Propagating protest

"I am a Protestant in the sense that I protest," goes a rough quotation of W.H. Auden. Now I'm no Protestant, but I think I catch his drift.

Last Monday, I woke up before the crack of dawn and walked to the corner of 40th and Walnut, where I stood in the pitch black darkness in sub-freezing temperatures with a handful of other students. We were all there -- shivering, hungry, tired -- for one reason: the March for Life.

For those who are not familiar with it, the March for Life is an annual march in Washington, D.C., from the White House Ellipse, up Constitution Avenue, to the Supreme Court. The march protests Roe v. Wade, and it has been taking place since 1974. Every year, tens of thousands of Americans flock to the capital to take a stand, or rather, a very, very long walk. It was to be my first protest.

Now before everyone who is appalled by this event furiously scrolls to the bottom of this page to pound out enraged comments about abortion or pro-life or pro-choice issues, note that this column is not about me promulgating propaganda. It's about propagating protest.

I have to admit that at first, I was reluctant to go on the march. I was going to miss class, lose sleep, amass homework and probably return to Penn exhausted. In fact, due to the weather, our group almost didn't make it to the capital. But we persevered -- and I'm glad we did.

The March was one of the most American experiences I've ever had. There were people from Kansas, Indiana, Texas, New England, the West Coast -- people from all over the country. There were white people, black people, Asians, Latinos, people of every shade and color. People with mohawks, Greek Orthodox priests, Jewish Americans, Irish brass bands, people with disabilities, Democrats and some guy with a conch shell.

Among the women and men, young and old, there was but one common denominator: we all wanted to reverse what we thought was an injustice; we all wanted to protest.

The most meaningful moment for me, however, was when we finally made it to the Supreme Court after 45 minutes and 15 blocks. The crowd congealed and laid siege to the courthouse. There was no violence, no shouting, no pushing or shoving. We simply stood, peacefully, and let our numbers bear witness to our cause. Common people laying our grievances at the foot of the government and silently demanding to know, "What are you going to do about it?"

In that moment, I converted to protestantism (with a lower case 'p'). Actually, my conversion was more of a realization, a discovery of roots deep inside me, deep inside all of us.

When you consider the sprawling history of our nation -- from the Puritans escaping England and the Boston Tea Party to the abolitionists, suffragists and hippies -- we are a nation of protesters. It's in our nature to redress, to cause a ruckus and to otherwise be a pain in the ass for authorities.

America is one big protest. We wouldn't have a nation if it wasn't for our fathers and our forefathers and our founding fathers raising a stink. It is primarily through that friction -- the constant struggle, questioning and challenge against the powers that be -- that we sort out our differences. Hopefully we find the right answers and learn to tie together the disparate threads that would otherwise make America look like something the cat dragged in.

In protesting, in marching resolutely through the bitter cold with a determination that even 30 years could not quell, we were connecting to the past. We were adding one more link to the continuous chain of American protesting, and I'd like to think that through us, the American spirit was sustained somehow.

It's probably true that we didn't revolutionize politics that day. Congress was not in session and the justices didn't show. Though the march has taken place since the '70s, Roe v. Wade has not even come close to being overturned. So why bother? What's the point?

To put it plainly, our absence would probably have been more newsworthy than our presence. That is, had thousands of marchers not converged on Washington last Monday as they have for decades, the country would likely have been shocked. Our cause would have suffered a blow, or worse yet, the fact that abortion was ever a contentious issue in America might have been forgotten.

In this way, protesting is an American right that borders on obligation. Without ever protesting, one's American experience is incomplete.

As another Brit, Edmund Burke, put it, "All that is required for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." That's truer today than it's ever been.

America has always been a protestant nation. And it's always looking for new converts...

Justin Tackett is a sophomore in the College from Pittsburgh. Word! appears on Tuesdays.

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