Here we go again, I thought on Saturday, as we ambled down to the second No Kings rally on the mean streets of Hartford and West Lebanon.
I say mean streets because House Speaker Smilin’ Mike Johnson called it a “hate America” rally. Umm, no.
Johnson’s pals claimed Antifa might be among us. But this is my Upper Valley, where there’s mah-jongg on Monday and bingo every Thursday down at the Antifa Hall.
Throwing Molotov cocktails is out because we are aging and couldn’t throw them very far with our bum shoulders. And anyway, we couldn’t abide the carbon footprint.
We are extreme radical leftists who arrive in a sensible vehicle, hybrid or electric, seat covers all around, and bring cute golden retrievers to the revolution. “Awww,’’ everyone says, “can I pet him?”
Sure, this is a puppy friendly valley. Dogs practically have the vote.
Supposedly, we were protesters-for-cash, but as a member of the Paid Agitators Union, Local 8647, I assure you this job was a freebie. I kept an eye out for leftist international man of mystery George Soros – maybe he’d be handing out bags of dough. No dice.
Still, we were in high spirits at the gathering, which is said to have drawn something like 5,000 people. I didn’t count, because I won’t do math without my smartphone’s calculator. But it was an impressive crowd. I couldn’t tell if the handlers were Bolsheviks or Mensheviks since I always forget the difference. They wore orange safety vests and gently reminded people to stay on the sidewalks.
Mike Johnson wouldn’t have been fooled, but I guess I was. I thought the vibe was super mellow. I ran into a number of friends and acquaintances and, of course, possible reds. “Comrades!” I saluted them, cheerily. The Russian Revolution was never this fun.
People carried clever signs. “ALEXA, CHANGE THIS PRESIDENT,’’ said one. Another lamented the limitations of the poster medium. “SO MANY CRIMES, SO LITTLE CARDBOARD,’’ it said. Protesters waved and wiggled their signs. Drivers honked louder than in a New York City traffic jam.
I improved my No Kings poster by putting blue tape around the borders. It featured a photo of His Highness Donald Trump with a hearty “NO!” next to him. Then a regal photo of Elvis, the true king. “YES!”
There was a lot of diversity, although I don’t think we broke any anti-DEI orders. I saw a big chicken, a blow-up frog, someone dressed like Trump with face makeup that was orange as Metamucil. There were also puppets with big heads, which I have mixed feelings about since I have a pretty big noggin’ myself.
It lasted an hour and a half, but 30 minutes in I started wishing I’d brought a lawn chair. Some insurrectionist.
As it happens, just like our president, I have crummy veins in the nether regions of my legs, the right one in particular. He’s got me beat with the cankles, however. I suppose I should have worn support stockings.
Come to think of it, maybe Trump will come out with his own line of compression hose, with a flag, eagle and a made-in-USA label made in China. I’m thinking 150 bucks, second sock half price.
Meanwhile, back at the protest, some folks who remember the glory days of protests tried to get songs going, the likes of “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?,’’ or “We Shall Not Be Moved.” Believe it or not, that very morning I’d been thinking of “God Bless America,’’ as belted out by Kate Smith. It has a very big finish. You should not sing it around dogs or heavy traffic.
On the Monday after the rally I asked my own Alexa to play some Pete Seeger tunes for old times’ sake. For decades I thought the folk revival was kind of corny, but gee, the old songs sounded great. My eyes grew misty during his cover of “The Garden Song”:
Inch by inch, row by row
Gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground
Pullin’ weeds and pickin’ stones
Man is made of dreams and bones
Feel the need to grow my own
‘Cause the time is close at hand …
Oh, to have peace in our hearts and hope in our minds.
So what did we accomplish Saturday? Maybe we just got out of the house. Maybe we cheered each other up. Maybe we planted some seeds for change. Maybe.
And really and truly, I thought my granddaughter might ask some day what I did during the Great Unraveling, if that comes to pass. I don’t want to have to begin, “Well, I had this really comfy easy chair …”
Sometimes you can’t do much, but you have to do something.
Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.
