My First Protest

 I've written a short story.

I'm calling this "fiction" because I'm not clear on all the factual details, but I can tell you that this is based on real events that took place in the mid Seventies.

Let me know what you think!

MY FIRST PROTEST

My parents took me to my first protest when I was ten years old.

A local minister had taken it upon himself to rid this world of the scourge that was pornography and occultism. He declared that his church was planning a public book burning, to be held on the downtown square during a wintery Saturday afternoon.  He was even kind enough to provide a few titles that would be included in this book burning.  Of course, there were the usual suspects – “Playboy” magazines, “The Satanic Bible,” a couple other questionable titles.  But the ones that stood out to me as a child were “To Kill A Mockingbird” and “A Wrinkle In Time.”

I was pretty confused by that.  “A Wrinkle In Time” was my absolute favorite book at that time, and I had no idea why anyone would think it was bad.  Wasn’t that why people did stuff like this – because something was bad?  What I didn’t understand – at the tender age of ten – was that my idea of “bad” was not the same as other people’s idea of “bad.”

This was probably the time I started formulating my opinions on conservative views and those that hold them.  Censorship was alien to me.  I was allowed to read whatever my heart desired, and because of that, I had a much wider worldview than most of the kids in my age group.  That’s probably one of the reasons I had trouble making friends, too – not a lot of adolescents had picked up “Stranger in a Strange Land” or “Jonathon Livingston Seagull.”  And yet, to this day, I believe if they had, this world would be a much better place.

Anyway – the announcement was made, and my parents were horrified.  I believe my mother wrote a letter to the editor, expressing her thoughts.  Of course, it was printed, because, holy smokes, there’s real live Witches out there, and they have opinions!  Shortly after the letter was printed, we were contacted by someone who wanted to organize a counter to the book burning – a protest arguing for free speech and free will.

Mom and dad jumped at the opportunity.  And so began my first protest.

We started by inviting this gentleman to our house and making a few posters.  They said “Never Again The Burning” and quoted Biblical scripture about loving thy neighbor and not preaching in public.  My mother suggested putting a small noose around the neck of my witchy doll and carrying it during the protest, which honestly bothered me because I didn’t want to hurt her, but I did it anyway.  My brother brought marshmallows – for roasting over the fire, of course.  Our local newspaper decided this was newsworthy and wrote up an article about this free speech enthusiast and the Witches, and their plans to protest.

The day of the protest was cold, cloudy and blustery – not the best kind of day for burning much of anything, really, let alone books.  We loaded up the car with people and planned to meet a few more folks once we got there.  Altogether we had fifteen, maybe twenty people.  We knew our numbers were small, but we were determined.

Now, over the years our downtown square has gone through a number of changes.  At the time of this particular event, cars couldn’t drive through the area surrounding the square.  There were streets that led up to and around the square, but they were blocked off from anything other than foot traffic. 

So we walked to the square, growing a little more concerned with each step – what were we about to walk into?  How many people would there be?  Were we about to be in danger?

I think that was probably about the time my parents started to consider maybe bringing the kids along wasn’t a good idea after all.  My brother and I were tucked into the center of our little group, and I couldn’t see what was going on, but I could hear.  As we got closer to the square, I could hear hymns being sung, presumably by the church that was sponsoring the book burning.

And then…..we heard cheering.  For us.

That article the local newspaper had written?  Apparently, it got a lot of attention from the local colleges, and a large number of young adults decided to join us.  My parents said there were around a hundred other people there, waiting for us, supporting us, and joining our protest.

Not only were the colleges there, our local fire marshal was in attendance – the minster for this church had never bothered to look into the legality of his actions.  He had not filed for a fire permit, but that wouldn’t have made a difference because any fire on the square was illegal.  So the fire marshal was there to put out any fires that might be started, and maybe even write up a citation if it became necessary.

So there we were – the church people were standing on the small stage in the corner of the square, and the protestors were surrounding them.  The church people were singing their hymns, I guess preparing themselves to burn these books they found so offensive, and as they were standing there, suddenly from all four of the streets leading into the square, there appeared more church people.  I do not know which churches they were from, but there were enough to be scary to me.  They were also singing, and carrying their own signs.  The new church people joined the original church people on the stage, all singing together and I’m sure feeling very proud of themselves.

We started chanting.  They were things relating to the First Amendment – free speech, freedom of religion, freedom of assembly, like we were doing right there.  There was also “Never again the burning,” because that’s pretty important to Witches.  And then, as the church people wrapped up their singing, the minister pulled out a small metal trash can and started dropping books into it.  So we started a new chant.

“Rain!  Rain!  Rain!  Rain!  Rain!”

All the protestors joined in.  The number had grown to around 150 by then, so we were pretty loud.  Everyone was chanting and looking up to the gloomy dark sky.  The fire marshal was standing on the other side of the metal trash can with his arms folded, staring down the minister.  The minister started striking matches.

The first match was blown out by the wind.

The second match was blown out by the wind.

The third match was dropped into the trash can, but went out as soon as it hit a book.

The chanting got even louder.  “Rain!  Rain!  Rain!  Rain!  Rain!”

The minister was attempting to strike a fourth match when we felt the first drops hit our faces.  Slowly, steadily, cold drizzly rain started falling from the sky.  It went from a drizzle to an actual shower to full-blown rain in a matter of seconds.  A cheer went up from the protestors – wow, we actually did it!  Did we?  It didn’t matter, because there would be no book burning on the square that day!

Everyone made a mad dash for shelter, under canopies and doorways.  We gathered our signs and ran back to the car, jubilant in victory.  Not only did we manage to get our point across, we had support.  It was exhilarating!  I had never experienced anything like that, but I knew I wanted to be a voice of freedom again one day.

Well, apparently I missed the fact that there was television news crews there that day.  When time rolled around for the evening news, dad got the little black and white tv and set it next to our big color tv, and we watched two different news programs at the same time.  Yup, there we are!  Oh, they got my witch doll….and they’re talking to the college kids….well, that was pretty ok.

One of the news stations did talk more with the minister afterwards and even followed the church people to their little building on the outskirts of town, where they decided to throw those evil books and magazines into their wood burning stove.  The news showed them clapping and singing as the minister tossed several books into the flames.  I tried to catch the titles as they went in, but it was too fast.

A few weeks later, we ended up moving out of town, and my teacher asked me if it was because of those protests, and if we “had” to move.  I was a little surprised.  I told her no, that had nothing to do with moving, but in the back of my head, a little voice was saying, “Your teacher knows your parents are Witches….is she gonna start trouble?”

She didn’t, and we were gone within the week, leaving behind what I’m sure are some insane urban legends about occultists brainwashing college kids into thinking free speech was a good thing or something crazy like that…..