October 28th, 2007 by Wax
Yesterday, about 25,000 of my fellow Chicagoans walked past my home on their way from Union Park downtown to Federal Plaza. I saw kids and old folks, construction workers, LaSalle Street traders, moms and dads and union members. There were nuns and ministers and retired folks, small-business owners and yes, a few hippies. There were North Side liberals and South Side working-class. There were families, lots of families, intact families. Some of the families were carrying poster-size photographs of sons and daughters who had left home in a shiny new uniform and came back in a coffin. There were wives and children of businessmen who belonged to the National Guard who thought they’d spend a few weekends a month camping with their buddies, but found themselves getting shot at halfway around the world.
There were police. Lots and lots of police - groups of 6 or 7 at every intersection along the way. There were a few black trucks, unmarked, with telescoping poles rising 50 feet into the air, holding high-resolution digital cameras trained on the crowd. According to one CPD sarge they had face-recognition software and digital recorders capturing everybody. Somebody, probably somebody who’s got an interest in having the Olympics here in 2016, decided to send an intimidating message: You can demonstrate in my town, but we’re going to know who you are.
There’s something different about these recent anti-war demonstrations. They’re not made up and organized by slightly-nutty ANSWER folks anymore (although some of them are still around). The people who made up these recent marches were my neighbors, people I’d see on the bus on the way to work or behind a counter at the bank. They were people who probably never thought they’d find themselves marching, carrying a sign, a little embarrassed about chanting along with the others, but chanting still.
Just a few blocks from my place, along the route of the march, is the Chicago Police Department
Academy. When I walk my dog in the morning, I’ll often see groups of young cadets doing calisthenics or involved in law enforcement training. A lot of those cadets, identifiable by shirts of brown instead of blue, were manning those corners. Not having been on the force long enough to have adopted the world-weary, “what the fuck do you want?” attitude of the veterans, the looks on many of their faces spoke of confusion, ambivalence over a war that many of them could have fought in. Their faces held a carefully-trained contempt for demonstrators, but no small amount of understanding. “What are we doing over there anyway?” “What’s up with Bush?” Some of them seemed uncomfortable in their role. The fifty or so of these cadets that were surrounding the new-ish townhouse on Laflin with the “Die Hippy (sic) scum” sign and yellow ribbons, seemed to wonder why they were required to protect this particular property? Clearly the people that were marching were family, friends, Chicagoans - not people who were going to do any damage to somebody for waving a flag, even if they felt it necessary to fly a hateful sign rather than simply show support for their war, their president. Like the twenty or so counter-protesters who had claimed space across from the Federal Plaza, they had nothing to fear from these people, who were just sick of a useless, deadly and costly war. Just sick of their useless, deadly and costly President.
<photos from the Chicago Tribune >