I’m not supposed to be here.
I’m supposed to be in D.C. today, marching alongside several thousand, in what’s planned to be the largest Pro-Choice Demonstration, err, ever.
But instead I’m sitting at my desk back in Hotlanta, eating a dark chocolate bar Hunter gave me for the trip, for breakfast, in front of my computer screen.
Last night, hundreds of men and women from around the metro area gathered in a parking lot a few blocks from my house to check in for one of five buses that would overnight it up to D.C. and take us home Sunday night.
The itinerary had said, “Arrive by 8:30 for a celebration of this historic event. Buses leave at 10:00.”
Ever the schedule-Nazi, I arrived at 8:25 or so. Hunter came too, to see me off, and had second thoughts about not going himself. (Final school papers and a visit from his brother were keeping him home.) I got my sticker and free march t-shirt from the slightly frazzled organizers. They’d been working on this thing for at least a year; it was the main event; and it showed. Within 10 minutes, I was processed and standing in a group with my fellow Bus #1 riders. The air was so festive. I’d never met these people, yet everyone was talking a mile a minute. This does not happen in Atlanta. Hunter left; I talked to my busmates about why they were going. They cited the fact that our administration has decided to grant a fetus personhood and to outlaw a medical procedure that doesn’t even exist.
("Partial birth abortion"- No such thing. Late term abortion, yes, but is any woman in her right mind going to haul off and have this procedure done when her and/or the baby’s life is not in danger? Well, maaaaybe. You can’t trust these wimmen with their own selves; who knows whut they might do; unpredictable and flighty and not a lick of sense to 'em, left alone.)
So we were all not just looking forward to this trip for the camaraderie; we were burning to go. These are dangerous times for all sorts of rights and personal freedoms, and it felt so good to be among people who I knew I wouldn’t have to debate. The whole, "Wow, you’re so with me on this that you too, are willing to take a bus overnight, march all day, then take another bus back the next day"-thing.
Around 10:00, one of the organizers got on her megaphone.
"It’s good that everyone’s having such a good time here in the parking lot—because it looks like that’s what we’re going to continue to do for the next 15-20 minutes or so!"
The buses were running late. Sorry.
About 30 minutes later, she made another announcement: When the buses did come, they would have to kind of hustle us along, because there wouldn’t be enough time for us to lollygag at stops along the way. She apologized.
We continued chatting. The last of the local tv crews shone a final pan on the group and left.
Finally, about 15 minutes later, another report:
The bus company said the buses were in the neighborhood. A cheer went up. The organizers gave us instructions on where each bus would stop; we should group there so we’d be ready to hop right on once they arrived. We re-located. Grouped.
My resourceful bus captain came up with the plan to line up, according to how we were listed on the release forms she had to check off as we entered the bus, to further expedite. We formed the line as our names were called, ever-compliant, ever hopeful. We watched the road. I don’t know what was going on last night, but city-buses were ruling the streets. I swear. Every 30 seconds or so, we heard diesel engines and got excited, and then the MARTA-bus would fly by, each one looking more and more mocking as the minutes passed.
One by one, we sat down on the pavement. A flatbed drove by and one woman joked about hijacking that. Another guy chimed in, “Yeah. We could throw some hay in back; it’d be just like Halloween!” More time passed. Apparently, our organizers were in contact with the bus company via phone, but not with the drivers themselves. The company told our organizers: The buses were lost; the bus-drivers were saying they were already here. The buses were on their way. Several search parties drove their cars around to other area schools to see if the bus-drivers were confused enough to pull up in an completely empty parking lot instead of one crammed with hundreds of people loaded down with pillows, backpacks and signs.
The food came out. We passed around granola bars, licorice, chocolate. We all fantasized about beer. We talked conspiracy. New rumors about the whereabouts of the buses surfaced. Some of the organizers were huddled off to one side, talking in hushed tones. A cell phone never left the ear of another.
It was 12:30. A few bold souls from our bus left, declaring they were fucking driving up to D.C. Another woman shook her head and slowly gathered her things. "I can’t do this." She went home. A senior citizen couple followed suit. The rest of us sat tight, huddled survivors. One of the organizers came over and kneeled down beside us. Her voice broke as she said,
"Okay, so we’re gonna go. I know it’s late, and we’re just so frustrated, but we’re gonna do this, okay? All I know, is I’m marching tomorrow. We’re just…so…"
We patted her back, assured her. I would not have wanted to be in her place. Even when most people are understanding about it, letting them down is no fun. Letting down several hundred people and yourself is one of the worst things I can imagine. No matter how much it’s really not your fault, at all.
More time passed. One girl rolled out in a parking space, pulling her blanket over her. Some of us got out books and tried to read.
Finally:
"Buses!!" A woman came running across the lot towards us. No, but really. She was serious. A large, white bus rolled easily around the corner, into the lot, pulled up. A second bus followed. We Bus #1-ers stood up, stretched. Joked weakly:
"If I were the driver, I wouldn’t want to face this crowd."
But we weren’t going to confront anyone; we just wanted to go.
About 10 more minutes of organizers loading miscellany boxes onto to bus and then we started to file in. As I got close to the front of the line, I noticed that the bounty of bus had ended with #2. Groups 3, 4, and 5 were all still sitting on the curb.
We clambered in. I got a window seat, opened my book and tried to forget about all that was happening. I get to a certain point where I just need to disconnect.
It turned out Bus #5 was not coming at all. So, Bus #5 people were dispersed among all the other buses. We were almost all in, when the announcement came up that Bus #5 people would have to fill out new paperwork. So there was a new flurry of confusion, while I did my best to remain immersed in the world of my Ayun Halliday book, The Big Rumpus. ("I am not here or now; I am in Brooklyn with this fun-loving mother and her wacky kids. Repeat:…")
And then, some minutes later, came the Announcement. One of the organizers came on the bus microphone.
"Okay, everybody. Here’s the deal. It’s 1:30 now. Best case scenario: We leave now and arrive in D.C. at 2:00 p.m., at the earliest. We have to all be back on these buses to return, at 6:00 p.m. So you have to make that decision. I’m really sorry to everyone. Pier 31 Bus Tours has lied to us at every turn. On Monday morning, we’re going to call all of you, to let you know what happened, and believe me: you’ll all get the appropriate phone numbers and addresses to complain to."
And yes, folks; that was about it, for me. I grabbed up my things, told everyone on the bus they were fabulous people, and left. When I exited the bus, I saw the hopeful Bus #3 and #4 folk, still waiting on the curbs.
I’m a little out of sorts, this morning. Not even so much for me, as for the organizers and moreover, for the idea of what took place. Free speech is endangered and I am positive that this is a symptom. The people who drew up this bus trip made absolutely certain that issues of financial access would not come into play, as it so sadly does again and again in the world o’ reproductive health: They offered sliding scale bus fares, even scholarships. They advertised this thing for months, planned it for at least a year. But—oops, oh well—we still just couldn’t go. Nope, sorry. And hardly anyone will find out about this, and a fuss will not be raised.
I don’t know what happened with the buses scheduled to leave from other points in Atlanta. When I find out, I’ll post it here.
I’m supposed to be in D.C. today, marching alongside several thousand, in what’s planned to be the largest Pro-Choice Demonstration, err, ever.
But instead I’m sitting at my desk back in Hotlanta, eating a dark chocolate bar Hunter gave me for the trip, for breakfast, in front of my computer screen.
Last night, hundreds of men and women from around the metro area gathered in a parking lot a few blocks from my house to check in for one of five buses that would overnight it up to D.C. and take us home Sunday night.
The itinerary had said, “Arrive by 8:30 for a celebration of this historic event. Buses leave at 10:00.”
Ever the schedule-Nazi, I arrived at 8:25 or so. Hunter came too, to see me off, and had second thoughts about not going himself. (Final school papers and a visit from his brother were keeping him home.) I got my sticker and free march t-shirt from the slightly frazzled organizers. They’d been working on this thing for at least a year; it was the main event; and it showed. Within 10 minutes, I was processed and standing in a group with my fellow Bus #1 riders. The air was so festive. I’d never met these people, yet everyone was talking a mile a minute. This does not happen in Atlanta. Hunter left; I talked to my busmates about why they were going. They cited the fact that our administration has decided to grant a fetus personhood and to outlaw a medical procedure that doesn’t even exist.
("Partial birth abortion"- No such thing. Late term abortion, yes, but is any woman in her right mind going to haul off and have this procedure done when her and/or the baby’s life is not in danger? Well, maaaaybe. You can’t trust these wimmen with their own selves; who knows whut they might do; unpredictable and flighty and not a lick of sense to 'em, left alone.)
So we were all not just looking forward to this trip for the camaraderie; we were burning to go. These are dangerous times for all sorts of rights and personal freedoms, and it felt so good to be among people who I knew I wouldn’t have to debate. The whole, "Wow, you’re so with me on this that you too, are willing to take a bus overnight, march all day, then take another bus back the next day"-thing.
Around 10:00, one of the organizers got on her megaphone.
"It’s good that everyone’s having such a good time here in the parking lot—because it looks like that’s what we’re going to continue to do for the next 15-20 minutes or so!"
The buses were running late. Sorry.
About 30 minutes later, she made another announcement: When the buses did come, they would have to kind of hustle us along, because there wouldn’t be enough time for us to lollygag at stops along the way. She apologized.
We continued chatting. The last of the local tv crews shone a final pan on the group and left.
Finally, about 15 minutes later, another report:
The bus company said the buses were in the neighborhood. A cheer went up. The organizers gave us instructions on where each bus would stop; we should group there so we’d be ready to hop right on once they arrived. We re-located. Grouped.
My resourceful bus captain came up with the plan to line up, according to how we were listed on the release forms she had to check off as we entered the bus, to further expedite. We formed the line as our names were called, ever-compliant, ever hopeful. We watched the road. I don’t know what was going on last night, but city-buses were ruling the streets. I swear. Every 30 seconds or so, we heard diesel engines and got excited, and then the MARTA-bus would fly by, each one looking more and more mocking as the minutes passed.
One by one, we sat down on the pavement. A flatbed drove by and one woman joked about hijacking that. Another guy chimed in, “Yeah. We could throw some hay in back; it’d be just like Halloween!” More time passed. Apparently, our organizers were in contact with the bus company via phone, but not with the drivers themselves. The company told our organizers: The buses were lost; the bus-drivers were saying they were already here. The buses were on their way. Several search parties drove their cars around to other area schools to see if the bus-drivers were confused enough to pull up in an completely empty parking lot instead of one crammed with hundreds of people loaded down with pillows, backpacks and signs.
The food came out. We passed around granola bars, licorice, chocolate. We all fantasized about beer. We talked conspiracy. New rumors about the whereabouts of the buses surfaced. Some of the organizers were huddled off to one side, talking in hushed tones. A cell phone never left the ear of another.
It was 12:30. A few bold souls from our bus left, declaring they were fucking driving up to D.C. Another woman shook her head and slowly gathered her things. "I can’t do this." She went home. A senior citizen couple followed suit. The rest of us sat tight, huddled survivors. One of the organizers came over and kneeled down beside us. Her voice broke as she said,
"Okay, so we’re gonna go. I know it’s late, and we’re just so frustrated, but we’re gonna do this, okay? All I know, is I’m marching tomorrow. We’re just…so…"
We patted her back, assured her. I would not have wanted to be in her place. Even when most people are understanding about it, letting them down is no fun. Letting down several hundred people and yourself is one of the worst things I can imagine. No matter how much it’s really not your fault, at all.
More time passed. One girl rolled out in a parking space, pulling her blanket over her. Some of us got out books and tried to read.
Finally:
"Buses!!" A woman came running across the lot towards us. No, but really. She was serious. A large, white bus rolled easily around the corner, into the lot, pulled up. A second bus followed. We Bus #1-ers stood up, stretched. Joked weakly:
"If I were the driver, I wouldn’t want to face this crowd."
But we weren’t going to confront anyone; we just wanted to go.
About 10 more minutes of organizers loading miscellany boxes onto to bus and then we started to file in. As I got close to the front of the line, I noticed that the bounty of bus had ended with #2. Groups 3, 4, and 5 were all still sitting on the curb.
We clambered in. I got a window seat, opened my book and tried to forget about all that was happening. I get to a certain point where I just need to disconnect.
It turned out Bus #5 was not coming at all. So, Bus #5 people were dispersed among all the other buses. We were almost all in, when the announcement came up that Bus #5 people would have to fill out new paperwork. So there was a new flurry of confusion, while I did my best to remain immersed in the world of my Ayun Halliday book, The Big Rumpus. ("I am not here or now; I am in Brooklyn with this fun-loving mother and her wacky kids. Repeat:…")
And then, some minutes later, came the Announcement. One of the organizers came on the bus microphone.
"Okay, everybody. Here’s the deal. It’s 1:30 now. Best case scenario: We leave now and arrive in D.C. at 2:00 p.m., at the earliest. We have to all be back on these buses to return, at 6:00 p.m. So you have to make that decision. I’m really sorry to everyone. Pier 31 Bus Tours has lied to us at every turn. On Monday morning, we’re going to call all of you, to let you know what happened, and believe me: you’ll all get the appropriate phone numbers and addresses to complain to."
And yes, folks; that was about it, for me. I grabbed up my things, told everyone on the bus they were fabulous people, and left. When I exited the bus, I saw the hopeful Bus #3 and #4 folk, still waiting on the curbs.
I’m a little out of sorts, this morning. Not even so much for me, as for the organizers and moreover, for the idea of what took place. Free speech is endangered and I am positive that this is a symptom. The people who drew up this bus trip made absolutely certain that issues of financial access would not come into play, as it so sadly does again and again in the world o’ reproductive health: They offered sliding scale bus fares, even scholarships. They advertised this thing for months, planned it for at least a year. But—oops, oh well—we still just couldn’t go. Nope, sorry. And hardly anyone will find out about this, and a fuss will not be raised.
I don’t know what happened with the buses scheduled to leave from other points in Atlanta. When I find out, I’ll post it here.
posted by Alice at 8:39 AM
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