Feature by Mike Richeson My simple celebration of the First Amendment was about to become a much larger event than I had planned.

Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Features | Send mail to The Voice Student marches on other side of protest Voice reporter Mike Richeson stands on the sidewalk silently supporting the war. -Richelle Richeson, photo With the United States on the doorstep of war and Portland's largest anti-war protest just over a month old, I decided to take part in the most American of activities: exercising my right of free speech. Armed with a 3-by-2 foot piece of cardboard and black markers, I made a sign and headed for Burnside Street, one of downtown Portland's biggest and busiest thoroughfares. I didn't want to attract a lot of attention before I found a spot to display my poster, so I kept it folded under my arm while I walked downtown. I could hear the din of an excited crowd a few blocks away but thought nothing of it until I was close enough to read their signs, which said: "Dump Bush Not Bombs," "No Blood For Oil," and "Peace." Hundreds of war protesters stood together where Burnside Street connects with the North Park Blocks. My simple celebration of the First Amendment was about to become a much larger event than I had planned. My stomach tightened, my mouth went dry, and my legs began shaking. I couldn't go through with my plan. I was already nervous about being a lone marcher, and now I had a throng of people who would oppose me. I walked around a nearby block to gather my courage. I composed myself and returned to the protest site. I took a deep breath and unfolded my sign for the world to read: "Free Iraq. Support the War." So there I stood, alone, just across the street from hundreds of people who would consider me a warmonger and a bane to society. I was grateful for the stream of traffic between us. The protesters didn't notice me for a couple of minutes, but soon people were nudging the person next to them and pointing at me. People drove past, honking at the war protesters and flashing peace signs. I don't think anybody honked for me; most just stared in disbelief as they drove by. Word of my presence had spread, and 20-30 people gathered across the street to wave their signs for my benefit. A woman wearing a gas mask shook a stick with the head of a child's doll attached to it. A man in his mid 20s and woman in her early 60s crossed the street to confront me. The woman stood in front of me to cover my sign as best she could and then turned to me and said, "You're too young to remember Vietnam, aren't you?" "Every war is not Vietnam," I said. "Don't you want peace?" she asked "Yes, but not at any cost," I said. She furrowed her brow, shook her head at me and walked away. More protesters gathered around me and indoctrinated me with flyers. "America's top generals say no to war!" a man shouted at me and shoved anti-war quotes in my face. "They don't want war; why do you?" "I don't want war," I said, pushing away the paper. "War is an awful thing, but sometimes diplomacy doesn't work. I don't think Saddam should be allowed to remain in power and terrorize his people." Grumbling and a low volume of scolding emanated from the crowd. Suddenly, hundreds of people surrounded me. The protesters had begun to march down Burnside Street, and I was directly in their path. I stood and held up my sign. The marchers glared and frowned at me as they chanted and passed by. Finally I was out of the storm, and the march turned south and progressed on Broadway. The protesters were raucous and stopped traffic for blocks around them. The police were close behind. I decided to follow them. As I walked about a half-block behind the march, people reacted to me in a variety of ways, none of them lukewarm. A woman in gray sweatpants with dark, heavy bags under her eyes, who stood slumped against a building's stone column, swore at me until I was out of earshot. I passed a group of young men in baggy pants and dreadlocks, sure that they were going to yell at me, and they did. "All right, man!" they shouted. "That's our kind of sign." A couple eating lunch at a window table paused with their sandwiches at their lips and stared at me. A woman and her husband walking toward me didn't notice me until I was about 10 feet away. She looked up and shrieked at me as if she had seen a rat. "Eww, eww!" she said, covering her face with diamond-clad hands. "That sign says to support the war!" She clung to her husband and clip-clopped away in her high heels. I slowed my pace and let the marchers get a few blocks ahead of me. I was tired of being the Portland peaceniks' whipping boy. I stood on the street corner and watched the march progress. Then I folded up my sign, relieved and saddened at the same time, and returned to my car. I had expected more support because the polls show the majority of Americans support the war. But I sure felt alone on the street. And carrying a sign that supported death and destruction was hard, no matter how worthy the cause. Several hundred anti-war protesters rally at the North Park Blocks to march through downtown Portland. -Richelle Richeson, photo Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Features | Top Of Page Send mail to The Voice| Journalism department website © 2003 The Voice. No part of this publication may be reproduced in written or electronic form without prior written consent from the journalism adviser of Multnomah Bible College. All rights reserved.