every corner of the planet,” continued another vibrant speaker. “Why do you think oil’s so cheap in America compared to Europe… because our government steals it!”
Echoes of other epithets blew with the wind through the skyscrapers of downtown San Diego while more protestors arrived with homemade cardboard signs, and strollers with sleeping children clutching to peace banners. Black, brown, and yellow faces joined sunburnt red people under the blue-white sky, while Pink Peace cheerleaders chanted humor into the afternoon. I grew excited when I realized that a trend had reversed. Ever since the first mega-protest of last year, the numbers of participants at subsequent rallies had dwindled steadily. But on this day, there were already more people present than at the last few protests combined, and people were still coming forth.
Suddenly, not one, but SEVEN real-live George W. Bush’s appeared in view. What had happened? Had I gone into a nerve-gas hallucinatory hell? No. They were six guys and a girl, all with the exact same green fighter-jet super-hero outfit, and each with that stupid-looking, smiling rubber Bush face mask. And each with the exact same wave of the hand, and each with matching signs that said Someone stop me before I lie again, or steal the election again, or bomb brown people again, or (the best:) Someone stop me before I Enron your Halliburton again! It was definitely the Best of Show. Everyone started laughing out loud and it brought the much-needed relief of humor, forgotten amongst the angst of the speakers’ wrath.
I almost forgot about the march. Lacey, organizer-womyn-extraordinaire, however, did not. She secured herself a battery-operated megaphone and began to rile the crowd up to start marching. Someone else shouted that we shouldn’t march in the middle of the streets, so the marchers meekly obeyed.
“We have EVERY right to march in the streets, folks,” Lacey charismatically demanded. “We have arranged special permission to march onto the streets! Let’s show ‘em what Democracy looks like, folks! Let’s march in the streets!”
I was one of the first to step off the curb into the streets – and one of the proudest. Her mega-phoned chants made me feel like a true patriot for peace. I asked Jerry, a senior Dennis Kucinich supporter, to watch my bicycle while I went to march. She had earlier mentioned that she wouldn’t be able to march because of a bad knee, and she was glad to oblige. I felt as if we were one big happy peace-family for the afternoon.
Unlike former marches, this day’s route took us straight down Broadway all the way to Pacific Highway, passing all the tourists along the bayside, then back up Broadway toward the Federal Building once again. I was pleased with the route . It forced us to march past a hugely visible area for locals as well as tourists.
Amongst the sea of chanters, I recognized a good friend, Noreen. After quick and friendly exchanges, we marched together joining in the multi-lingual chants. It was good to have a sister-spirit marching side-by-side, and just her presence re-charged my own sense of radical vim. When our voices tired of chanting, we had an interesting conversation.
“Personally, Noreen, I think it’s all about intelligence. Americans, in general, are stupid. If they’d just wake up and educate themselves about what is really happening…”
“They’ve been numbed,” she continued, “The majority are couch-clones, never questioning the crap they are fed by Fox T.V., and the rest of the biased, media conglomerates.”
Just then, the Pink Peace cheerleaders approached from the side, producing smiles from the serious faces of the marchers. “One, two, three, FOUR more years – NO WAY!” they cheered. Now THIS was a march! And yes, “This is what Democracy looks like!”
Muslims with half-covered faces and turban-hats marched mainly silently. I looked into the eyes of a few of them and saw fear. After Bush’s recent detainment of Muslims, creating an anti-Islam media sentiment, I didn’t blame them. They seemed ultra pleased that so many of us were on their side. I wondered how many of them have recently had a relative suddenly missing, or an anti-Arab epithet thrown their way. Like Jews during the Holocaust, their fear is unfortunately justified.
During the march, it was interesting to see the faces of tourists in taxis, Metro bus drivers and passengers, and lookie-loos on foot. In contrast to the aggression normally displayed by passers-by, this time it actually seemed like almost everyone supported us. Maybe only with a subtle, “I don’t like the President, either,” camaraderie, but true support none-the-less. And surprisingly, there was very little police presence along the route; I saw perhaps four parked police cars, with the cops simply directing traffic. One heavy-set cop was obviously sympathetic to our cause. I saw it in his eyes.
How could they not be when the ever-present seven waving Bush’s sauntered by humorously?
As we approached the train tracks that cross over Broadway, the trolley just finished zooming by. Thus, the rail-guards began to lift just as we – a huge sea of protestors – marched directly under, seemingly showing us the road to peace. Directly in front of us was a beautiful sight – our handsome bay and the sun gleaming with outstretched rays welcoming us with open arms. With the North Island Military compound in full view, it was as if we were marching right up to the war machine face to face. How ironic that Bush, during his super-heroic photo-op on an aircraft carrier just months earlier, couldn’t even face us here on land. The warship was way out at sea for his exploitative act, while most of us same protestors were here at this same spot – bayside – chanting and sign-waving, to no avail, other than to educate a few passengers in vehicles driving by.
Near the Star of India ship, about seventeen city crows suddenly became agitated. They flew over us in circles, loudly cawing. I was convinced they were calling to us on behalf of the environment, which has taken quite a beating since Bush and Co. began raping all pro-environmental legislation possible. As the crows settled back onto the masts of the mighty clipper ship, the route of the march U-turned around toward Broadway once again.
When we reached a bus-stop near the Spreckles Theatre, I noticed a twenty-something, African-American woman with arms crossed and a mean grimace on her face. She obviously did not support our plea for peace. Instead she aligned herself with the blue-collar, white guy who was grumbling something under his breath to show his disdain for our march. I wondered if the woman had read about the hundreds of minority programs and services which her President has eliminated. I questioned if the blue-collar guy had heard about the illegal anti-union activities of his administration. I felt sorry for their ignorance.
When we reached the Federal Building, free food and good cheer were offered to all. A folk musician sang anti-war songs with an electronic piano accompaniment. Professional photographers took photos of me taking photos of them taking photos of Bush effigies and sign-carrying protestors. One elderly woman, who obviously loved to bake, passed out gingerbread cookies in the form of Bush with a home-made note attached to each that said, Take a Bite out of Bush.
“Allow me to DIS-ARM him,” I said as I bit off his upper limbs.
“Just don’t eat his head,” she retorted, “it’s empty!”
We laughed. Soon everyone was in hysterics when the Pink Peace Cheerleaders got up on stage and took the mike. With funny – yet poignant – chants using the “F” word, and donned in their adorable outfits, it was hard for anyone not to be happy. Even the guards in riot gear, as soulless as they seemed, displayed a little humanity by cracking a smile from afar. I couldn’t help but to ponder that this was Peace. All of this joy; this feeling of community; this coming together for a just cause; indeed, this is Peace.
Soon a rhyming rapper took to the stage eloquently making sense out of double-entendres and oxymorons. I wondered if George Bush could even make up a simple rhyme. The rapper’s rantings reminded me that although this protest was meaningful and peaceful, a real war continues to terrorize a country in which the U.S. has absolutely no right to even step foot. We may have peace here at home, but Iraq can only dream of peaceful days. I walked away from the rally and march angry at Bush; disillusioned with this country; sad for the innocent Iraqi people; yet proud that I had participated in planting a seed of peace, which may hopefully one day actually live to fruition. I rode my bike home slowly.
WORD COUNT: 2,449
 e-mail:: drewsearing@hotmail.com
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Great writing by Drew! This is a message of peace and education more people in this world need to hear!
Kip Gray
e-mail:: wkgray@comcast.net
Sure the article ran a bit long, but it is enthusiastically written. Within the article I was interested to read an acknowledgement that Muslim Americans must be wondering if they are about to be rounded up just like Japanese Americans of World War II. They need to know that there are still some other Americans who keep a peaceful, non-hateful mind.
Puma
e-mail:: larrymaldonado@hotmail.com
What a great storyteller! I don't usually get caught up in the personal side of political stories, but Drew really brings personality to his tale. I just kept reading to see what ended up happening to him that day.
Milo
I missed the march, but thanks to Drew I felt like I had been there. Nice personal account of the event.
Bob Scott
e-mail:: bobscott@cts.com
Living in a blue collar state, I agree with Drew that those who often are the victims of national policy tend to be the most ignorant of it. So sad..........
WVAnn
What a great read! Who is this Drew Searing? Please have him write more for you, it was such a refreshing perspective. As a non-believer, I was touched and motivated to act. Thank you Mr. Searing.
Philip Metzler
e-mail:: metzlerp@yahoo.com
THANK YOU DREW, I DID NOT REALIZE THAT THERE WAS AN OUTLIT FOR PROTEST AT THIS TIME. WITH THE PRESIDENT IN FOR 4 MORE, I HAVENT FELT MUCH HOPE OR INPERATION. YOUR WORDS TOOK ME BACK BEFORE 2000. THANK YOU
JASON LINDER
e-mail:: j.linder@cox.net
I´m an ESL teacher and usually share articles with my advanced students. This message of peace is definitelly an article I want to share.
I has got such passion.It´s well redacted as well.
Daniel
e-mail:: californianfish@hotmail.com
Everyone should get involved.
John Jericiau
e-mail:: triguyla@yahoo.com
Brilliant article. And, Drew Searing is the BEST unknown writer in existence. I hope to see more of his writing on here and in other publications.
David H. Campbell
All the little details and feelings felt like I was at the rally. Keep up the good work, Drew.
Andy Bussey
Thanks to Drew for his participation and efforts, trying to affect social change for the better. I wish more of us were as active in this as he is.
Thanks Drew.
tc3
 Homepage::
Wow! What a great review of the peace rally in downtown. I wish I had been there, and want to thank this man for such a "colorful" accounting of what happened. I also want to thank all those who participated. There are alot of us who feel exactly like you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope to see more articles by Drew Searing in the future. GREAT WRITER!!
Carolyn
I enjoyed the review of the peace rally. I'd like to thank Drew Searing for such a detailed description of the event - I felt like I was there. Great writing. I hope to see more reviews like this.
Tom
What a refreshing and hopeful article. It was good to get an eyewitness account of the feelings of the peace marchers and the hopes that are still out there despite ignorance. Good job.
M. Stryker
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