Goddamn hippies
Went to a candlelight vigil last night, sponsored by our social justice group. I properly offended the 90 participants with my photography and my incessant need to talk during the half-hour of silence. I had to clarify that it was simply an event in favor of peace, not a protest against the war. Folks were properly horrified that I am for the war, but that’s another story.
When I was 18 and living in Pittsburgh, I was attending such vigils for a variety of causes. I had respect and passion and a sense that I was accomplishing something — even if only for myself — as I held those lit candles whose flames were contained and kept alive by their protective Dixie Cups. Now I’m 28, living in the political mecca of the country, and now a citizen of the world. And for awhile last night, I was thinking that I’d become jaded, but this morning, I realize that it might just be that I’ve become a hardened realist. The vigil was sweet and all, and it made its hosts and attendees feel good, but what did we really accomplish? Perhaps our prayers for peace were heard somewhere, and maybe those wishes will come true someday. But instead of praying solely for peace, I was sending my thoughts and my love to the soliders who are laying down their lives to fight for world freedom. I was hoping that someday, I will tell my kids about this horribly unjust world in which I grew up, and I was hoping that they would laugh and treat it like my generation treated the “I walked to school barefoot 20 miles each way. …” stories — like, damn! Things were like that? No way!
Anyway, whenever I snapped photos, I was snarled at. So I put the camera down and eventually burst into silent hysterics, waiting for them to burst into “Kumbaya” or something. And they DID!!! They started singing some Beatles-era song about peace and love and what not, and some chick with a booming opera voice started her own reprise. It was moving and laughable at the same moment. It was one of those times when, as my grandmother would say, you just didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.
The hippies staged a day of peace here at the convention center. I thought it would be a good photo op, but I lasted 10 minutes and had to leave and go indulge in some capitalism (I bought a Los Angeles shirt to sleep in). And unfortunately, their hippie-ness carried over into other non-hippie sessions — they took off their shoes and sat Indian-style, they laughed and sang and carried on, and they talked about how terrible it was for our country to invade Iraq. First of all, the smelly feet were enough to KILL me in most of the sessions (and believe me, my feet were hurtin’ too but I didn’t remove MY shoes!), but what really frosted my flakes was when our presenters were bitching about “Blood for Oil” and how President Bush is a bully who coerced his staff and his military into terrorizing Iraqi civillians so we can get our hands on that country’s resources. Let me tell you, I walked out of a bunch of sessions, just based on that alone. I came here to be educated on topics of interest to me — if I wanted to hear about the war, I could’ve stayed in D.C. and turned on the fucking news.