One thing you get used to living in DC are the official motorcades. Sirens wailing, officials blocking off all traffic sometimes just so Cheney can go to Vidalia\’s. When Vidalia\’s literally used to be in my \”backyard\” (directly behind my residential building), that was a serious downer. The fucking Palms is right back there, too: the hub off all federal restaurant dining outside of the Capitol and Senate building cafeterias. Some days, living in Dupont just was not worth it.
Of course, once a year the IMF and World Bank have their meetings. Then, on top of the usual Presidential, Vice-Presidential, and visiting dignitary motorcades that we face year-round, we local-yocals also face the high security of the international bank people. Mobs and gangs have nothing on these guys: the security lockdown during IMF-World Bank meetings is brutal. Not just because the big boys are in town, but because protesters from all over the country and world descend upon the city to crowd the streets in an attempt to stop the meetings. Every year there is more security than the last; and with more security comes more bullshit.
This year…this year has been a real pain in the ass. I\’m already sickly and insomnia-stricken, so I\’m particularly bitter about the enormous descent upon my residence and the general noise factor. Most of my neighbors left town for the weekend; their parking spots in the garage have been vacant since Friday morning. Most of my neighbors are \’smart,\’ or at least wealthy enough to escape the city while it becomes a political traffic jam.
This weekend the annual IMF-World Bank meeting and protest was enlarged to also become an anti-Iraq war protest, upon which people also tacked an impeach Bush protest, an end imperial occupation protest, an end classist and racist oppression protest, a \’our government is stupid and we are embarrassed\’ protest, a \’Hurricane Katrina, et al. effects and consequences suck\’ protest, and a free twelve hour concert in front of the Washington Monument (headlined by acts such as Le Tigre). This was to be the weekend of our Velvet Revolution. But it\’s also the weekend of the Green Festival and the National Book Festival (hosted by the Library of Congress, the Smithsonian, and First Lady Laura Bush). The result of which was that this weekend the city was full of liberal idealists who conveniently decided to jam up the city with their cars, their loud noises in residential areas all night long, and an enormous amount of litter.
Here in upper-Caucasia, perched up on Connecticut Avenue, looking down on the Capitol building (which looks closer than ever this weekend due to my insomnia and the unearthly pinkish-yellow hue the sky has maintained these past few days), I long to hang an enormous banner off my building that might just be seen from further below (as we\’re on one of the highest points in the city). It would read: \”excuse me, but some people live here, and we are trying to sleep.\”
Around four-o\’clock Saturday morning, the siren-screeching motorcades started escorting officials down from swankier northern locales, past my apartment, and further into the city toward the mini-towers of doom (the IMF and World Bank buildings). Some officials get wailing cop cars, motorcycle cops, unmarked vans, two bulletproof and window-tinted luxury vehicles, and a partridge in a pear tree. For the past two days they have come and gone — first into the city, then out, then back again, ad nauseum — all day and all night long.
I long for Monday night to be here and gone. Officials: go back to your villas. Green Festival attendees: go back to your group homes. National Book Festival people: go back to the suburbs. Protesters: go back to all the above. Us residents would like to get on with our lives. How would you like it if we did this to your town?
The older I get, the more jaded I become: I\’m starting to feel that non-violent protest in this society seems like a waste of time. When we have to get a permit to speak, to amass, to protest; when they pat us on the head and say, yes, go on now with your sanctioned dissent; when they put up barriers to keep us in, that is how they prevent others from listening. We have to break out to be heard. That, and I still believe that using phrases like \”overthrow imperialism\” and \”we are all Palestinians\” and \”free all U.S. political prisoners\” not only alienates many people who might otherwise agree with the main cause, but dilutes the issue with the cross-pollination of peoples\’ pet social justice protestations: if we\’re going to protest the war and Bush\’s incompetency, then we need to do that, and not show up with a giant pot leaf and demand that 4/20 be a national holiday and that marijuana be legalized.
Gimmie back my city. When Jello Biafra and a bunch of white girls singing about Patrick Dorismond are the rallying glue behind a disjointed protest, who are you speaking for? It is no wonder that the rich superpower bureaucracy is still not taking us seriously when we file for our permits, make our protest movies, sing some angry songs, write some scathing commentary, and then go about our way with our shopping, paying taxes, keeping the economy afloat — good little citizens, every one of us, even though we disagree. Do we disagree enough to put a wrench in the system? Stop being comfortable in our own lives? Give up our niceties like personal freedoms, hygiene, food, etc.? Live like what fear, live the way the people we \”fight\” for and \”protest\” for live?
Quite honestly — very honestly — no, we are not. I\’m not: not anymore. I\’m angry, but I\’m not 19 anymore; I\’m not going to go risk what little I have to make what I see as a microscopic dent and no difference. Like everyone else, I\’m struggling to keep my head above the water (above the bullshit), to take care of myself and get beyond the nasties. That means not losing what I have, not jeopardizing my options, my health, my freedoms, my securities, my future, and my potential. Most of us are the same way, and that\’s why this (this protest, this idea for a new future, this struggle for equality) isn\’t working: because we\’re not willing to truly risk ourselves for what we want. That brings to mind the question, how much do we really want it? I suppose this is why idealism is for the young or the well-off: because those are the ones who can afford to live per their morals and beliefs and not for their health or their family or immediate future.
What\’s that phrase? Be the change you want in the world? Something like that. We might be disenchanted or even angry, but most of us are still not ready to be the change.
