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DEMONSTRATION_SATORIS

                                            March 21, 2003

An anti-war demonstration in
San Francisco, March 2003:


Placards and chants:

   Drop bush, not bombs.

   The *real* axle of evil (picture of Bush in an SUV)

   End US Aid to Israel

   "Same target, same fight, workers of the world unite!"
   (A couple of lonely communists with a loud megaphone.)

   Jesus loves us all.

   George Bush is the real terrorist.

   Spain says 95% no to war (slogan on a Spanish Flag).

   "Kiss Me, I'm Human!" (random homeless person)

   No blood for oil.

   Near an open microphone, while they're taping for
   Channel 4 news, the crowd chants "Tell the
   truth!", and later "Corporate media lies!"
   (A guy shoulders his way through the crowd,
   looking disgusted, saying "My god, what do you         FINGER_TO_FINGER
   people believe?!").

   Walking down the sidewalk, a small, skinny woman
   suddenly spins around and starts harrassing a
   demonstrator, who had been standing there holding
   a placard, talking to someone on a hands-free
   cell phone. She starts screaming things like
   "What did you say?!!" and walking closer to him.
   I happened to be right there and I tried to make
   concilitory "Hey, calm down" remarks to her, but
   she ignored me, walked past and closed in on the
   guy with the placard, who looked a little scared
   and bewildered, despite being about two feet
   taller than her.  She started hitting him, and
   went to grab his placard, which he pulled closer
   to his chest as he tried to back away.  She was
   yelling things like "My *husband* is in the air
   force!" and then she starts in with things like
   "Yeah, go ahead and call the cops!"  as she's
   shoving the guy.  I talk over her shoulder into
   her ear: "I would be glad to testify against
   you." She spins around suddenly, and slaps me in
   the side of the head.  I say slowly and
   distinctly: "You have just assaulted me."  She
   backs away and runs off down the street.

   I go away thinking things like "My nephew is
   in the marines, on the front lines in Kuwait,
   it doesn't make my opinion worth any more or less."

   Later, upstairs in the Luggage Store Gallery,
   we look down on row upon row of cops in riot
   gear.

   During the perfomance (A duo of Per Anders Nilsson,
   visiting from Gothenburg, Sweden on soprano sax
   and a guy from mexico, Roberto Morales on flute)
   There's a near constant roar of crowd noise from
   the street.

          A homeless woman yells:

          "You're stupid!
           You're too late!"

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