Dan Fishback: Freezing in D.C. and loving it

It's hard to have a good time when you can't feel your feet. But it's harder to have a good time when your government is about to wage a foolish war under deceptive pretenses, and even harder when you're not doing anything about it. So around 125 members of the Penn community temporarily lost foot awareness this Saturday in freezing cold Washington D.C. to protest the war in Iraq. Faculty, staff and students all piled into three buses at 7 a.m. and braved the cold until sundown. It was crowded and noisy -- at times claustrophobic and intensely uncomfortable -- thank goodness. What better agony than being squished in the middle of 100,000 anti-war protesters? I can't imagine a more productive pain. In fact, I found myself wishing for more -- more crowds of people, converging before the Capitol, demanding sanity and justice. I think I'll get my wish. Since last October, each large demonstration has gotten progressively larger. And more diverse, too, drawing bigger crowds of people less-directly involved with political activism. This past Saturday, it seemed as though all of suburban Maryland had mini-vanned its way downtown. Everywhere you looked, nuclear families huddled together, nagging each other about being hungry, cold, tired -- it was simply beautiful. Beneath all the suburban mishegas, you felt a sense, even from the small children, that the discomfort was worth it, that it was our responsibility to add our bodies to the crowd, to prove to the world that Americans don't want this war -- that we're not all imperialist monsters. It's a strange phenomenon, this protest bliss. You go to these events, and you expect to immerse yourself in unsettling information -- you expect to get uncomplicatedly angry. But, at least for me, protest-anger is very complicated indeed. It's an anger laced with a sense of balance, release and unity. To stand in that crowd is to align your body with your mind. It thankfully lacks the dysphoria of everyday outrage -- buying a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper, or cooking dinner and listening to the radio. Hearing horrible news and doing nothing, the tension, the feeling of powerlessness, just builds and builds -- it isn't until you put your body where your brain is that it all disperses. You step into the crowd and you feel release -- because you know you're actually helping. You know that each body contributes to a throng, and while one everyday mouth might feel powerless, several city blocks of vocal dissenters can make a difference. It's a distracted anger. An optimistic anger. A productive anger. So I was a bit befuddled, arriving back at Penn, to hear someone saying, "The protest people on campus -- I don't really like the way they do things." I responded, "Well, are you against the war?" "Of course," he said "Then you should come to a meeting and share your opinions. Our actions will only get better with more input." I told him about a meeting on Tuesday, and he said he'd come. I know it might sound weird, but I was really happy for him. It's a glorious opportunity to translate your personal opinions into group demonstrations. It seems silly that anything should get in the way of this beautiful right -- the right to gather and shout. Lately, I've heard a lot about people who are against the war but who don't want to come to protests or meetings, or be involved at all. People who think that activism "isn't their thing." If you're one of these people, I'd like to say very plainly that you're missing out. Abstractly, you're ignoring your responsibility as an American to participate in a democratic society. But viscerally, personally, you're passing up a chance at peak psychological alignment -- a chance to let your conscience move you to a place where you make sense in the world. Sometimes it hurts to get there. Sometimes it's awfully cold, but, well, you'll notice that we keep coming back. It's not just guilt that drives us there. It's the logic of the human soul. Dan Fishback is a senior American Identities major from Olney, Md.

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