Behind the Scenes in DC

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During the march on Saturday I wandered, crisscrossing paths with Oliver and his friends and with sons Sam and Leif, who had taken the bus from Minnesota. I wanted to take in all the flavors and varieties of people, to float from current to current. Suddenly a black wave broke in from the right -- the anarchists. Somehow their arrival created anarchy in my sense of direction and I found myself going in circles. By grace, at the moment I realized that I was thoroughly confused, I spotted Susie, Joan Baez's assistant, who credits an ad in Utne for her job. Susie was with Joan and Jonathan, a successful businessman who had decided to dedicate his life to being of service and had showed up at Camp Casey in Crawford, Texas, which was also where I had met Joan and Susie. Jonathan, with Joan's guitar slung across his former-college-wrestler's back, had been enlisted to blaze a trail through the crowd so Joan could get to the stage. Susie took Joan's hand and I walked behind them watching the expressions of delight on the faces of all the people who recognized Joan. And noticing the deftness with which Jonathan and Susie manuevered Joan through the crowd -- an art in itself. So that's how I got to waltz backstage. I felt guilty just waving to Oliver and his friends over the fence -- I maybe could have figured how to smuggle Oliver in, but not the three of them.

Monday, the day of the arrests, I had decided not to get arrested -- I thought I could be of more use helping to coordinate bail money and rides and phone calls, and besides, if I got arrested, I might miss appointments in New York on Tuesday. Just as we got to the park, I realized that Cindy needed water, so I gave her my water bottle, which -- despite that fact that it leaches plastic -- I was attached to because of the way it turned from blue to purple depending on the light. But, hey, anything for the cause. (Now -- shameless plug -- I'm going to get one of those stainless steel non-leaching ones from our new online store -- and so should you, for your health. And you'll be supporting independent media.) Then I realized that the jail might be cold, so I left Cindy on a park bench in Lafayette Park for just a moment to see if I could find her a sweatshirt. Within 45 seconds, I found an old friend with a sweatshirt in a beautiful and unusual shade of blue that exactly matched his striking eyes. He handed it right over for the cause. But by the time I got back, Cindy and her sister Dede had been swallowed up in the large group of military families and vets who were planning to get arrested and they were completely surrounded by cameras. I passed the sweatshirt through the crowd to her and went to stand in the press area to watch the process unfold -- 370 got arrested, plus 40 who got arrested earlier in the day at the Pentagon. During the long preamble to the arrests, I went to get cases of water and snacks. When I brought the water, I handed it to the cops who delivered it. The mood between protestors and cops was cooperative, with a sense of orchestrated inevitability. There was a large group of clergy right in front of the press area, and a pale blond woman stood waiting, tall and slender, beautiful and resolute in her Episcopalian robes. Everyone took pictures of her.

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