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Last Updated: Oct 16th, 2008 - 13:33:17 |
The idea that an individual's voice is hopeless in this democracy has crossed a student's mind once or twice before. Can the presidency be swayed by one person's vote? Why should I even vote at all? Other than a word that can easily be misinterpreted, what exactly is a caucus?
To many students, the government process is as confusing as a Rubik's cube: with enough turning and twisting it somehow aligns and works itself out. To be part of significant change in government it seems you must either be a political junkie or an over-zealous activist. I am neither.
I am a student journalist who was sent to cover the anti-war march sponsored by the Iraq Veterans Against the War. Reporting on a large demonstration was a romantic notion. I was like a nervous teenager on a date whose concentrated on basic walking. Attempting to dodge the plethora of journalists in front of me while not being trampled by some 3,500 protesters behind me was my first big assignment. The next was reporting.
Trying to make a difference in this world is hard, especially if you can't come up with catchy slogans to put on a poster. The real test comes if you can hold the poster and recite a chant at the same time. Most of the activists seemed to be seasoned professionals; they held and hollered. I was starting to think this was going to be another rerun of previous protester episodes of all hoopla and no outcome.
After marching for more than four hours, I started recognizing specific individuals in the crowd. They became familiar faces that I would unconsciously look for. The virtual divide of media and subject became less objective and more personal. I stopped grouping the mass of protesters into their stereotyped genres.
They weren't just anarchists who reside in half-lit basements and only go out to anti-capitalist, fair-trade certified coffee shops. They are people who genuinely found passion in something they believe in. It made me feel ashamed to judge them when I have yet to find an equivalent fervor.
I found it hard be the umpire. I wanted to start batting for their team.
At the end of the march, the veterans and protesters waited in front of a line of stoic policemen for a response from Barack Obama's representatives. I held my breath with them. In patient silence, I hoped that the sweating and stomping wasn't in vain.
Suddenly, there was a break in the formation of veterans, but no violence. Rather than fists and tear gas, there was hugging and laughing. Police escorted veterans Liam Madden and Jeff Key to deliver a letter written from the Iraq Veterans Against the War through the swelling crowd of police and media. I stopped reporting and fell into the moment of joy around me. Even though it may have been a strict political move to appease the protesters, I felt proud of what the veterans accomplished.
I noticed the familiar faces go from exhaustion to elation. I looked down to my cell phone and remembered that I needed to send an update. Instead I wrote nothing. After 6:30 p.m., my updates stopped abruptly. I never finished the update.
I did, however, turn to the person next to me who was coincidentally a Metro student. The interview we had wasn't formal. I didn't need to approach him with an angle or get the perfect quote. We both felt fresh hope in how we approach our government. The crowd around us couldn't agree more. The march got things done peacefully and efficiently. The protest showed we could come together, no matter how big a group, for causes close to our heart and change things in our government. If cynics can feel the slightest hope, then something must be working.
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