Gangs Of New Jack City And The War Protester

"Peace stopping the war! You've gotta be kidding me!" I knew sooner or later somebody was going to fuck with the guy, standing all alone on the corner, and in this redneck city - oh yeah. "What's the deal, man? All the whales been saved?"

The taunter had two companions cut up from the same cloth, mockingbirds to echo their loser leader. All three liked shaved heads and tattoos. But these weren't the scary kind of skinheads, more like the kind who wanted to look badass as an identity for acceptance. Think Vanilla Ice and his two retarded cousins. Original thoughts hard to come by in this threesome.

The sign holder looked like a reject from a hippie nursing home, replete with bandana and denim vest. I winced at first glance, thinking, "Sheesh, dude, at least clean up a little and don't look so much the stereotype of the burned out sixties beatnik." It's why I never watch American Idol, I can't stand for people to make themselves targets. But he was rigid in his stance and not a man of fear like me. "More power to ya," I said to myself. "But I sure wouldn't want to deal with the morons that sign is sure to attract."

The protester was at a busy off ramp from the highway, a place usually reserved for panhandlers. With nothing better to do in my godforsaken life this early morn, I claimed a shady spot and decided to watch this one act play. I saw only one angry confrontation as the words got heated between the protester and a BMW driver. Suddenly I noticed the hippie disengaging as the driver still barked his argument. The hippie just started smiling and flashed a peace sign as the guy screeched away.

This is how BMW asshole parked later on

Interesting. Maybe this guy's got something. Made me feel guilty for not doing more.

I also saw signs of support which he gratefully acknowledged and some others who were genuine in their disagreement and felt the need to say their peace. But the only real anger I saw was from the Beemer driver and I began to think I'd misjudged the maturity level of my fellow Dallasites. Turns out it had just taken the morons a while to find him...

Taunters 2 and 3 joined the fray.

"Yeah, man, save the dolphins too!"

"And maybe goldfish cuz he's caring like that!"

The three were most self-congratulatory in their supposed wit and giggled appropriately. Protest Man didn't move. I'm not sure he even blinked, looking at them with the wariness as one would an overhead pigeon who's about to poop. I did notice he saw no reason to answer them. The leader resumed his self-mockery.

"Aw, I think he's gonna cry! Is that a tear I see?"

"I think he's going to start chanting or something!"

"Maybe he's going to sing a song for us! Come on, dude, sing out Paperback Writer."

Both the war protester and I had WTF expressions on our faces. Paperback Writer? Where the hell did that come from? That his idea of a sixties protest song? Or maybe just the only sixties song he knew? Weird things people say. People are so inconvenient when they don't stay pigeonholed.

The continual non-response caused an escalation of the leader's earnestness.

"You gotta be hard, man." Each of the three said "man" in the mocking tone of a sixties relic. "It's dog-eat-dog out there and your little pussy sign ain't gonna make one fucking bit of difference! It's take or be taken."

Quick! Tell me what to think!

The leader of the brats was genuinely perturbed by the sign. I'd seen it before: the protester touched something off in the boy's latent idealism. I wondered if his background was more suburban than urban.

Seeing something real to respond to, Sign Man replied. "He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword."

Predictably, twisted sister wasn't going to take that. "You don't got a sword you're just gonna be somebody's bitch. You don't understand nothin', man."

Finding a concept they could grasp, the two tagalongs added further pearls of wisdom. "We gonna cut you up, dude. What you think of that?"

"What you gonna do? Hug us to death, old man? Live in the real world, ya dumb fuck!"

Like a District Attorney who's made his case, the leader folded his arms and waited for the accused to defend himself against the charges. I was thinking; "Fuck! Wish I had a video camera!"

The Protester looked into the eyes of each of his counterprotesters, sizing them up. Was he going to run in the better part of discretion? Or did he see something worthwhile in their eyes? This guy's really got me intrigued. What scars had he born? Was he truly stupid enough to think one little sign would make a difference? Or had he read "Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals" and acted in such a way that if everyone did it it would make a difference? I'd really like to pick his brain.

I hushed my thoughts as he replied.

"Why choose the sword when you know it will only kill you?"

The logic paused the boys, Larry and Curly looking to Moe to respond. He came up with this: "Cause I ain't gonna be nobody's bitch! Better dead then a bitch!"

I dearly wanted to correct his grammar but I noticed the body language of the three unwise men was not so confident now, hanging on the hippie's response like children to a father.

"You'll always be the sword's bitch. I'm a free man. Kill me and I die a free man."


Respect. The lost boys had found a home in his words and though they struggled not to show it they hungered to walk further down this road. A road to manhood. A road with a future (not having one being their true argument). I watched the inward struggle between their pride and their desires and how tempting they found it to give up the "hard man" routine and give in to life. But the guardian of fear kept them from crossing that bridge.

"OK, dude. You wanna die, have it your way. You're one dumb motherfucker, you know that?"

Hippie man smiled at the veiled compliment, knowing what the boy truly wished to say. But taunter #3 halted in his retreat. While taunter #2 was clearly a follower all the way, #3 had his own intelligence if not the kind that can stand on its own. He was literally just smart enough to be dangerous and I feared for the protester who stood naked with his reason.

And I was right.

I jumped up, taking several steps forward as I saw #3 rush the greybeard. But the reply was swift and well-aimed. In a defensive move, a thrusting heel went straight into the thigh of the bullheaded boy. Another well placed kick to the abdomen left him howling doubly in pain, not knowing where to clutch. I'd seen a guy heel-kicked before and it put him on crutches for three days. So I knew the boy was hurting. The last shot to the boy was verbal.

"War hurts. Do you want it to stop?" The boy's pride held him in its grip even then, refusing to repent. "Well, do you?" The voice made it clear more pain was to come.

"Yes. Yes I want it to stop."

Sign Man stepped back. "Me too."

I was beside myself. "Jesus, I can't believe that just happened! I wish the whole world could see this! Damn!"

The two punksters who could still walk helped up their moaning friend and slinked away educated if not awake. But you figure something would stick from all that. My gaze went back to the enigmatic protester but he was walking away too - holding no joy or victory on his face. He'd been forced into violence; he'd lost. Suddenly the sign seemed to mock him and he left to find a better way.

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Punksters are such a joke