My husband and I walked in Seattle’s May Day immigration reform march because Jorge invited us. We marched (actually, strolled is a better word) with him, his six-month pregnant wife and their two kids on a (rare) sunny day from Central District to downtown.
The crowd was peaceful, with one jaunty guy and his bullhorn rushing from corner to corner to exhort us into solidarity and action. A better inspiration was the wonderful brass band (the tuba had a sign saying ‘Borders Blow’). Only once, when we funneled through the dark downtown canyons of office buildings, did I remember the Boston Marathon bombings, and found myself scanning sidewalks for suspicious backpacks. Cops on bikes followed and tracked us, and their continous stop-starts reminded me of when I was a kid scouting on my bike.
We wondered if last year’s anarchists would make their May Day appearance. Before the march, the reform crowd gathered at a park and Jorge’s little girl was gathering those weeds that look like tiny daisies. She was dumping them into the lap of a young man wearing an Anonymous mask. Her parents didn’t stop her and I wondered why she kept bringing him flowers. He accepted them without comment. After 15 or so minutes, he removed his Anonymous mask. Maybe it was too hot. Maybe he felt foolish. Aside from some skinny ninja in black, Anonymous was the only “anarchist” I saw.
Later, the 11 o’clock news on local tv carried breathless coverage of an evening confrontation between anarchists and Seattle cops. I’d say the ratio of coverage was 90% anarchists, 10% immigration reform march. Thanks anarchists. Thanks TV. You guys were made for each other.