So there I was. Trapped in a box. The floor and ceiling were made of cement as were two of the walls. The other two remaining walls were not walls at all, but iron grids that greatly resembled a cage you would keep a puppy in when he goes to the bathroom on the carpet. I was sitting on a cement bench with five other people thinking that I was so proud of myself. I stood up for what I believe in. I made sure to get my point across. I got the publicity we needed. And I represented thousands of people who were not fortunate enough to express their feelings to the world (or as much of the East coast that was watching). My spirit was not tarnished by the politicians hissing and booing at all who stood before them, fearless, determined, and opinionated. Myself included.
Then I got my first phone call. When I spoke to my father about what had happened, what was said, and what I had done he was less than enthused with the fact that he had to wire money to bail myself and two of my friends out of jail in Washington D.C. I could hear the “I told you so” in his tone when he told me again about how he had warned me not to go. Though he had always encouraged me to make a stand and not back down without a fight if I truly believe in something, this was my third arrest in less than six months, all for expressing my political views. Still my spirit was not weakened.
I had been interviewed by two news anchors about my beliefs and purpose behind participating in the rally that Saturday afternoon. I was ecstatic. Finally, a chance to voice my opinion. Finally, I would no longer be just another face in the crowd. I had heard twenty other testimonies before me and was thrilled that I was chosen to speak on thousands behalf. I was one of the few that had something intelligent to say. I was not there to show hate towards our nation’s President. I was not there to protest against the entire United States government. I was there to show that I do not supports certain things that are taking place in our government and military at this moment in time.
After over twenty-four hours in a holding cell in Washington D.C. with thirty four other protesters, I got to breathe fresh air and see sunshine. I was exhausted. I smelled of stale cigarettes, body odor, urine and morning breath. After only a few moments outside I light a cigarette, pull the sunglasses off the top of my head, put them on my face and call my sister.
“Hey!”
“Where have you been?”
“I spent the night in a holding cell.”
“Great.”
“As bad as it was, it was totally worth it. I got some good exposure for the cause I think.”
“Oh yea. I saw that.”
“You did? How was it? How much air-time did I get?”
She doesn’t say a word.
“Well? How was it? Did Dad see it?”
“Yea. We all saw it.”
“Ok?”
“It wasn’t good, SINY.”
“What do you mean? I had important things to say.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t. But they didn’t portray you that way. I can tell they edited it. They took things you said out of context and called all of you guys Anarchists.”
“What? Anarchists? Because we won’t conform to rules that should not be in effect? Because we’re not afraid to stand up and put up a fight because we know it’s wrong? Are they kidding?”
“SINY, I’m really sorry. It didn’t look good. I recorded it if you want to see it when you get home. When are you coming home anyway?”
“We’re getting something to eat and then we’re leaving. And I do want to see it.”
“Alright. I’ll see you in a few hours. Oh, I got engaged by the way.”
My spirit had finally been crushed. Just what they wanted all along.
We are far from Anarchists. And I will fight for the things I believe in until the day I die, whether they like it or not. Arrests won’t scare us or quiet us.
Next rally I attend I will have a pocket constitution with me to read myself my rights when they try to cuff me.
…And I missed my only sister’s engagement.
