Where Were You?

DENNIS KYNE / Mindfully.org 22jan2005

	Dennis Kyne

Red eyed flight was the cheap way to get out of San Jose, California to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I showed up the morning of MLK's birthday, red eyed, where my pal Ward picked me up. Ward was a volunteer infantryman who served with a Ranger group during the Vietnam war. I was his house guest, and he was my guide as we set forth on a week of peaceful journey of expressing our dissent at the madness going on in the world. I had been to Baton Rouge before, Southern University more specifically, where I took home a trophy for placing first at the Mardi Gras debate tournament of 1994. We won it in the finals against a tough team from Moorehouse, it put San Jose State in the rankings for the first time in years, I always wanted to get back to Red Stick. This day I showed up in Red Stick red eyed, but I was ready for two of the biggest days of the year.

Monday, the 17th the United States celebrated Martin Luther King, Jr's birthday. It is a national holiday, yes, but not everybody gets the day off. Baton Rouge's Advocate stated that the percentage of employers who would give a paid holiday in the year 2005 to be 26%, down from 30% in 2003.

Ward and I took off early to get to New Orleans and get our place in the parade with the local anti war coalition C3. We got their early enough to meet up with Buddy Spell and his wife Annie for the free coffee and found our place in the march at number 32. Buddy, a criminal defense lawyer, had been following my malicious prosecution and after I got done unloading about how racist New York was, he gave it right back to me about the neighborhood we were standing in and some of the other parishes. "Annie," he told me, "took me to a football game where the stands are separated at the 35 yard line with chain link. In the middle white people sit, on one side the students sit, and the other side the black people sit." I dropped my jaw, and he followed up with, "they are still burning crosses around here." I remember being told all this before, I had been here before.

Here I was again, we got rid of slavery but not racism. We set off on a march that went straight through the 8th Ward of New Orleans and ended at the Congo square in the Louis Armstrong Park. I was in tears before we even hit the pick up spot in 8th ward, which is where the high school bands were filing in to meet up with the parade. In spot 31 of the parade was Louis Farrakhan's Muslim Nation. It was an honor to march behind them, as MLK wrote in the Letter From a Birmingham Jail, "tension in society that will help men rise from the dark depths of prejudice and racism to the majestic heights of understanding and brother hood." What better place for a group of white anti war folks than behind a group of black anti colonialists to prove that the depths of prejudice must be broken for us to gain ground on the real enemy. Sadly, we were the only white group there. I did not see any white churches, white high schools, white politicians, f*&^% I only saw twenty white people on the side of the road in attendance of the parade.

OK, business only gave 26% of the people off paid, but there are many unaccounted for white people who got the day off from school and government jobs. There is 74% of the population who could have taken the day off unpaid. Unpaid is totally un-American so they could have done it the American way, called in sick and went to the Parade instead of the baseball game. Companies give employers money plus time to celebrate Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, people are steadily cheating more days out of the broken system, and I was one of forty white people parading in front of a crowd of thousands that had twenty white people in it. In 1963 MLK lead the largest march ever on Washington for which he later was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. We were marching for a Nobel Peace Prize winner in a time of war, there weren't enough white people there, where were you?

If you had been with us, you would have heard the people on the streets yell. "George Bush Sucks," It was great, Ward reminded them often that we, "said yes to King's dream and no to Bush's nightmare." Thank you New Orleans and the residents of the 8th ward for having us in your neighborhood to celebrate a hero.

I had a minute to ponder the event, the funeral for democracy we would attend back in New Orleans was a couple of days away. I emailed out a brief note of my experience and the racism that I see permeating our society. In return I was contacted by a minister who said racism is a direct result of Darwin's selection theory, another who said the arctic was 99.9 % white and the most livable place going right now. Here I was again, we ended slavery and racism perpetuates the stigma of racism, so these good white folks advocate segregation. You can't argue with intellectual segregation, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near the folks who are bombarding me with garbage like this. Borrowed opinions from bigots and fascists have lead these people to believe that the color of somebody's skin has something to do with the content of their character. I know the people who emailed me these remarks, since kid hood, and what has happened is the content of their character is in question with me. They are advocating segregation, and they have left me advocating it too. I am in support of taking people who espouse these thoughts and giving them a place to live, somewhere near the arctic, telling them they are not welcome in the melting pot of the world.

Back to the melting pot, New Orleans we went, Ward's wife Melissa came with us on the early morning drive back to Congo square where the first Jazz Funeral for democracy was happening. While we were getting warmed up, Washington D.C. was buried in snow welcoming Dubya Mass Destruction into office a second time. New Orleans Police Officers enforced democracy this day. Unlike the cities I have been to before, San Francisco to New York; These officers did not have gas masks on, or big Nazi looking helmets with protective face guards, huge batons or bottles of pepper spray, nor rifles loaded with wooden or plastic bullets to shoot at us. Congo Square was filled up and the local bands were warming up, the people had come from Olympia, Washington; Madison, Wisconsin; Boston, New York, California.

Kathy Kelly came in from Chicago and the master of ceremonies was a United States Army Command Sergeant Major, retired. I stepped off the square in the first line, walking with Buddy and his wife, who had been very instrumental in getting this funeral organized. Surrounded by family we bumped down the French Quarter to Andrew Jackson Square. It was an incredibly fun journey, and I would ask the city of New Orleans to host one monthly, and I would encourage everyone in the world to attend. I am a different person for having this experience. It was a traditional yet not miserable way to mourn the loss of something. We have lost much in the last four years, we have nothing to celebrate except the death of many people and the death of democracy. I am encouraging everyone to mourn; The days of the constitutional republic are over.

We got to Jackson Square, and before the beautiful St Louis Cathedral the police shut down the entire street for us. This had not been in the original plan, but because the turnout had been greater than expected, they gave us the room we needed. I can't say with omnipotence that this would never happen in any other city, please show me if you can. They said they were accommodating us, I say they hate Bushocchio in New Orleans.

Bob Smith has multiple combat tours under his belt, he retired as a Combat Sergeant Major, the highest enlisted rank one can attain. Bob Smith, a military hero, gave me a hero's introduction. I flashed the peace sign, that sometimes gets confused iby media people covering the war as a victory symbol. Telling the crowd that this administrations version of democracy had failed me at the Republican National Convention, failed me in the court system following my arrest at the convention I lead them in to four failures that affected us all.

1) Your vote has to count.

I got applause, and didn't have to spend much time explaining

	Avery Friend

2) You are entitled to a fair and impartial jury of your peers.

I did not have to spend much time here either, Wilbert Rideau, a black Louisiana resident was in the head lines all week because he finally had gotten a righteous jury forty years after his arrest

3) You have to foster a middle class to foster democracy which hasn't happened in decades

4) You have to foster dialogue to foster democracy Another absent event in america

It was a quick speech, followed by the most remarkable activist I have met in a long time. Bob introduced a thirteen year old young, Avery Friend next. Avery was hassled by the police when she stood protest against this maddening war. Avery stood for her right to express, her right to speak freely and it turns out some bully officer wanted to march her off the street. Avery wasn't having any of it and I got to hear the story at the funeral. A wonderful example of what it is going to take for us to effect change. Avery's mother was there, the community has supported her and she has continued to send the message that our youth have a voice and sense of purpose in this crisis also. Myself, twenty two years older, admire Avery. Admiration, such an obsolete feeling, found me that day in Jackson Square. Kathy Kelly, whom I have been an admirer of since 1992, after I returned from Desert Storm, spoke as well. I admire her articulate and passionate objections to the first Gulf War. Sun set on Andrew Jackson's statue, we headed off to the street party, it was obvious our Jazz Funeral for Democracy doubled as a Peace March. A protest against everything about this horrible nightmare we are living.

You can't tell me this is the america my elders promised me when I was young. Heck it isn't even the america promised the people who are young, like Avery Friend. For goodness sakes, it isn't even the america that George Bush says it is. I take from King's letter one more time when he says, "Just as Socrates felt that it was necessary to create a tension in the mind so that individuals could rise from the bondage of myths and half-truths to the unfettered realm of creative analysis and objective appraisal." I take from it once again in recognition that we are being lied to and it is necessary to do something about it. To rise from the bondage of these lies you have to be present and participate. I am asking again, "where were you?" If you were with us you would have met Avery Friend and Kathy Kelly, my heroines.