The Protestors

I first became aware of their existence while fighting downtown traffic just after 5:00.  That’s not really the best time to face Marion Street; it might not be Portland traffic, but it’s bad enough.  The traffic stacks up for blocks and blocks.  A light will turn green and the line of cars might not even shift.  Everyone jockeys for their spot on the bridge and free-flowing traffic – unless you’re heading to West Salem.  Then the misery just continues.

Rowan (9) and Henry (6) sat behind me, happily playing with their Burger King toys.  The deal right now is these blobby-looking plastic things that remind me of the Pillsbury Doughboy.  But get this – they come with playdoh and are designed with spaghetti squeezers and accessories to make cool impressions.  It’s actually pretty sweet.

Back to the van.  We slowly oozed along the road, hoping stoplights would stay green long enough for the cars in front of me to move out of the way so I could cross the intersection, when I saw a man hurrying along carrying a sign under his arm.  From what I could see, I think the sign read, “PRESIDENT not GOD.”  I looked around for other people, but saw none.

Two blocks away from the bridge, I spotted them.  They thronged on both sides of the street, all corners of the intersection at the bridge, so many people, waving their signs high in the air.  My initial reaction was apprehension.  I envisioned people running out and blocking traffic, rocks being thrown, general mayhem and possible violence.  I pictured struggling to keep my autistic children calm while simultaneously trying to get them to safety.

There was none of that.

The throngs respectfully kept their distance on the sidewalk.  Occasionally a car would honk in support and everyone would cheer.  Nothing was thrown.  No one got in our faces.  It occurred to me that while there certainly are violent protests, I shouldn’t automatically assume that every protest is the same.

Rowan asked me what all the people were doing, which led to a beautiful talk about our country’s founding principles, one of which is the freedom to speak.  We have the freedom to stand on street corners and wave signs.  We can criticize our government loudly and publicly.  We can make our voices heard and demand change.  Whether or not I agree with these particular protestors is not the issue.  Everyone here has the right to make their voice heard.

I told Rowan that not all countries have it this way.  Some countries will put their citizens in jail for speaking out.  They can’t say anything bad about those in power.  Rowan asked if some are even killed, and I said, yes they are.  While no government ever likes to be criticized, here we are still free to do so.  I am extremely thankful for that.

Rowan pondered this all.  I reminded myself that every moment can be a teaching moment for my children.  Every inconvenience can be turned into something more.  My children are always watching what I do, what other adults around them do.  They see and they learn.  They will model my behavior and my words.  Rowan understands that even when people have different perspectives, kindness and listening will go a long way.  And I was reminded that for my children to grow up showing kindness and understanding, they must first see that behavior in me.