It was dark by the time I headed to Union Station, but on the way there, I happened to catch a group of people, mostly Jews, protesting Netanyahu. Bibi was inside the Convention Center to give a speech to the American Israel Public Affairs Committee. Though he was schedule to address Congress the next day, many of our Senators and Congressmen also showed up for this event to earn extra asskissing points.
Protesters are a regular feature of D.C. and the locals barely see them. In front of the White House, sometimes you see two unrelated protests marching within sight of each other. Oddballs also appear, such as a man who protested supermarket coupons. D.C.'s most unusual protester, however, is Concepcion Picciotto, for she's been living in a tiny tent, directly across from the White House, for 34 years now. Born in 1945, this diminutive native of Spain's main targets are the innumerable war crimes of the United States and Israel, which she calls Israhell. Picciotto is the first, last and ultimate Occupier.
A much more recent addition to the streetscape just outside 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is Yusef, a beefy, red bearded Muslim with "NO GOD EXCEPT ALLAH MUHAMMED A MESSENGER ALLAH" painted in white on the back of his black polyester coat. In 2011, I had seen him in a sort of flasher's overcoat and no visible pants, but earlier this day, he had on a beige pair, though with the legs cut off to expose his ankles.
Yusef isn't objecting to American atrocities against Muslims, but the various deviations, according to him, from true Islam. Thus, his denunciations of vaccines, tunnels (because they block sunlight), movies, television, "picture makers" (which I take to mean painters and photographers) and even electricity. This didn't prevent him from asking me, in accented English, what time it was. As we talked, a middle-aged, female tourist pushing a stroller glared at him, but when I inquired if people had given him trouble, Yusef merely said, "I'd rather not talk about it."
Even more than Concepcion Picciotto, Washington's many homeless are its most damning and enduring protesters against this city's parasitic affluence, smug criminality and vapid culture of faux refinement. Numbering more than 7,000 as of May 2014, very few beg openly, thanks to D.C.'s severe law against panhandling, but they are visible enough even during the day. To escape the cold wind, some sit or sleep, all wrapped up, in the entrance of the McPherson Square Metro Station, just three blocks from the White House. Keeping reasonably inconspicuous, they rest at the many squares and parks.
At night, though, when the daytripping tourists and commuting workers are all gone, they emerge to claim their sleeping spots all over downtown, including up and down Pennsylvania Avenue, the capital's grand boulevard. They lie on church steps, grass strips, in doorways and behind hedges, some with crutches or a wheelchair next to them. Rolled up in whatever will hold body heat, including gray packing blankets, they curl up within sight of the Smithsonian museums and the Capitol. Inside the National Gallery, there's Hieronymus Bosch. Outside, there's this!
At Union Station, this nation's most regal train and bus depot, they lie on the circular stone bench around the handsome fountain outside, while during the day, they wander in to embarrass travelers with their grimy, smelly clothes and sometimes delirious monologs. They don't pull wheeled luggage but, limping in, cradle trash bags with both arms. Like zombies, hoboes or war refugees, they peer into shops with names like Jois Fragrance, L'Occitante en Provence and Oynce. Signs on Union Station's large, platform like seats, "THANK YOU FOR NOT RECLINING."
Wearing a leopard print dress, with much of her face covered by a cappuccino-colored shawl, a slim black woman in her late 40's rocked back and forth as she unleashed an incontinent stream of invectives against unseen foes. Her hands could not be more beautiful. She reeked of urine. "You betrayed me, you betrayed God, you betrayed this government. That's not the right protocol! You can't treat people like that. Turn in your badge, you're a threat to national security! I'm going to have a heart attack if you don't do so by morning. The heart has to be right place for socialism! You think you can just kill everybody but you yourself will be bombed! You're nothing but a traitorous person. There's no effort or sincerity, there's just treason! You're all bad people here. You ain't got no evidence. You can't do that to me! It's perjury you committed. I command you to turn in your badge. We're going to meet in court!" Every five or ten seconds, she punctuated her litany with a five-note riff of scatting, "Toot too too too too."
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