Un-Happy Anniversary Bomb Lady
Looking at the Bomb Lady’s sign today, I noticed that she’s been protesting since 1981. Thats 25 years of ineffectual efforts.
Asking her what day she started, so I could celebrate her physical manifestation of our freedom of speech, I got a curt reply.
No celebrating when the world is still doomed by doomsday bombs.
What I like about protesting nutters is that they remind and illustrate just how loopy we’re allowed to be in this country, how much we can throw a fit, how much we can post signs and wave flags and still get away with our skins and sometimes our soul.
I love that. I’m more the stealthy kind of activist making connections and attempting to influence community consensus under the skin of everyday. There are definitely times that human numbers matter. I’ll show up with a sign and even my son if an issue impacts his future.
But growing up a minority, having the torrent of bottles and bricks thrown at me, of being targeted, cars vandalized, drunks verbally assault me or non-drunks getting vitriolic, and even being shot at, I choose my moments for PDA (public displays of activism) carefully. Some issues are worth the heat. Others aren’t.
I do find that since living here in DC I see most protest undergirding the position of those participating more than shifting tides of us lurking around them. There are times I want to go up to a person who has flown in from Oklahoma to protest in front of the Supreme Court and tell them, “Look, no one is watching. We’re numb to all of this. We just slink past here everyday going to our jobs and you blend in to the marble and steel. I get you really believe wearing red tape on your mouth and praying in public has a greater impact then sitting in Tulsa with red tape and praying…but I encourage you to go home, do the red tape thing and use the extra time to adopt a child, to play with your kids, to start home food support for those who are ill. That makes a difference.”
What I do love doing, when I see a small little group facing a big group across the street, is to walk over and thank the meager group one by one. They about pass out. I can see they often discover that they are seen and appreciated.
Who’s to say her protests have been ineffectual? Ripples in a pond, man!