A Free America Walkout

"You can never get justice in a world where criminals make the rules." Bob Marley

So, it’s been a minute since my last protest. More accurately, it’s been many minutes going back to the 60s. And even back in The Day, it was more like a sprint than a walk.

Tumultuous might be an understatement for the 60s; they began dramatically with the election of the youngest president ever (and the first Catholic) and closed with a sitting president resigning, one giant lunar step for mankind, and me starting dental school. John F. Kennedy’s election brought with it some concerns that the Pope might wind up being the guy running the country, if only that was the major concern today.

Through high school and college, I saw President Kennedy, Senator Robert Kennedy, and Dr. Martin Luther King assassinated. And on the home front, my family lost my big brother, Jay. The world almost ended during the Cuban Missile crisis. U.S. involvement in the undeclared Vietnam war saw American troops arrive in 1965 and be withdrawn in 1973 at the cost of 58,281 American lives. Two of the lives were high school classmates with a track record of having never killed a fly; I traced their names off the D.C. Vietnam War Memorial Wall three decades later.

I attended California State University, Los Angeles from 1966-1969, and for a commuter school fifteen minutes from home, the times, they were a changing…big time. Quarter #1, I experienced love at first sight, became an unofficial temporary stalker, and emerged with a GPA perilously close to the MBL Mendoza line. Based on the Q1 results, I couldn’t handle love and I already knew I wasn’t a fighter. But after some home schooling from Dad, I became a warehouse worker and a scholar.

Between work and digging my way out of an academic hole, I didn’t really live the college experience. True, on almost a daily basis, someone threatened to blow up the library. There were TV talk show guests campaigning for airtime almost every day on campus, and there were frequent visits from local TV news stations. I played some hoops. I didn’t march. But I’d jump/sprint toward any opportunity to be interviewed. I made myself available between classes for channels 5, 9, and 11. I was firmly against the war that killed my friends for no apparent reason I could understand. And I was more than willing to talk.

My draft lottery number was 18. When I received my first dental school acceptance letter, I knew I wouldn't make the trip across the Pacific.

A couple of weeks ago, I started the new day with my usual routine. I covered all my hygiene necessities, took my BP, posted my daily quote and video commentary going out to about 600 DDS brothers and sisters, and did some Instagram scrolling (30-minute time limit-expanded since I sold my practice.) There was a protest happening in Pasadena right down the block about 20-minutes from home. I walk about seven miles every day and thought another five or so might be one small step for me and the attitude adjustment I’d really needed…for about a year.

The Free America Walkout was a breath of fresh air; when I inhaled it, it was proof positive that some sanity had cleared some of the hatred from the atmosphere that only a year ago held mostly smoke.

Wearing my “Will you shut up, man” tee from 2020, I arrived at the Paseo mall wondering about the 2 pm Tuesday starting time and attendance. I looked for fellow walkers heading north toward Colorado Blvd, it wasn't exactly like a walk to the Rose parade. I kept on keepin’ on knowing that my daily morning November walks coursed through neighborhoods with numerous “Little Free Libraries” and zero Trump posters.

As I walked through the outdoor Paseo mall, I saw women (some wearing red, white, and blue), high school students, and even old guys like me carrying signs. I started hearing drums, chants, and cars honking to cheers coming from both sides of the parade route. There was a man dressed like a Santa Anita racetrack regular twirling a spinning contraption and cranking out what sounded like a high-volume rapid-fire cricket on speed. I soon discovered the cricket guy was cuing up some of the chants; my fav: “Hey-hey, Ho-ho, Donald Trump has go to go!”

We started walking the walk and the talk up to Lake, across Colorado, and back to the Paseo. Cars were honking and people emerged from store fronts cheering us on and offering support. God, I love Pasadena.

It was therapeutic being a face and a voice in a crowd of patriots. “No hate, no fear, immigrants are welcome here.”

Four days later, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents murdered Alex Pretti for the crime of being an American citizen peacefully recording their actions and attempting to help a woman an ICE agent had assaulted and knocked down. The agents pepper-sprayed Petti in the face, dragged him to ground, removed the gun he was licensed to carry, and shot him multiple times. Walking away from the scene, a masked agent with no visible ID clapped twice as he looked back at the victim.

Next time around, maybe voters should think at least once before electing a candidate who attempted a coup d’ état, among many other crimes of character and decency, and had to win in November to stay out of prison.