Rally (Re)Cap
"Free speech means the right to shout 'theatre' in a crowded fire."
- Abbie Hoffman
There was a rally this past weekend in Washington D.C., you might have heard. Or you might have guessed. There is a rally pretty much every weekend in Washington D.C., which serves as a sort of national soap box for every deeply felt, half-cocked, self-righteous grievance ranging from the socio-political to the metaphysiological. On Sunday evenings around here, the public wastebins are stuffed with picket signs.
This is the essence of American democracy. Whack-jobs with megaphones are the product and the price of capital-F Freedom. It is why living here -- in this nation and in this city -- is both inspiring and sort of depressing.
This latest rally was the brainchild of Comedy Central's Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, [1] the Waldorf-and-Statler of modern American commentary. And the idea of their "Rally to Restore Sanity" was to sound the call for people cut back on the poisonous vitriol and villification that seems to characterize 21st century political discourse.
And of course, this is the essence of irony. "If we amplify everything, we hear nothing," Stewart said, via microphone-and-sound-system to 200,000 people on the mall, plus another two million or so households watching the nationwide simulcast. His point seems to be that free speech is great, as long as you don't say anything obnoxious and/or untrue. Unless you're a snarky comedian.
This is not really new terrain for Stewart, who has earned a sterling reputation for incisive, trenchant criticism of politicians and the media, quite clearly positioning himself as an eloquent voice of reason within the progressive movement. But then, when pressed on his civic philosophy and responsibilities, he shrugs his shoulders and says "It's just a fake news show! It's not real! Don't listen to me!" [2]
And on Saturday, October 30, he gathered his followers on the National Mall and asked them to be nicer to each other. That's cool. Naive, yes, but in an adorable sort of way. It was only nine blocks from my home, so I went to be a part of it.
People have been asking me what it was like to be there. In a word: crowded. To simulate the experience, you can go into your backyard and dig a hole six feet into the ground and 18 inches in diameter. Get in the hole and then try to listen to your neighbor's TV.
You can view the entire rally/show in its entirety by clicking here. I won't bother offering any commentary on that, since I spent most of the time contorting my body so that I could try to listen to it. But this is my shorthand diary of the journey.
11:35 a.m. Meet up with D.I.L. and M.R.L. at the Metro Station. They were delayed getting in from the east side of the city because the trains were so packed full of rallygoers that they couldn't accomodate any more rallygoers.
11:45 a.m. Our first view of the city's omnipresent food trucks. We quickly dismiss the idea of a quick bite, as it was difficult to tell where the Red Hook Lobster Truck line ended and where the rally crowd began.
11:50 a.m. We enter the breach, assimilating with a hodge-podge of aging hippies, frat boys, left-wing activists, smart-ass hipsters, disaffected government flunkies and lost children.
People, people everywhere, and not a thought to think.
12:00 noon We are awash in a sea of these people. It takes us approximately ten minutes to move two feet.
12:05 p.m. We were supposed to meet up with J.R.R. and C.R. somewhere near 7th Street and Madison, but we are having difficulty keeping track of each other, much less finding anyone else in the crowd. He sends a text message to D.I.L. indicating that he is near "the big tree." Well, that narrows it down.
12:10 p.m. We are packed in like molecules of iron, and the guy behind me tells me he needs to get in front of me because "his friends are up there." Informed that there is zero space for him to get in front of me, he adopts a tone in stark contrast with the ethos of the rally he was attending.
12:15 p.m. An older woman inadvertently hits me in the head with a sign and apologizes profusely. "No problem," I reply. "It's my fault for coming down here."
We saw many, many signs pass through our small section of the crowd, embodying a number of different approaches:
- Meta ("This is a sign")
- Cinematic ("I'm calmer than you are, dude")
- Parodic ("Don't Read to Me", in the manner of "Don't Tread on Me")
- Ironic (a Christine O'Donnell campaign sign, with the oblique aside, "No Whacking")
- Topical ("My rent is reasonable")
- Worldly (Something in Arabic)
- Verbose ("Give me false dichotomies or give me death")
- Creepy ("When there is no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the Earth")
Don't take my word for it. This is just one of many other catalogues of interesting signage.
12:20 p.m. We reach the spot that would be our spot for the entirety of the show. If I stand on my tippy-toes and crain my neck, I can sort of make out the corner of a jumbotron screen.
This was me hoisting my camera aloft and snapping a photo of whatever.
If only I had been eight feet tall, I could have had this spectacular view.
12:30 p.m. Some guy on stage tries to start the wave. Of course, he is the only person on the mall who can actually see it.
12:40 p.m. In what would become a recurring problem, an ambulance proceeds up the street where there are 15,000 people already standing. When we somehow manage to squeeze in to let the ambulance pass, the empty space is rapidly filled by new people. This is roughly the same principle underlying plate tectonics, only that process is considerably less sweaty.
12:45 p.m. Someone is saying something on the microphone. Everyone asks the person next to them, "what is he saying?" which only makes our area louder and makes it more difficult to hear the person on the microphone, which makes the crowd even more vocally irritated.
12:50 p.m. Chants of "Lou-der! Lou-der!"
1:00 p.m. The show begins. My leg muscles begin the process of atrophy.
Throughout the show there were the usual oddities -- a baby stroller surfing the crowd, people climbing traffic lights, people threatening to pee right there if people didn't let them through -- just your basic Americana.
One of these days I'll actually watch the video so I can see what I was standing through. (I'll probably skip over the Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock train wreck.)
Election day is this Tuesday, so I'm not expecting sanity to be restored any time very soon. I admire the sentiment, I guess, I just think we should set our sights a little lower. How about a rally to restore sanitation? That would take care of all the signs, banners and buttons now littering the mall.
- Abbie Hoffman
There was a rally this past weekend in Washington D.C., you might have heard. Or you might have guessed. There is a rally pretty much every weekend in Washington D.C., which serves as a sort of national soap box for every deeply felt, half-cocked, self-righteous grievance ranging from the socio-political to the metaphysiological. On Sunday evenings around here, the public wastebins are stuffed with picket signs.
This is the essence of American democracy. Whack-jobs with megaphones are the product and the price of capital-F Freedom. It is why living here -- in this nation and in this city -- is both inspiring and sort of depressing.
This latest rally was the brainchild of Comedy Central's Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, [1] the Waldorf-and-Statler of modern American commentary. And the idea of their "Rally to Restore Sanity" was to sound the call for people cut back on the poisonous vitriol and villification that seems to characterize 21st century political discourse.
And of course, this is the essence of irony. "If we amplify everything, we hear nothing," Stewart said, via microphone-and-sound-system to 200,000 people on the mall, plus another two million or so households watching the nationwide simulcast. His point seems to be that free speech is great, as long as you don't say anything obnoxious and/or untrue. Unless you're a snarky comedian.
This is not really new terrain for Stewart, who has earned a sterling reputation for incisive, trenchant criticism of politicians and the media, quite clearly positioning himself as an eloquent voice of reason within the progressive movement. But then, when pressed on his civic philosophy and responsibilities, he shrugs his shoulders and says "It's just a fake news show! It's not real! Don't listen to me!" [2]
And on Saturday, October 30, he gathered his followers on the National Mall and asked them to be nicer to each other. That's cool. Naive, yes, but in an adorable sort of way. It was only nine blocks from my home, so I went to be a part of it.
People have been asking me what it was like to be there. In a word: crowded. To simulate the experience, you can go into your backyard and dig a hole six feet into the ground and 18 inches in diameter. Get in the hole and then try to listen to your neighbor's TV.
You can view the entire rally/show in its entirety by clicking here. I won't bother offering any commentary on that, since I spent most of the time contorting my body so that I could try to listen to it. But this is my shorthand diary of the journey.
11:35 a.m. Meet up with D.I.L. and M.R.L. at the Metro Station. They were delayed getting in from the east side of the city because the trains were so packed full of rallygoers that they couldn't accomodate any more rallygoers.
11:45 a.m. Our first view of the city's omnipresent food trucks. We quickly dismiss the idea of a quick bite, as it was difficult to tell where the Red Hook Lobster Truck line ended and where the rally crowd began.
11:50 a.m. We enter the breach, assimilating with a hodge-podge of aging hippies, frat boys, left-wing activists, smart-ass hipsters, disaffected government flunkies and lost children.
People, people everywhere, and not a thought to think.
12:00 noon We are awash in a sea of these people. It takes us approximately ten minutes to move two feet.
12:05 p.m. We were supposed to meet up with J.R.R. and C.R. somewhere near 7th Street and Madison, but we are having difficulty keeping track of each other, much less finding anyone else in the crowd. He sends a text message to D.I.L. indicating that he is near "the big tree." Well, that narrows it down.
12:10 p.m. We are packed in like molecules of iron, and the guy behind me tells me he needs to get in front of me because "his friends are up there." Informed that there is zero space for him to get in front of me, he adopts a tone in stark contrast with the ethos of the rally he was attending.
12:15 p.m. An older woman inadvertently hits me in the head with a sign and apologizes profusely. "No problem," I reply. "It's my fault for coming down here."
We saw many, many signs pass through our small section of the crowd, embodying a number of different approaches:
- Meta ("This is a sign")
- Cinematic ("I'm calmer than you are, dude")
- Parodic ("Don't Read to Me", in the manner of "Don't Tread on Me")
- Ironic (a Christine O'Donnell campaign sign, with the oblique aside, "No Whacking")
- Topical ("My rent is reasonable")
- Worldly (Something in Arabic)
- Verbose ("Give me false dichotomies or give me death")
- Creepy ("When there is no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the Earth")
Don't take my word for it. This is just one of many other catalogues of interesting signage.
12:20 p.m. We reach the spot that would be our spot for the entirety of the show. If I stand on my tippy-toes and crain my neck, I can sort of make out the corner of a jumbotron screen.
This was me hoisting my camera aloft and snapping a photo of whatever.
If only I had been eight feet tall, I could have had this spectacular view.
12:30 p.m. Some guy on stage tries to start the wave. Of course, he is the only person on the mall who can actually see it.
12:40 p.m. In what would become a recurring problem, an ambulance proceeds up the street where there are 15,000 people already standing. When we somehow manage to squeeze in to let the ambulance pass, the empty space is rapidly filled by new people. This is roughly the same principle underlying plate tectonics, only that process is considerably less sweaty.
12:45 p.m. Someone is saying something on the microphone. Everyone asks the person next to them, "what is he saying?" which only makes our area louder and makes it more difficult to hear the person on the microphone, which makes the crowd even more vocally irritated.
12:50 p.m. Chants of "Lou-der! Lou-der!"
1:00 p.m. The show begins. My leg muscles begin the process of atrophy.
Throughout the show there were the usual oddities -- a baby stroller surfing the crowd, people climbing traffic lights, people threatening to pee right there if people didn't let them through -- just your basic Americana.
One of these days I'll actually watch the video so I can see what I was standing through. (I'll probably skip over the Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock train wreck.)
Election day is this Tuesday, so I'm not expecting sanity to be restored any time very soon. I admire the sentiment, I guess, I just think we should set our sights a little lower. How about a rally to restore sanitation? That would take care of all the signs, banners and buttons now littering the mall.