I am resurrecting this thread because something has ciome up that shows the one-sided bigoted and uninformed nature of so much of all the comments made against those who oppose the war.
I was reading at dinner the Sunday 3-30 Chicago Tribune, Perspective section, page 3, "Faces of Chicago protest" by Sean D. Hamill and Rudolph Bush.
Anyone out there actually read the paper and get beyond their own preconceptions? All the hate that has been poured out on those who protest the war and I read this - something no one who lives in Chicago has had the guts to post because it contradicts your little theories.
What really caught my eyes was the following vignette:
By the time the March 20 marchers headed north on Lake Shore Drive, in one of the vehicles caught up in the demonstration was a member of the military, a man named Rob in his late teens or early 20s.
Dressed in his formal Army uniform, he attracted a throng of marchers. One after another leaned in to shake his hand, told him they supported him, that they hoped he didn't have to go to Iraq and if he did that he got back safely. And then a few coaxed him out of the car so they could hug him.
As police hurried people along, shooing the last marcher past his car, Rob was in tears.
"I'm overwhelmed," he said, bowing his head. "I've never had so many people show me so much love."
Here is the link: trib story
Here is the whole story: Faces of Chicago protest
War protests left numerous stories untold
By Sean D. Hamill and Rudolph Bush. Sean D. Hamill and Rudolph Bush are Tribune staff reporters. Staff reporters Robert Becker, David Heinzmann and Jeff Long also contributed
Published March 30, 2003
The stories, photos and television coverage of the anti-war protests that filled Federal Plaza in the Loop and closed Lake Shore Drive in the last week and a half have focused on the conflict between protesters and police.
Given the tarnish that lingers on Chicago's image after the tumultuous events surrounding the 1968 Democratic National Convention, that's understandable.
But lost in the coverage were moments and people that reflect another side of these events, sometimes funny or moving, sad or surreal. These are some of the tales you haven't heard yet:
Some protesters might have had a tough time figuring out which group they belonged with.
There was the group Not in Our Name, which was formed to oppose the war in Iraq, but not to be confused with the group Not in My Name, which was formed to oppose Israel's occupation of Palestinian territories.
Other confusion arose over the fact that Not in Our Name was handing out fliers with the text of its own "Pledge of Resistance," a general declaration to oppose injustice, but not to be confused with the "Iraq Pledge of Resistance" campaign, which specifically pledges civil disobedience.
Creative sign-making happened everywhere. But at a anti-war rally Monday at the University of Illinois-Chicago, several students pushed the limit.
In the midst of the fervent feelings--both pro and con--about the war, UIC student Mike Navarro clearly didn't know what to believe or which side to take. Wandering around with a few friends at the anti-war rally, Navarro, a 20-year-old English writing major, carried a sign inscribed with "Cucumber Salad Bonanza."
It was a consciously absurdist take on a topic that has provoked intense feelings among Navarro's peers at UIC.
"I don't want people to die, but I don't know quite where that puts me. I came here, thinking, Protesters, they're wasting their energy. But when I heard them speak, they have good points."
The point of his sign?
"Who can disagree with Cucumber Salad Bonanza?" he said.
At the same rally, a young woman, perched on the shoulders of a stocky friend, waved a sign that read "Support Our Troops" and continually whooped as speakers lambasted the war.
The anti-war movement reacted quickly, with one protester taking up a spot next to her and holding a crudely made sign saying: "Don't pay any attention--She's from Girls Gone Wild."
By the time the March 20 marchers headed north on Lake Shore Drive, in one of the vehicles caught up in the demonstration was a member of the military, a man named Rob in his late teens or early 20s.
Dressed in his formal Army uniform, he attracted a throng of marchers. One after another leaned in to shake his hand, told him they supported him, that they hoped he didn't have to go to Iraq and if he did that he got back safely. And then a few coaxed him out of the car so they could hug him.
As police hurried people along, shooing the last marcher past his car, Rob was in tears.
"I'm overwhelmed," he said, bowing his head. "I've never had so many people show me so much love."
That same day, at one of several early-morning rallies on Federal Plaza, Grant Newburger wanted to make sure people could be heard when they came out at 8 a.m.
He brought his own bullhorn and set it up on a marble column in the plaza, inviting people to the open microphone to speak about their opposition to the war.
But after an hour of impromptu speeches and anti-war chants, Newburger, a systems administrator, picked up the microphone and announced: "That'll be the last [speaker]. I actually have to go to work now."
Some in the crowd chuckled--they had to go to work too.
Toward the end of the demonstration on March 20, when protesters were stuck in the intersection of Michigan Avenue and Oak Street, many pedestrians not involved in the march got caught in its midst.
One of those was 75-year-old Norma Brown of Park Forest, with her husband, Herbert, also 75.
She was enjoying the spectacle.
"This is wonderful. I'm totally ashamed of our country, and I'm thrilled about this," she said. "This is where I like to see our youth."
If nothing else, the Christian Peacemakers Team is a solemn bunch. When a group of them gathered under the Water Tower early on March 21, most looked and acted as if they were on their way to a church service.
But their small, sober rally, which started with a silent prayer, was interrupted when a man, tattooed all over and sporting a local shock jock's T-shirt, romped into the mix and began shouting "God Bless America" over and over again.
The display didn't shake the bunch, who did an admirable job of ignoring a man who the press and police couldn't take their eyes off.
The man was tattooed from his close-cropped peroxide-blond hair to his ankles. His T-shirt was about two sizes too small and didn't hide two colorful arms. His khaki pants were ripped along the seams of both legs high into the nether regions of the thigh.
The cops told him to get lost, but not before a scene unfolded to turn the 1960s upside down. The war protesters looked like a church congregation. The guy in line with the government would've made a mother blanch.
Ten people holding signs protested the war March 21 during rush hour at Illinois Highways 31 and 62 in Algonquin, McHenry County's busiest intersection.
They drew honks and obscene gestures from drivers, even though some of the protesters were children.
Five-year-old Pammy Foszcz of Wonder Lake, protesting with her parents and 3-year-old brother, held a sign saying, "Don't be naughty and mean. Have love in your heart for all the people."
Some drivers honked their approval; others raised a middle finger and shouted, "Go home!"
Protester Ed Geiss, 62, of Lake in the Hills, acknowledged that he had "been given the finger and everything else.
"But that's what I like. This is America."
