Protests are good for the soul

I've taken part in a few protests. As a child, my parents frequently handed me an anti-abortion sign and placed me in front of an abortion clinic in Jackson, Mississippi. There was guitar music, folk songs, Vietnam vets and recovering alcoholics.

I always dreamed of more. Looking at pictures of the Civil Rights protests, their magnitude, their violence; I was inspired. Perhaps I was born in the wrong time, I thought. The Million Man March, the demonstrations in Seattle in 1998, Occupy Wall Street, all of these protests served to awaken me to the reality that voice of the people, through the power of the protest, continues into the 21st Century. How have I missed participation in public protests? I'm not sure, but living in Mexico City has been a joy.

Every week there is some form of protest. The Communists, Workers Unions, indigenous people's, women, children, all unite to oppose some form of perceived government or societal tyranny. On the day of the Presidential inauguration, citizens took to the streets to express their displeasure with the election of Nieto. Molotov cocktails were hurled into the front windows of the Hilton Hotel and a Starbucks, perhaps not a coincidence as these are symbols of capitalism and our increasingly globalized economies.

There is something invigorating about these public displays of dissatisfaction with government. Pure democracy on display. They shout, they play music, they wave flags, they stop traffic, and I've come to love these vocal displays of displeasure. Now, what exactly does one wear to a Communist rally? At least I look good in red. ¡Viva!

Adrift in Mexico

I find myself adrift, aimlessly wandering in a place that is still unknown to me. No easy remedies are readily available. I dream of endless night. My love is here, so here am I. The unwavering optimist within finds itself at odds with the cynical harshness of reality. I hunger. I struggle. I die. I endure. I am reborn. More to come.

theJackal