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July
3, 2003
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Goff
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July
4, 2003
Fenced Out on Independence
Day
Fucking
Furious on the Fourth
By ELAINE CASSEL
On July 4, 2003, I took my customary bike trip
into DC from my home in Virginia. Along the Potomac River, across
the bridge, onto the "National Mall," as it is called.
The strip of land that runs from the Lincoln Memorial to the
Washington Monument. South of the mall is a beautiful area known
as The Tidal Basin, a lake of water surrounded by walkways and
cherry trees given to the American people by the Japanese government.
Oh, and at one end of the Tidal Basin, the Jefferson Memorial
and the smaller memorial to George Mason, father of the Bill
of Rights.
Last July 4, the first since 9/11, the
nation was on "orange alert." I knew security would
be "tight," because the news was full of it. But I
did not realize what that meant until I arrived at the mall only
to be turned away. The mall was "closed" for a bomb
search. Now, I don't know how they were searching for bombs or
what kind of bombs, but I guess the cops were in the trees and
in the tunnels. Who knows? I hear it opened hours later.
There was nothing for me to do then but
reverse directions, come back over the 14th Street Bridge, and
return to the relative calm of Alexandria, Virginia (that was
before "terrorist" trials took over the town, and barricades
erected here to keep God only who or what knows out). Before
I crossed the bridge, I called my daughter. Her childhood was
filled with July 4's on the mall-from the time she was a infant,
up to the prior year when we all (grandkids, husband, friends)
watched the fireworks from the federal courthouse where she was
working at the time. Little did I know that that may be the last
fireworks any of us saw on the mall.
I called her and told her how a chill
had come over me. Helicopters and fighter jets were omnipresent.
What a different 4th. So upset was I, that I paid no attention
to what I was doing and ended up sprawled across the 14th St.
Bridge with a broken arm. So much for July 4, 2002.
So, at 8 am on July 4, 2003, the nation
no longer on "orange alert" and George Bush spending
the day in Ohio raising money, I set out to see what was happening
in DC.
Beginning at National Airport all the
way to the bridges, double wooden fence had been erected between
the George Washington Memorial Parkway and the river. People
would have to enter through "checkpoints."
There were cops at the marina, cops at
the airport. On the bike path itself, which runs between the
Potomac River and the Parkway, there were cops on foot ("passing
on the left," I yelled, for which I got a threatening look),
cops on bikes. To my left, on the grass, cops on horses. To my
right, in the river, cops in boats. On the riverbank, cops in
tents, cops in trucks. Overhead, cops in helicopters.
To my surprise, Memorial Bridge, which
lies at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial, was closed to cars.
Bikes could get in. But not before passing through "security."
As I stood deciding what to do, cops approached me. Step forward,
ma'm, he said. I looked at him. Did you hear me? I heard you,
I said. What's this all about? I don't answer questions, I just
do my job. Step forward. By then, several cops, menacing looking,
too, surrounded me. Not your typical nice park police. Get off
the bike, one said, and I did. He unzipped the carrier, took
out the wallet and cell phone, and told me to step aside and
come through the metal detector. Then I got the "wand treatment."
You can leave now.
I circled the entire mall and saw more
cops than people. While there were no passenger cars, there were
plenty of police cars and trucks. Truck with satellite dishes.
Trucks with more fencing to fence out the people.
I made my way along the Tidal Basin to
the Jefferson Memorial. Cars were trying to park and were being
turned away, but not before they were searched. They would have
to drive to other side of the US Capitol, or along Maine Avenue,
park, and walk the dozens of blocks back to the Memorial if they
wanted to visit it.
Oh, yes, you could visit the Memorial.
A large tent staffed with dozens of cops, a walkway with a metal
detector, a place to have your backpack searched-that's all that
stood in your way. A large sign said, "Memorial open. Pass
through security." I don't believe in an afterlife, but
if there is one, I hope Jefferson is watching and shedding a
tear.
I passed on the opportunity to commune
with him. Not before thinking how life had changed forever in
the nation's capital. Not because of 9/11, not because of Osama
bin Laden, not because of Saddam Hussein. But because George
Bush, the bully, the tyrant, the cowboy who highjacked the election,
George Bush had hijacked the 4th of July.
I hope he enjoys the fireworks, which
news reports say he will watch with "family and friends"
from the White House. I, and tens of thousands of others like
me, including my daughter and my grandchildren, won't be there.
I have been fenced out of the 4th of
July. And I am fucking furious.
Elaine Cassel
practices law in Virginia and the District of Columbia and teaches
law and psychology. She is writing a book on civil liberties
post 9/11, and keeps an eye on Bush and Ashcroft's trampling
on the Bill of Rights at her Civil
Liberties Watch. She would love to write a book about Scalia's
jurisprudence, but finds it too depressing. She can be reached
at: ecassel1@cox.net
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