The media was all over it. Every page of the Jacksonville Daily News was strewn with articles, opinions and pictures featuring the ominous Westboro Baptist Church, and the whole town was roaring. I never would have imagined that a small fundamental establishment from rural Kansas could inspire such a momentous event. It was asinine, it was overrated and it was raining, but there was no way I was going to miss it.
When I arrived the police were lethargically directing traffic to circumvent the protest, yet most cars were just driving in a continual loop in order to keep their prying eyes on the radical signs being waved just blocks away. "God Bless IED's" said one sign, dipping and bobbing above an inaudible, chanting head. Another read "God Hates the USA" and "There are No Heroes." Those who didn't drive walked and waved small, hand-held American flags to protest the protest and it ignited a small urge in me to add one more tier to the protesting hierarchy and really confuse people. The emotions were high and the screeching tension that hung in the air was almost as loud as the chaotic, unsynchronized screaming from both ends of the barricades.
This was seemingly the most influential moment in Jacksonville's history. A relatively small group of people from thousands of miles away entered the all American town of Jacksonville, home of Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base, waving their wacky anti-military signs and claiming that their God hates practically everything, including Marines. I knew deep down I should leave before the bullets started flying and I got hit in the face with a riot grenade. But the rain and the tears kept me there, observing for as long as I could before being corralled by the police to the nearby parking lot.
Honestly, I didn't give a hoot about what Westboro Baptist Church thinks about people or whom they think God hates. I wasn't offended or angry, but I went because others were, and in human society, the open practice of these emotions is few and far between. We are smothered in manners and etiquette and fake enthusiasm and political correctness so much that to see someone flip the bird in public or scream a string of swear words is invigorating and refreshing. I became saturated with the moment and quietly stood while others frantically made red, white and blue figure eights in the rain as though to create a small vortex to carry away the evil church goers.
The protest finished without a single drop of CS gas being released and all eight protesters went back to Kansas unscathed. I heard the protest protesters, however, complained of sore wrists and scratchy throats. Such is the cost of freedom.
When I arrived the police were lethargically directing traffic to circumvent the protest, yet most cars were just driving in a continual loop in order to keep their prying eyes on the radical signs being waved just blocks away. "God Bless IED's" said one sign, dipping and bobbing above an inaudible, chanting head. Another read "God Hates the USA" and "There are No Heroes." Those who didn't drive walked and waved small, hand-held American flags to protest the protest and it ignited a small urge in me to add one more tier to the protesting hierarchy and really confuse people. The emotions were high and the screeching tension that hung in the air was almost as loud as the chaotic, unsynchronized screaming from both ends of the barricades.
This was seemingly the most influential moment in Jacksonville's history. A relatively small group of people from thousands of miles away entered the all American town of Jacksonville, home of Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base, waving their wacky anti-military signs and claiming that their God hates practically everything, including Marines. I knew deep down I should leave before the bullets started flying and I got hit in the face with a riot grenade. But the rain and the tears kept me there, observing for as long as I could before being corralled by the police to the nearby parking lot.
Honestly, I didn't give a hoot about what Westboro Baptist Church thinks about people or whom they think God hates. I wasn't offended or angry, but I went because others were, and in human society, the open practice of these emotions is few and far between. We are smothered in manners and etiquette and fake enthusiasm and political correctness so much that to see someone flip the bird in public or scream a string of swear words is invigorating and refreshing. I became saturated with the moment and quietly stood while others frantically made red, white and blue figure eights in the rain as though to create a small vortex to carry away the evil church goers.
The protest finished without a single drop of CS gas being released and all eight protesters went back to Kansas unscathed. I heard the protest protesters, however, complained of sore wrists and scratchy throats. Such is the cost of freedom.
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