'for what its worth'

It was 1969; the University of Pittsburgh campus was to be the sight of a protest, a calling of civil disobedience by a large group of Anti Viet Nam/ Police Overindulgence individuals. It was one of the first times a college campus in the city of Pittsburgh was rallying its anti war/anti police/ anti government forces following the many other campuses across the nation in protest.

I was a sophomore in college, and all around me were people in support of the War in Viet Nam, against the war in Viet Nam, afraid of the power of the police in our nation and in support of their need to take control of the cities. Very few people were in the middle of any issue in this nation and most people were glad to choose a side and fight for the living daylights of that topic. There was conflict internally, and internationally.

I had been a part of the Draft Lottery, declaring myself 1-A, eligible for military service, but due to what turned out to be a semi-high lottery number, had two months in which to be drafted, but eventually was never called. My brother-in-law enlisted and until recently I had no idea some people from my senior class in high school also enlisted. I stayed in school not following my dreams of writing or directing, but realized that being a teacher or social worker could and most likely would provide me with steady employment and a steadier income. The arts, I was told at the time are for kids who have inheritances or millionaire parents.

I was not sure of what I knew about the politics in this country of mine in 1969. I knew that Blacks deserved their rights, but at whose expense, I knew that the police were doing their job, but where did their job end and freedom on my part to congregate or express myself begin. I knew that Communism was bad and someone once said if we don’t stop the Commies in Southeast Asia that the dreaded ‘Domino Theory’ of one nation after another would fall leading them to succumb to those dirty reds, and we all would be speaking Russian or worse Chinese.

Many of my main stream friends had little to do with the protests and were more worried about the Fraternity parties, a date for Saturday, and who they would sit with at Hillman Library on the Pitt Campus. I, wanting to be popular and excepted, thought about the social aspects of college too, but my curiosity was peeked when I heard the speeches of some people who actually looked like me regarding civil unrest. There was a calling, albeit soft, in the distance for me to look beyond myself and understand that something bigger than me was out there.

I remember growing my hair long, longer than anyone of the Beatles, buying a size 28 waist pair of army fatigues (most likely that size was a woman’s pair of pants), and finally standing at the fringe of the protest in front of the Cathedral of Learning, far enough from the main stage, and close enough to the street in case the police came. I remember seeing women ripping of their bra’s, guys French kissing girls in public, people shouting FUCK YOU to the police, and gangs of black kids with large afros with their fists raised high. I remember being exhilarated and down right scared. I lasted about an hour until I heard police sirens in the distance, and made up an excuse in my head, that I had better leave because I did not want my father who was a Sergeant of police to have to arrest me.

I dashed out of there, and when I got to the intersection of N. Craig Avenue and Forbes Avenue, slowed down just in case the police thought I was one of the really guilty instigators. As I was half way up the long and steep hill that is Forbes Avenue, I turned back and wondered what I had missed.

That was a beginning a milestone perhaps for my need to believe that I can, if I make the effort, make a difference. I realized that silence is like stillness. It is like that old piece of furniture in the attic that if not disturbed only collects cobwebs and eventually falls apart from inactivity. Your Grandma’s rocking chair needs to be sat upon, and while moving front to back on it, reciting the stories she once told you make the chair come alive. To be hidden from view may make you feel safer, but eventually you must go into the world and why enter a world that shapes you rather than you make the world as you would like?

This weekend, I read articles from the major newspapers, watched some of the political talk shows, heard commentary from ‘shock jocks’ and wondered why I even care. I heard of impasses on the debt ceiling, presidential contenders whose main platform is hate for others, rich getting richer and middle class paying the bills. I heard that the free market is no longer free in this nation, and that no matter the cost or the harm we must fix our budget. I got frustrated, angry and thought whose America is this? And then like a whack on the side of the head, I realized this is my America and I must find my voice and I must express it as loud as I possibly can.

Everybody look what's going down
There's battle lines being drawn
Nobody's right if everybody's wrong
Young people speaking their minds
Getting so much resistance from behind
I think it's time we stop, hey, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down (“For What Its Worth”, by Buffalo Springfield)