Testosterone City - continues

I’m ready to leave the shade of Department of Energy & head back to join the rest of the cp wimmin who are doing one of our Memorial Day weekend actions: a solemn reading of the names of the dead U.S. soldiers and Iraqis, their rank, and their ages.

As I venture out the shade down the steps & into the bright muggy sun & approach Independence Avenue, I’m dismayed to see the motorcycle parade has begun – hundreds of thousands of bikers in their best regalia and most festooned bikes, are steadily tooling down the huge avenue discharging a cacophony of smoke, steam, horns, shouts & incredibly thunderous engines.

Folks have line either side of the street – waving flags, arms, various other body parts, as the bikers respond in kind.

I see I cannot cross the street – at least without taking the chance of being run over unintentionally or not. Worse I realize, the bikers are waving at me too!

I have my best cp regalia on, including my anti-war pro-peace umbrella. I’m getting hostile vibes & disgusted looks from the sideliners. And I’m stuck in testosterone city. It is unnerving.

What the hell. I raise my arm & hold the peace symbol up in the air as the bikers pass. No one returns the peace symbol, but no one veers in my direction to run me over.

I check in with Charlotte. She tells me the distressing news that some young white male has attacked us – he grabbed the sheets of paper with the names of the dead as he shrieked profanities, ripping the papers & throwing them as he ran away.

Toby is chasing him down, two others have to leave to catch a plane, I’m stuck behind the motorcycle mania – I see a break & race across the street, thinking about tonite & tomorrow, & trying to assess the risk… I feel the most uneasy that I’ve ever felt.

It is never the individual asshole that is the most scariest – it is all the other people around that either watch with that unattached observing stand or those that jump in to assist the asshole… there seem to be an abundance of both today in D.C.