Over There

I actually paid 30 bucks—sort of accidentally—for this image of (suffragist, civil right activist, and champion of human rights) Eleanor Roosevelt, which I had planned to make the Rosebud logo back before I realized I couldn’t figure out how to post pictures. Now that I’ve figured it, expect to see Eleanor here for a while, earning her keep. Isn’t she pretty? My favorite of her quotes: “A woman is like a tea bag—you never know how strong she is until she gets in hot water.”

Here’s another good one: “It is not fair to ask of others what you are unwilling to do yourself.” And so we went to the march in Washington on Saturday (see some images in Rosebud #65, below). The Times said there were tens of thousands there, the Washington Post said “thousands,” although the picture on its own front page made it look like more. UFPJ (United for Peace and Justice), the national anti-war group, said there were 400,000. All I know is, the Mall was full.

Full of—everyone. Maybe the media can’t recognize the massive anti-war movement in this country because the participants look like—soccer moms. And nice old men. And children. And young people with clean fingernails. There wasn’t any fringe group there to “discover,” no terrorist sympathizers, no so-called “anarchists” setting fire to trash cans.

And so this mobilization of hundreds of thousands from across the country at a time of great public consternation about our continued warmaking in Iraq received relatively little coverage, again. At least it wasn’t completely ignored. Certainly not by the D.C. police, who showed up in equally significant numbers, in their blue-and-white cars and on bikes and motorcycles and in menacing black vans. What is it cops love so much about mirrored sunglasses? Do they imagine themselves the stars of 24?

Their presence made it very clear that if anyone did decide to, say, get out of line—whatever that might mean, in this climate—there would be consequences galore. Who knows just what, these days. This president doesn’t need much of a reason to throw somebody into Guantanamo; or worse. Just look at what happened to Maher Arar or Ali Saleh Kahlah al-Marri (see www.newyorker.com/fact/content/articles/050214fa_fact6?050214fa_fact6 and www.alternet.org/rights/46430). I’m sure Mr. Bush wants us to.

“Can you take my picture?” asked an old man who looked like Orville Redenbacher, complete with bow-tie, offering me his camera. “My children will never believe I’m here—they think I’m conservative!”

“Are you?” I asked him.

“On social issues,” he said, thoughtful. “And economic ones. But this Bush character doesn’t even believe in the Constitution!”

Speaking of what people believe in—there was a surprising number of “9/11 Truth Now” posters and other signs of support for the 9/11 truth movement (see www.911truth.org). More than I expected. I asked one young woman carrying a 9/11 sign how she got involved. “When 9/11 happened I was in high school,” she said. “I was in my government class. I remember the first thing I thought was, we’re going to war! And then I wondered how come I know that? How come I know America wants war so bad? And that got me thinking whether there could have been some other motive for this to happen than just terrorists.”

There were lots of girls at this march—lots and lots of women. I’d say more women than men, overall. Not sure why that would be, but I did notice my daughter looking up at somebody’s poster, looking troubled. It had a picture of an Iraqi mother holding a dead infant.

“Why did the baby die?” she asked. I didn’t want her to have to see such things. On the other hand, she’s in first grade, and she’s old enough to know.

“The baby died in the war,” I said.

“Why?”

“It was probably an accident,” I told her. "But that’s why we’re here today, because we don’t want any more babies to die.

She kept looking at the sign.

“Are they dying right now?” she wanted to know.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I hope not.”

She kept staring a moment. “It’s like Howl’s Moving Castle," she said. That’s a Japanese children’s film, it was in theaters here last year, about a sort of magician warrior-bird who flies missions in a fiery, senseless war.

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“Howl’s castle has a dial," she explained. "When he comes home, the dial turns to peaceful. But in another place, the dial's turned to war.”