Thirty-five of us, give or take a few. Standing in front of the Orpheum Theater in San Francisco, on an overcast evening in June. Holding signs, protesting the woman who was scheduled to speak inside the theater that night: Hillary Clinton.
Not a large crowd of protesters, but it didn’t matter. The area in front of the Orpheum is not spacious, and we had a perfect position: every single person waiting in line had to pass by within ten feet of every one of us. They couldn’t help but see that we were there.
The ticket holders made a long line, a large group. Most of them looked like progressives. If that’s a “classist” statement, so be it. Not many under the age of twenty. Gays, “intellectuals”, people dressed casual-chic for a night with their current political lodestar. “I’m Ready for Hillary”signs, stickers, and buttons. Stray comments of “Grow up!”, “Where did you go to school?”, etc., but on the whole they were quiet. Likely they didn’t expect us to be there, so they didn’t come prepared with snippy remarks.
This one was different than most of the protests I’d attended in the past; different largely because of the intimacy of confrontation. Other times we’d been on roadsides waiting for Obama’s motorcade, or counter-protesting with Obama supporters, facing-off across Market Street as he fundraised with the Bay Area elite. This was like gathering around a crowd waiting in line to see a movie. (more…)