CCPA students storm D.C. (Photo courtesy Department of Corporate Communications and Public Affa)
One might agree that spending a week in Washington, D.C. would build pride as a citizen of the United States and that the experience would also give a new appreciation for the world of politics. But what about the distress and distractions that one must face before coming to these cliché conclusions?
Arriving in Washington on Martin Luther King, Jr. day, the weekbegan with a reflection of freedom. That view of freedom changed to free speech almost immediately upon my encounter of daily protestors. Each day closer to President Bush’s Inauguration, the protests became more aggressive and ugly. Pulling up to the Black Tie and Boots Ball, protestors swamped the entry, dressed as pigs, throwing money and snapping pictures of us; were we guilty or famous?
The Metro, Washington’s underground transportation system, was another city beneath the blocked streets. People piled tightly on the trains, yelling obscenities at each stop. Especially on Inauguration day, anti-Bush posters, actors and loud-mouths filled the metro, holding up any progressive movement. The chaos didn’t end in unorganized, public places, though. I found myself breaking a sweat in my ball gown while volunteering at both the pre-event and Black Tie and Boots Ball. Hands reaching towards me from all directions, I placed a wristband on each while in repetition of the night’s coat check procedures. One man approached me and whispered his importance in hopes that I would give special attention to his close, personal friends. “Who are you?” I thought to myself. Among 27,000 people, no one seems all that important; that is, of course, unless you’re the President of the United States. Security reached the expectation of rumors as well. It’s not everyday you see snipers, secret service and armored policemen pacing the streets. The cold weather did not add to this Texas girl’s experience, either. But what did make this experience truly amazing was more than any one person could influence.
On the Inauguration day, I stood on a nearby rooftop, overlooking the Capital. Wide-eyed, I couldn’t help but feel completely overwhelmed by such history, tradition and ritual. Even through the constant motion of people below, there was an unforgettable stillness in that moment.
All the week’s discouragement didn’t really seem to matter anymore because, from casting my vote in the small town of Sunnyvale to standing on that rooftop, it became clear to me that my vote had counted.
