From the Editors
January 28, 2005
Reflections on the January 20, Presidential Inauguration protests
WASHINGTON D.C. — A girl of no more than nineteen is dressed like she wore whatever she could find piled in the corner of her room: nothing matches and everything is wrinkled. She walks out of the crowd and stands alone against the ten-foot high metal barrier, face to face with hundreds of riot police, the government division between thousands of protesters gathered on the corner of Fourteenth and Pennsylvania Avenue and their perceived freedom. She holds a sign appropriate for that exact moment: “Democracy: Access Denied.”
A police officer with a black jersey, helmet, shoulder pads, and shin guards steps towards her, says something, and then angles the barrel of a pepper spray gun between a space in the fence, six inches from her face. The crowd begins to yell in her defense, begging him not to do it. “You wouldn’t do that to your own children,” someone yells. But their pleading doesn’t stop him and he attacks her in the eyes from point blank with the vile spray known to include paint thinner. Some of the protesters jump on top of her as protection and immediately they are coughing and gasping for air, raking at their eyes for sight. Someone on the ground, receiving medical attention from an anarchist, yells, “The whole world is watching!” Television cameras and photographers are everywhere. Will this image be on the cover of The Washington Post, tomorrow? Will everyone know that while President George Bush presented his optimistic inauguration speech that focused on a freedom that will “reach the darkest corners of the earth,” Americans less than a mile away were being pepper sprayed and denied their freedom of assembly and expression? If it does, will anyone care?
From the windows of the Willard Marriott, guests with four more years on their mind sip celebratory glasses of champagne. They wave at and take pictures of the thousands of protesters being pepper sprayed on the street below. The protesters return their gestures with peace signs, middle fingers, and chants. “What does democracy look like? This is what democracy looks like.”
Walking up Fourteenth, Chris, my best friend, with a muddy blanket draped over his shoulders, looks angry and insane as he points to his bright red face and the eye he can no longer see from, stung with pepper spray. “This is what democracy looks like,” he screams. Some of the other demonstrators ask him if he is all right; others on the street smirk and laugh at him. One man says, “Real nice kid,” and keeps walking.
“If you have something to say,” Chris answers, “you should say it to my face.”
The man turns to Chris and says, “You should go to college and get a job.”
“I’m a clean-cut kid and I been to college, too,” Chris replies, quoting Bob Dylan, smiling. He is a student at Manhattan College and has a job at a coffee shop. He wants to be a poet.
“Fuck you,” the man answers and he walks away.
These conversations were common throughout the day. From these vantage points, the political divide of America has never been so evident. You don’t need a map to know who is red or who is blue.
–Jason Mills
