Counter-Inaugural Events rally and poetry

The rally began at 4:30 P.M. in the Hennepin County Government Plaza.  Over 200 people representing dozens of groups, causes and walks-of-life were in attendance.  The temperature was in the low 20's, making the rally as much of an endurance event as a consciousness-raising exercise.  A parade of speakers stepped up to a PA set near the northwest corner of the plaza.  Alison Russell(right), a dread-locked member of the Anti-War Committee, circulated through the crowd with a bullhorn, raising the energy with chants like "Hey, hey, ho, ho, this occupation has got to go." The Anti-War Committee, Women Against Military Madness, Twin Cities Peace Campaign/Focus on Iraq and Veterans for Peace joined as the Iraq Peace Coalition to present the rally. "Minneapolis is a great activist community and it should really be visible," said Russell, "We plan to make the anniversary of the war really enormous.  We're planning to fly in some speakers." 

A half-dozen transit police guarded the light-rail tracks at the north end of the plaza.  When asked if they were there to prevent a die-in, one of them responded, "No, we're just here to make sure that no one gets hit."  The same officer, who wore a fur-lined hat and declined to identify himself, mentioned that he'd been married in St. Joan's in 1969.  "We're divorced now, but that's not the church's fault."  Looking out over the crowd, he pointed to a sign with a swear word and said, "That's just not right.  People are bringing their children here; those people should know better than to put that on signs." 

The children were in a patch of white near the protesters throwing snowballs.  Bridget Paulsen, mother of six year-old Max Nagel, said that this was the first rally she'd taken him to.  When asked about the signs with swear words, she replied.  "It's ok. One man came by with a sign that said Bush**.  Max asked me what it said, and I told him.  It's just part of the rally."

Indeed it was a small part.  In a sea of over 300 people made up of Universalists, socialists, anarchists, Palestinians, mothers, and college students, most of whom bore signs, only two signs could be considered inappropriate.  Most focused on peace; several asked "Who would Jesus bomb?"  While the argument could be made that a few bad signs cast aspersion on all the signs, it could just as easily be said that there exists a staggering diversity of approaches to the challenge of bringing peace to the world.

The sky had grown dark when the rally ended at 5:20. Across the metro, Richard Broderick, a freelance journalist and creative writing instructor who has been active in the Twin Cities' literary community for years, was getting ready for another type of counter-inaugural event.  His group, Minnesota Poets against War, started in February 2003 in response to the lead up to the Iraq war.   Originally called Minnesota Poets against the War in Iraq, the group has put on many readings with attendances that have varied from 70 to over 1000 people.    

The twin goals of the group are to increase the turnout to poetry events, and to promote community and solidarity among poets and writers. "I think there is a real need for a larger voice. The first casualty of war is language," said Broderick.  He added that he thought a counter-inaugural celebration would be a good way to give people an event to get their minds off of what was taking place in Washington.  The group likes to stage events around notable dates.  They did a 9-11 counter event in 2004.  "It gave people an opportunity to talk about the event outside the mainstream," said Broderick.

The well-attended event started at 7:00 with music by jazz-man Larry McDonough, and continued into the evening with readings by well-known poets who included Kate Kysar and Richard Terrill, who won the Minnesota Book award for his collection of poems Coming Late to Rachmaninoff.  Set in the L-shaped Black Dog Café in St. Paul, it had a considerably more relaxed and grounded ambient than the rally, if only because it was warmer.  The waitress who circulated with coffee and pizza had a flower tattoo on her arm, a natty white shirt, a black cap of hair and the air of a progressive grandma making sure that everyone got enough to eat.

Several members of the audience got up to read during an open-mike at the end of the evening, including one man who performed from memory a long piece he'd written for the original inauguration.  "America is one of the few places in the world where poets are not involved in activism," said Broderick. "Poets in other parts of the world regularly play the role of prophet.  If you look at what we consider to be prophecy, it is poetry.   It exposes the gap between the social construct and reality."

Erica Ryberg is an Arizona transplant, teacher, and writer who has been active in the peace movement since 2001. You may contact her at arijane@yahoo.com or visit www.dreamfactoryink.com.

By 9:30, the crowd had thinned from the 100 or so people who had been there earlier.  From the microphone, Broderick bid those who remained a cheerful farewell, "I'd like to thank you for coming. You can all go home and watch the news."