The Cotton Anniversary of America’s vexing descent into geo-political madness was met with a relatively glum and under-attended rally of disapproval in Central Park. From my perspective, it was an opportunity to line up, enter the park, wander around feeling bad, then go home. What few speakers we did hear were often off message (doesn’t Mumia Abu Jamal seem a bit of a micro problem right now?) We didn’t even hear Patti Smith sing. At least the weather was nice. And I have a lot of complimentary copies of the Socialist Worker to keep in the bathroom.
This guy kinda summed it up nicely:
Hoffman wonders if showing up for one demonstration absolves him of the need to divest himself of the use of petroleum, products made in China or any taxable income going toward an unprovoked invasion and prison torture:
Anti-war veteran Marcy Dermansky still manages to look friendly despite seething with rage against the aforementioned machine:
I take it back. *This* guy summed it up nicely:
I’m sure the Asian slaves who sewed your moderately-priced leisurewear are touched by the torments of your conscience. I know I am.
I’m sure the Asian slaves who sewed your moderately-priced leisurewear are touched by the ironically-phrased torments of your conscience. I know I am.