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Reflections of Day 1:
As I walked down 3rd Avenue to my House representative’s satellite office in South Brooklyn I could only think about the cold sweat I was breaking out in. The cold yet sunny winter day was a contrast that represented my own feelings- bitter anger and sunny optimism. These feels I was carrying was in addition to my protest sign and a push cart. My cart did not carry much: 2 books, a compendium of Founding Fathers literature and Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States, and a water bottle to parch my thirst following the sermonizing I would do for the next 2 hours. I felt mentally prepared despite my physical discomforts - I knew what I was doing was legal, within my constitutional rights, but it felt wrong. This wrongness, I told myself, was what authoritarians want the poor individual like me to feel.
Adjacent to the GOP office is an abandoned former restaurant, a perfect place to begin setting up my stand without bother - attaching the stand to the push cart and flourishing with some American flags. Within a minute I situated myself in front of Nicole Malliotakis’s office and I quickly began sermonizing. “THE REPUBLICAN PARTY WILL END AMERICAN DEMOCRACY”. With the end of my first sentence out of my mouth I felt a raw power. The tight avenue of commercial and residential units created a slight echoing effect and I could feel my words resonate across the sidewalks and road.
The streets were not bustling like some other parts of the city but the occasional commercial delivery was occurring, nannies with babies walking by, runners and bicyclists using their respective paths. Yet, for the passerby’s that did hear and see me, my presence was hard to ignore. Some stopped to read my stand more thoroughly, others took photos, and a couple did offer their vocal support. In total over 2 hours I would say about 100 people passed me, but that is only a rough guess, and maybe 10% gave any sort of reaction to my protest.
A constituent tried to enter the House office building but she was denied entry to submit a complaint about the trash in the street. This began a thread which I sermonized on for a while. What could Nicole Maliotakis be doing that so important when their party wants to end the role of Congress? Her party does not support her duties so why does she have any? The constituent listened for a little bit and walked away without indicating if she agreed with my sentiment.
Occasionally, perhaps every 10 minutes from the start of my protest, the car’s alarm parked closest to the office would erupt for about 5 minutes, a suspicious action I could only assume was to deter my protest and drown out my voice. I used this opportunity to demonize the Party for not allowing different view points or dissent.
The worst I received was angry individuals that said I should “go get a job” or “democrats started it first”. One objector broke out singing “America the Beautiful”, which I joined in, to which he said I don’t actually love America and thank God for the Republican Party. Though these words are hard to hear, I kept a level head and mostly ignored the off-hand comments:
One older man on a bike stopped and thanked me for taking the time to do this. Another, a Clove-smoking store owner gave me some looks after which I politely confronted him and asked if my yelling was bothering him, he said no and he supports my free speech but doesn’t want to personally get involved with politics.
I gave myself breaks, like a marathon I was checking the time to see how long each of my sermons went and for how long I was taking a water break. The silence between sermons felt awkward to me, for the people that walked by and didn’t hear me speak I felt like I missed out on an opportunity. Once I hit the 2 hour mark, I felt exhausted, proud, but yet not completely fulfilled yet.
Then I remember there is always tomorrow and every day after that. The war is one of attrition and each ear that hears the truth we are gaining back steady ground as an American democracy.
"You see," my colleague went on, "one doesn’t see exactly where or how to move. Believe me, this is true. Each act, each occasion, is worse than the last, but only a little worse. You wait for the next and the next. You wait for one great shocking occasion, thinking that others, when such a shock comes, will join with you in resisting somehow. You don’t want to act, or even talk, alone; you don’t want to ‘go out of your way to make trouble.’ Why not?—Well, you are not in the habit of doing it. And it is not just fear, fear of standing alone, that restrains you; it is also genuine uncertainty.
From, They Thought They Were Free