Not being listened to; that feeling that tells you no matter how many petitions you sign, or emails you send, the people on the other end of the line couldn't care less about whether you have a decent job, can make rent, buy food, or buy your kids pens and pencils for school. It's demeaning. It's dehumanizing. And it's infuriating.
If I had a dollar for every petition I've signed, every email, every letter I've sent to my elected officials over the last few years, I wouldn't be writing this. I'd be heading out the back door of my Costa Rica beach house, surfboard underarm, aiming to catch the afternoon glass. I'm not quite ready to say petitions and emails and letters don't matter, but when the signs are clear that no one in Washington is taking them seriously, then it's time to take it to the next level.
In that spirit I headed down to Occupy Roanoke. The first thing to catch my eye were the signs. A young college student with an accent I couldn't quite place stood on the curb holding up brown cardboard on which she'd neatly written: "I Can't Afford my own Politician, so I Made this Sign." Now, I thought, there's a sentiment I can get with. Every once in a while she'd flip it over to the backside where she'd written, "Abolish the Fed." Well, I'll have to give that one some thought.
"Sign, sign, everywhere a sign..." that old song from the Five Man Electrical Band began playing in my head.
Have a concern? Here's the paint. Here's the crayons and markers. Help yourself. Make your own. Stand a post. Or pick up one of the pre-made that reflect your sentiments and get over to the curb. Make your voice heard. "Honk if You're One of the 99%" And I heard a lot of horns throughout the day. I picked up the one that said, "Whatever Happened to Shared Sacrifice?"
We were aging radicals from the sixties. And we were middle school students. And college students, environmental activists concerned about climate change. Some of us had jobs. Some hadn't worked in a long while. We were Vietnam and WWII vets. Conservatives. Progressives. Independents. Republicans. Democrats. Homeless folks taking advantage of the free potato soup. Each and all gathered while folk musicians and drummers provided the soundtrack. Diversity was the order of the day.
An organizer stood at the foot of the monument. "It's about time for the two-o'clock march. So here are the rules: be true to our non-violent commitment; be respectful of one another and of pedestrians, they have the right-of-way; if confronted, let the people with the orange armbands move in to diffuse the situation; invite others to join us; we are the 99%"
Off we went. Down the main drag of downtown, passed the big banks, over to the city market and back up to the park. We chanted "We Are the 99%" as passers-by gave us the thumbs up, or just broke into applause. " And "Tell me what democracy looks like.... THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!!" with the drummers keeping time.
Speaker time. Want to make yourself heard? Sign up over there. You've got five minutes to make your case. The case for bringing our troops home from Afghanistan and Iraq. The case for spending that two billion a month to repair crumbling bridges that aren't safe to drive on and pot holes you can lose a Volkswagen in. The case for a constitutional amendment to overturn the Citizens United decision that makes the voice of the people null and void in the halls of power. For banning all corporate money in politics to put and end to corporate Fascism and restore representative Democracy. The case for decent jobs for a liveable wage. The case for Rand Paul and abolishing the Federal Reserve. Whatever....
"Tell me what democracy looks like. THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!!
And underlying every word, the deep-felt concern, the awareness, the certainty, that nobody in Washington is listening... So this is why we're here. You can't run. You can't hide. We're tired of not being listened to, and we're just not going to take it any more. Ignoring us is about as wise as sitting on a powder keg while smoking one of your fat corporate-bought cigars.
A sentiment I found well expressed by the young man I passed as I left the park to head home. He had the grizzled look of a young mountain man. On his back was a baby pack with a very young child. Above the pack he'd made a frame for his sign: "Fear Us. We've Already Lost Everything."
Now it begins.... more to follow....
The Jawbone
