Speaking of the loonie/nonloonie ratio in the shrinking peace movement...
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Those wacky protesters will grow out of it
..."Of course, the working people weren't able to attend the protest because they have jobs, which means they have to get up in the morning and work hard all day, and do it again, all their life. So they didn't have time to carry signs.
Most of the young protesters, though, were suburban-born and -educated, with few responsibilities.
Actually, it's a good thing they protested. At least they feel something. They're young and passionate, the world is big and they're unsure of their place in it. They believe that something is wrong in the world economy, and they want to change it.
I just wish they'd taken some courses in economics and political theory, first.
"Down with capitalism! Up with democracy," said one young man in the crowd, one of hundreds chanting confusing and often conflicting slogans.
It wasn't the time or place to explain how capitalism works, and how democracies don't work in managed societies, and how capitalism has liberated humankind.
So I just shut up and watched the free anarchists andtheanarchists-who-negotiate-with-City-Hall-and-march-in-orderly-fashion, the young women wearing sweat shirts of the DePaul women's softball team, others opposed to Wal-Mart.
Some were on dates, others were there for the party, and so on. It was a nice mix.
To listen to Thursday's rhetoric, the protesters have a passionate view of the world economy, but unfortunately, they believe it is directed thusly:
By a dozen men, a few with continental accents, wearing tailor-made suits. They meet in a Swiss chalet, in a well-appointed library, sipping sherry, while deciding which nation to topple, as if the world were a Robert Ludlum novel.
"Hans, my good man, let's take Argentina next, what?"
But I wasn't in a Robert Ludlum novel. I was on Michigan Avenue with the new protesters, many of whom could be the grandchildren of the '60s radicals.
The slogans were peppy, though:
"Human need, not corporate greed! What do we want? Justice!"
While I mused about this, in the throng of protesters and reporters covering the throng, the controlling metaphor of the whole shindig appeared:
The kid in the cow costume wandered by, shouting, "Free pudding! Free pudding!"
It was a nice costume, white with black splotches, cow ears and a cutout for his face. And he was muttering angrily, saying, "Ninety-eight percent of the pudding is produced by the CIA! Hence, the CIA makes pudding!"
A few of us older than 25 were puzzled. And I didn't get it either.
But he was a nice cow, polite, and as friendly as the young people passing out chief executive officer costumes for more street theater scheduled for Friday.
"Have one!" offered a kind protester, pushing a box toward me. "A CEO costume."
CEO costumes? Thanks, I said.
I reached in and pulled out plastic vampire fangs.
Other protesters were shouting, "America is not for sale! We are not for sale! America is not for sale!"
A police officer--one of several thousand out to manage the meager gathering of college kids--turned to me and said:
"America is not for sale? What do they know? They're on Michigan Avenue for Christ's sake. Don't they know where they are? Everything's for sale."...
chicagotribune.com
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Btw, those gratuitous cheap shots at the White House never end, do they John?
Is that good form? |
