Saturday, March 20th as we advanced up the escalator, leaving the darkness of the metro tunnel, I heard what sounded like a white noise. Faint, but noticeable, there was a rhythmic hissing coming from the distance. Walking, now but a few blocks away from the Nation’s Capitol, I searched my mind for any possible sporting events that may be underway. I could come up with nothing. As we walked another block the hissing became words. “KILL THE BILL!”… “KILL THE BILL!”… followed by “NAAANCYYY”… “NAANCYYY”…, and in that moment tears filled my eyes and I knew it was the roaring of the belly of the beast. The despair and frustration of the American citizen had taken to the lawn of the Capitol. Front, back and side to side the people had traveled by planes, trains and automobiles to have their voices heard.
The sky was blue and the sun was accommodating. As we made our way to the Code Red Rally stage, I was proud to see the tens of thousands of people that had gathered in such short notice. Among the sea of patriots flew thousands of bright yellow Gasden flags and hand written messages to Congress. The message was clear, “KILL THE BILL!”.
In passing, a Caucasian lady called the friend that I was walking with a racist. So, he pointed at me and asked, “So, is she a racist too?” Ironically, her answer was, “yes”. I’m not quite sure how that works, but Liberals and the main stream media continue to use the term racist as a Tea Partier adjective outside the likes of Webster’s print.
As a black American woman, and I refuse to call myself African-American since my parents and grandparents and their parents were born nowhere near Africa, I still subconsciously scan the area for other ‘minority’ men and women. There were a few in plain sight and scattered throughout the crowds. There were no less than I usually discover at a Tea Party rally; however, one has to thoroughly examine the presence of a minority at a conservative rally since the majority of us continue to support these new and improved forms of oppression. So, after reading their signs and T-shirt slogans, I was relieved to see that they were on the same team.
After the rally, we walked over to the Cannon building. It was announced that Obama was on his way, and the people began to line the streets. The sea of yellow streaming snakes and marker filled cardboards flooded the congressional buildings with hopes to get in the galley. The chanting continued. I did not witness the passing of the Congressional Black Caucus, but I was close by. I never heard ANY racist comments nor did anyone around me. Excitement passes quickly when people are side by side, and several things came down the line. You would know a congressman was coming your way before you could physically see him. You would hear that the D.C. police shut down the congressional buildings before you could get across the street. Surely, something that intense would have made it down a row or two.
The next day, one moment in particular had caught my attention. Thousands gathered once again on the west lawn practically touching the house building. The people were shouting desperately “VOTE NO!”…”VOTE NO!”… And to my left, a young family caught my eye. An Indian man, from India, with his two very young daughters was right in the middle of the crowd and up front. He had his fist in the air yelling at the Congressmen on the balcony. His two young girls had their hands cuffed around their mouths supporting their dad’s quest to save his country. You see, it’s not just black people scattered in the midst of the fury of the grass-roots activists. All joined in the singing of the National Anthem. The emotion was indescribable.
My attention was quickly diverted to my right when I heard a man arguing with another man about the health care bill. A man from Africa had made his way into the crowd challenging those who did not want this bill to pass. He debated my friend briefly, but just as the conversation entered into frustration, along comes a man by the name of Robert Broadus. Mr. Broadus was another black man I had noticed in the crowd walking around, talking to people and handing out items. When Mr. Broadus had approached me, he overheard the bantering that was going on with my friend and persistent man from Africa. He immediately engaged and started asking him questions about Liberty and History. When the U.S. Constitution was raised, the man said it was just a piece of paper that was over 200 years old as if it was just an essay written with no value. It seemed that some of the items that Mr. Broadus was handing out were, in fact, pocket copies of the U.S. Constitution. When he produced the living document to the man, he no longer had any argument and walked away. That day, the U.S. Constitution was like kryptonite to liberal supporters of the bill. Once the Constitution was brought out in its paperback glory, they simply just walked away. (all of them). Try it at your next encounter with a Lib.
Sometimes you have to read someone their Rights in order to remind them that there ARE Rights.
If you ignore your RIGHTS they will go away. Keep up the good fight!