Protesters on the Bridge

Before Bush's speech in the evening began, before the media fired up their graphics and brought out their anchors and experts, before the pundits and spin doctors began to pontificate, before the sun went down, both sides of Congress Avenue were lined.

Both sides of the bridge were lined with people who held up signs and waved their hands and cheered and whistled as traffic streamed by.

Yes. They many of them had long hair or beards or carried backpacks. No. Few if any wore business suits or carried briefcases. Yes. This tends to be a liberal town. No. Not every car was honking. Yes. The police were there. No. There was no visible anger in the faces of those who lined both sides of the street.

The protesters were smiling not shouting. And the honking could be clearly heard upwind a half-mile away. And as I jumped back onto the sidewalk when I got past the crowd and ran down the stairs and back to the trail, chills ran down my spine.

Chills ran down my spine as I absorbed the significance of what I had just seen.

Only here. Only here can that happen. And whether you have long hair or short, whether you carry a briefcase to work or a tattered backpack, whether you even have a job or not, whether you agree or disagree with the bureaucrats and politicians, you have to admit that it's an amazing thing.

It's an amazing thing.

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