12:20pm

Behind me, up high and strategically positioned along long banks of windows are police, crouched with cameras, computers, radios. The are scanning the crowd i stand in, pointing at individuals amongst us. i raise my camera phone to take a picture of them too, but the glass is tinted, and all i get is a glare of a winter sun shining back at me. i wonder how many more are positioned in the offices above us, and if there are snipers somewhere today.

From an opposite vantage point, men and women in business attire and holding glasses of champagne also point down at us from behind tinted windows, laughing, waving, jeering.   i stare at one, and receive a sardonic grin and the middle finger in a salute back.

On the ground, where i stand, it is cold air, cold pavement, and my cold hands shoved into my pockets. i don’t hold a sign today, though there are plenty around to be carried: “Go Home Bush!” “Shoe Bush the door!” “War Criminals Not Welcome Here” and so many more.  i don’t have a flag or beat a drum. Mostly i’m just observing my first protest rally.  i am close enough to the centre of all the action to know that it is likely that my face will end up on the news somewhere tonight, and it makes me wonder at what i’ve chosen to be a part of.

If i shiver, it’s because i’ve been here for an hour already, somewhat overwhelmed by the social disparity between the protesters that i am shoulder to shoulder with and the endless line of black business suits we are yelling at.  But, i also shiver at the oddness of this all.  At some level, i believe that i need to be here, to add my voice to those who say it is not right that Calgary is welcoming someone accused of war crimes, including “torture, illegal renditions, wrongful incarcerations, denials of due process and other gross human rights violations”.  i agree that as a person even SUSPECT for such acts, George W. Bush should have been stopped at the border, if only to be consistent with the level of suspicion and ’security’ that has been so ramped up in the last eight years.

At the same time, i recognize that my presence is for all intents and purposes, pointless. The 1500 tickets ($400 minimum) have already been purchased. The event is paid for. The time off or extended lunch hours that allow the attendees to be, well, attendees, is already in full-swing.  Bush is somewhere inside the Telus Convention Centre, safely ensconced in throngs of secret service, and i highly doubt that the home-made signs, the bags of shoes to be thrown at his effigy, the chants, the coffee-can drums, the ‘Raging Grannies‘, or the girl walking around in a red devil suit and Dubya mask are really going to convince him that he should pack up and leave.  It’s all very attention-getting, but what kind of attention?

A woman is shouting into a bullhorn that is not turned on.  An old, grizzled dooms-dayer is spouting verses from Jeremiah.  Euphemisms, blanket statements, irrelevant information is all being shouted at random, and there are cameras everywhere, capturing images of the spectacle in rapid-sequence. i observe the rather comical air emanating from the gathering, and then i watch the seemingly endless line of individuals waiting to enter the building and begin their lunch.  They are a relatively quiet crowd, largely ignoring the noise around them. Every once in a while, you can see a ripple of laughter as several of them point to something in our crowd, or as a particularly loud rant is directed their way.  Dressed almost entirely in black, grey, and navy, the attendees’ appearance of professionalism could be perceived as credibility and invincibility. Only once do i actually hear someone yell back at the protesters surrounding the entrance to the building. A young man, about my age, dressed in an expensive grey suit stepped out suddenly, exasperated: “WE’RE not the ones who went to Afghanistan!!!”  It is the one time i speak out, and i look him in the eye as i shout back that they ARE the ones paying to support the individual who started it all.  He returns to the line, blending in once again. It seemed to me like he was tossing out an excuse, an effort to distinguish himself from the person he was paying to see, and i want to know more. Why is he here? Why is anyone here?

i keep wanting to break with the rest of the protesters that i am with, to leave the rag-tag army behind me and reach for a more credible debate. What is the use of the chanting?  Bush isn’t in power any more. He doesn’t make the calls any more. It’s true, i would have liked it if he had never come in the first place, but instead of Bush going home, what i’d really like to see is the hundreds of Calgarians lined up to applaud him go home.  i’m filled with frustration at the pointlessness of the rally, of an effort that is big on passion and spectacle, but is failing to effectively communicate clearly and logically the reasons why we feel that attending the lunch is wrong. It is frustrating that we protesters both appear non-credible, and in some cases, probably aren’t.  i’m frustrated with feeling that rallying at this event is the only way to be a part of the opposition, and i’m frustrated that i don’t have the courage to simply walk up to an attendee and talk with them about their perspective and mine.

In the end, it is these frustrations that begin to match the deep cold of the day and send me walking back down the road i came on, in search of a hot coffee and some more collected thoughts.  i’ve always considered myself an idealist, though i credit a good dose of realism when i see it. Ideology is only a weapon when it convincingly enters the heart and mind of another individual: you can’t fight a war on it, and you can’t spout it at spectators hoping for an effective result.  Besides, i don’t believe in using weapons against other people, ideological or otherwise. So what then?

i believe there is a better way, one that involves direct and personal conversations, increased public dialogue, a setting aside of anger and prejudice, and the courage to step out of fear, apathy, or conformity in order to move towards greater moral action, whether that’s forgoing a $400 lunch ticket, or breaking a protest line to speak with one of the people who’s minds you’re hoping to change.  Pie-in-the-sky? Perhaps.  But, if we as individuals and society do not hold to those ideals, then we’re liable to become as base as those who use power and the threat of it to accomplish whatever is wished.  Maybe one day i’ll protest again, but if i do, i’ll be keeping these things in mind.