Protestations

 I've been to a few protests. Not as many as the general tenor of my bleeding-heart ideals might suggest. Most of my politicking takes place from behind this here keyboard. Every so often, I will join a march. Carry a sign. Participate in some that good old call and response chanting that is so much a part of that experience. The problem is, I am far too much a smart aleck to simply parrot back whatever eight to twelve syllables I am coached to repeat. It usually takes me three or four cycles through the same regurgitations that I feel the need to misbehave. 

"Whose schools?" Our schools! "Whose schools?" Our schools! "Whose schools?" Well, actually they are kind of a community property, purchased primarily through state funds but supplemented to the tune of a bout a third by local taxes with an even smaller slice of that pie coming from the federal government. So, when you're asking "Whose schools," I feel it's important to consider that the majority of the support comes from outside our district. 

Oh. This was more in the line of a rhetorical question. Then they're our schools. Sorry for that digression. 

And then there's the pace of these actions. I was in my high school's marching band. When you say "march," I have a sense of metered and regimental stepping, not the shambling gait brought to most of these affairs. Maybe it's the anarchic sense of walking down the middle of a street that brings out the scofflaw in all of us. Why worry about staying in step with the person next to me when we have all this freedom? Okay. I'll allow that, but is there a reason why we can't get from point A to point B in a little more timely fashion? The other experience I have being on closed streets is the occasional footrace in which I have participated. I didn't come in first place, but those people with their strollers were just begging to be passed. 

And then there's the signs. I have to admire those that are clever, but also get a point across. This past weekend the one that sticks with me is "Education cuts never heal." There was some thought put into that one. Of course, then I rounded the corner and saw another three signs with the same slogan, so I felt a little more reassured carrying the pre-printed banner for our school with its direct insistence of "No Closures!" 

Finally, there was the matter of the masses involved. Before we all stepped out into the streets to make our voices heard, there was a sense of a vast throng that would be choking traffic for hours. When we finally reached the end of our march, it became apparent that we only strung out for about a city block. Hundreds of people, to be certain, but not worth bringing out the news chopper to get the view from above. But we were noisy. And we made our voices heard. When we could remember the words.