The line of people trying to save the world moved along Park Street from the State House and headed to the Legislative Office Building.
Armed with a recently blessed American flag that, to them, was more virtuous than the one already flapping in the wind, they were met with crisp blue and green uniforms, badges, crew cuts and focused stares.
In other words, two worlds and two longtime rivals collided on a humid Monday afternoon that had hair frizzing and sweat dripping. On one side, a group called the Poor People’s Campaign, who have been on a six-week tour of Concord since last month, blocking traffic, blocking doorways and overstaying their welcome during official city business, all while citing a laundry list of perceived injustices:
Too much poverty, not enough health care, too many weapons, not enough clean energy, too much racism, not enough human rights, too much hunger among children, and so forth.
On the other side, the establishment, the status quo, The Man, in this case represented by state and local cops who surrounded the flagpole in front of the LOB. They dared protesters to pull down the flag, the one symbolizing all the evils of the United States, and raise their flag, the one that had been consecrated in a State House ceremony earlier in the day.
Same stars and stripes. Same red, white and blue.
Different views on who we are, where we are, where we’re going.
The Rev. Jason Wells of Pembroke, the executive director of the New Hampshire Council of Churches, is one of the local leaders of the Poor People’s Campaign. Tall and slender with an easy manner, he calls the last six weeks, officially, “Forty days of moral action,” the same slogan used by the 37 other state capitals that have taken part in this movement of civil disobedience and hope for change.
“About 140 million people – half the country’s population – are at or below the poverty level,” Wells told me in front of the State House, minutes before the rally began. “In New Hampshire, it’s almost half, about 45 percent, and for children the poverty rate is even higher.”
Beyond Wells, the people’s group had many voices, many members who were itching to spread their message of peace and fairness through the media. One was Emilia Halstead, pastor of the First Congregational Church. She’s led the rhythmic, clapping, singing portions at these rallies.
“For me, it’s about the basic reality that children go to bed hungry every night,” said Halstead, whose white clerical collar and deep blue shirt were hard to miss. “It keeps me up at night. For me, it’s something that is immoral.”
Of course, it’s tough to argue with someone trying to bring attention to hungry kids, who, through no fault of their own, don’t have enough to eat.
Still, these are two worlds that have collided since the Counter Culture of the 1960s, extending right on through to the revolution started by Bernie Sanders during primary season two years ago.
World hunger is awful, but a segment of the population hears those words as though they come from a beauty-pageant contestant, forming an idealism that is not realism.
Sure, we all want enough food for our kids, enough justice for minorities, enough affordable health care for the sick, enough peace to rid the world of nuclear weapons, enough funding for first-rate education, enough income to lift full-time workers from poverty.
But is this possible? “I’d like to see the seeds grow a little before the entire oak tree grows,” Halstead told me. “I hope I’m around when it happens.”
Sacrifices have been made to make it happen. Police have been notified before these rallies, told there might be some law-breaking involved. No one was arrested Monday – the final of six demonstrations – but 28 have been busted since the start. Nationally there have been 1,700 arrests leading to a grand finale Saturday at the National Mall in Washington, D.C.
Those who have been arrested stood on the sidelines Monday, near the parking meters on Park Street, unable to stand on State House property as part of their bail conditions. Their arraignments are scheduled for next month and August, and some might have to dig deep to pay fines.
Not surprisingly, Arnie Alpert, co-director of the American Friends Service Committee, was one of about 20 Poor People banned from stepping on the grounds. Alpert, who never met a social cause he didn’t like, said he and the others “have no plans not to pay (fines), and no plans to fill up the jail.”
Another past arrestee was 79-year-old ex-Marine Bob Ehlers of Hooksett. He was arrested for refusing to stop talking past the closing time of 5 p.m. at the State House’s Hall of Flags a few weeks ago.
He served as a gunner in a helicopter squad in Vietnam. He rescued wounded soldiers and fired his weapon. He was a Marine for 22 years, before an evolutionary process occurred, hitting him only after he left to become a civilian.
Then he went to New York City to protest against the first Gulf War. He reflected on the Vietnam War and didn’t like what he saw. He didn’t buy his country’s reasons for attacking Iraq after 9/11.
And he didn’t like politicians with no military service ordering others into battle to die.
“I finally grew up after I got to see the world and what was going on,” Ehlers told me. “I had kids in high school and I was looking at the reasons we were going to war, to make sure we had an oil base and based on faulty intelligence. Men and women were sacrificed, and it made me get off my butt.”
Anti-war activists like Ehlers mixed with other subsets for change to form a diverse unit. They sang, clapped, made speeches and held a mock trial titled “The Moral Compass of the United States v. the System,” claiming our government was responsible for issues like systemic racism and poor medical coverage for veterans.
Then came the slow walk to the LOB, where leaders planned to lower the American flag and raise one that had been blessed in front of the State House by Bill Beardslee, the pastor at the Deering Community Church.
There was no chance of that happening. Not with four state troopers and two Concord cops surrounding the flagpole in a tight circle. Not with State House Chief of Protective Services Joseph Burke, a bulldog of a man, standing in front of that circle.
And not with Rep. Al Baldasaro, a former Marine, standing nearby, keeping his cool while protesters told him how wrong he was to respect the flag already in place, rather than theirs.
“I’ve folded many of those flags for our fallen,” Baldasaro told the group. “I’ve buried many Marines. This is the wrong place. You’re burying your message by switching flags.”
No one there agreed. Their flag, they insisted, was better than his.
(Ray Duckler can be reached at 369-3304, rduckler@cmonitor.com or on Twitter @rayduckler.)