David Z. Hirsch's Blog, page 3
February 4, 2017
Clown! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
Incensed and dispirited, I hurried away from the Trump supporters bottlenecked at the barricades. My original idea had been to stand at the National Mall for the inauguration, but the poor management of this event helped me realize that I needed a new plan.
I passed hundreds of police who awaited word from above to manage the crowd, but no one seemed to be in charge. We would learn soon enough that the biggest lie Candidate Trump told us was “I have the best people.” What he had was incompetent cronies and ideologues. This was my first taste of what was to come.
I walked in a daze until I spied this cardboard beacon of hope.
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Photo: Sign reads “This pussy grabs back”
While that slogan in its many forms would dot the landscape of the massive crowds at the Woman’s March the following day, I had never seen it before that moment. The relief I felt was palpable. Here was a fellow American not inclined to lie back and take it.
Even better, the farther I walked, the more Trump resistance I saw. Soon I approached a massive protest occupying the US Navy Memorial Plaza and spilling out in all directions. Protestors surrounded me, waving signs and making their voices heard. I had stumbled upon my people and stayed with them for the remainder of the day.
I saw angry signs:
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Photo: 3 protestors hold signs that read “Unfit” “Unfit” and “Trump Racist in Chief”
Super angry signs:
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Photo: Sign reads “Kick Trump in the rump” with a drawing of Trump’s rump (technically his face, but let’s not split hairs)
Artistic signs:
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Photo: A print of a Muslim woman with American flag hijab that reads “We the people are greater than fear.”
Subtle signs:
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Photo: Sign reads “Did you remember to set your clocks back 60 years when you woke up this morning?”
Considerably less subtle signs:
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Photo: Sign reads “CrazyMotherFucker”
Not even remotely subtle signs:
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Photo: a Trump head sign speckled with swastikas
Funny signs:
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Photo: A man holds a sign of a shirtless Putin and Trump together on horseback that reads “Comrade Trump: the best president the Russian ruble can buy!”
Funny (but not so funny if you really think about it) signs:
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Photo: A woman holds a sign that reads “In your guts, you know he’s nuts.”
Not even remotely funny signs:
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Photo: Sign shows a nuclear explosion that reads “Someone should let Trump know that bombs go both ways.”
Wordy signs:
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Photo: A man holds a sign that reads “Trumpocalypse Now! Greed. Violence. Racism. Scapegoating. Lies. Corporate Capitalism. Prejudice. Islamophobia. Torture. Misogyny. Threats. Anti-Semitism. Rape. Insults. Conflict of interest. Pride. Climate Change Denial. Hypocrisy. False Promises. Etcetera”
And less wordy signs that get right to the point:
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Photo: A man holds a sign that reads “Fuck”
By the way, you know that guy with the wordy sign only wrote “Etcetera” because he ran out of space. I have no doubt that he could have filled a billboard with concerns.
I would be remiss if I did not point out a couple of shirts. A blue-hatted Trump supporter sported my favorite shirt of the day, albeit unintentionally. The shirt shows Donald Trump standing tall and proud, tie askew, while the United States of America explodes into a fireball behind him.
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Photo: The Wall Against Racism & Bigotry and one fashion-forward Trump supporter
I’m fairly certain this was not the intent of the shirt designers. I think the shirt production meeting went something like this: Let’s put cool USA stuff on a shirt with Donald Trump. We’ll have a bald eagle. Yes! Fireworks. Yes! An American flag. Yes! Oooh, and an explosion. Explosions are cool!
Explosions are cool. And it gives the shirt an appropriate Nero-fiddled-while-Rome-burned look. Let’s hope this shirt is not prophetic. I prefer my USA not incinerated, thank you very much.
On a lighter note, here’s my second favorite shirt:
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Photo: Trump as a turd with flies
A series of orators rallied the crowd but as noon approached, a shrill voice on massive speakers cut through the commotion to update us on the impending inauguration. I positioned myself near the speakers by the barricades on Pennsylvania Avenue, which afforded me a great view of the pandemonium to come.
Next post: Terrible! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
Previous post: Pathetic! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
Want to read from the beginning? Go to Sad! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
About me: I am a Maryland-based physician that writes under the pen name David Z Hirsch. Check out my YouTube channel for videos on common medical conditions
and my best-selling novel, Didn’t Get Frazzled, a provocative story about life and love in medical school
January 31, 2017
Pathetic! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
Back on the main road, I arrived at the police checkpoint for non-ticketed spectators and joined one of the slow-moving lines. I would stand on this line for 80 minutes. Surrounded almost entirely by Trump supporters.
I spent most of the time pretending to be fascinated by my phone. This is truly the greatest invention in human history: the portable antisocial device. I’m trying to remember what we did before iPhones. Did we talk to people? That can’t be right. Anyway, the tedium was broken up by 3 bizarre events:
An interview of a German woman by a German TV station.
For reasons I can’t explain, the entire interview was in English with thick German accents. They began with a friendly discussion about the towns they grew up in. This exchange followed:
“Are you excited about today?” asked the reporter.
“Oh, yes,” the interviewee answered. “I am so happy Donald Trump is going to be our next president.”
“And why are you so happy about that?”
“He’s going to make everything better.”
“How, um, how do you think he will make everything better?”
The woman beamed. “I am so happy about today. Everything will finally get better.”
“Right, no, right, but I’m asking how. How do you think will he make everything better?” The reporter held out the microphone.
Enunciating for the reporter, the woman said, “Donald Trump will make America great again.”
I took a few steps away as a precaution in case the reporter’s brain exploded.
A couple of Christians agree that Islam is a false religion and wonder why Muslims don’t like it when they reveal “the truth” about the prophet Muhammad.
This was a fairly hateful conversation and I’ve already repressed most of it, but I remember the conversation ended with this line:
“I know if I had false beliefs that I based my entire life on, I’d want someone to tell me.”
No, dear. I don’t believe you would.
Greta Van Susteren gives the crowd a box of donuts.
The Trump supporters in front of me went absolutely wild when she did this. You’d have thought she was Oprah giving out cars. They kept calling out “Thanks, Greta!” whenever she came near. This happened repeatedly for well over ten minutes.
“Thanks, Greta!” “Thanks, Greta!” “Hey, thanks, Greta!”
Greta, for her part, completely ignored them. Seriously, not even a wave. I thought the crowd might turn on her, but the more she refused to acknowledge their existence, the gushier they got.
“I love her. Greta’s so great. Thanks, Greta!” “Greta, over here. Thanks, Greta!”
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Photo: Greta Van Susteren on her phone, ignoring the crowd
At first I found Greta’s behavior horrible because I generally view dickishness that way, but after some thoughtful consideration I’ve changed my mind. She’s the cool girl everyone wants to take to the prom. The more she ignored the boys, the more they wanted her. And repeatedly embarrassed themselves.
Well played, Greta.
After I made it past the metal detectors and a seemingly endless row of porta potties, I turned south in search of a passage to the National Mall. On the way I caught the end of a confrontation between a red-hatted Trump supporter and a yellow-boarded protestor. The Trump supporter towered over her and flailed one hand while he held his phone in the other to record the exchange. The petite protestor refused to back down, sparring back verbally until the man turned away with an angry laugh.
While I was too far away to hear the conversation, this did not strike me as a respectful exchange of ideas. I wound up following the guy, although not intentionally. Pennsylvania Avenue was barricaded, and we only had one direction to go toward the inauguration.
On the way, I passed by the one group of people that always brings liberals and conservatives together in joint contempt: the Westboro Baptist Church of Kansas. They were barricaded in, most likely for their own protection. Each member carried 4 signs each because, let’s face it, 2 or 3 signs couldn’t possibly communicate a sufficient level of hate.
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Photo: WBC member setting the bar for humanity extra low
I made it to the barricade on 6th St and stood at the corner with several other people. We asked the police when we could pass and they admitted that they had no idea.
“We opened the street for 10 minutes a little while ago. We’ll let you know when we have the okay again.”
A guy came out of Capital Grille holding five pizzas. He told everyone that he was at the Newseum when his buddies sent him out for lunch and now he was trapped here with the rest of us. He tried to get the police to let him pass, but they did not view cold pizza as a sufficiently high priority.
I settled against a barricade and took what would be my only photo of the actual inauguration, one hour before it started (look all the way to the left):
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Photo: Police and barricades line both sides of the road to the inauguration
I waited for another twenty minutes as an irritated crowd expanded and compressed behind me. Only then did I recognize the man standing next to me in a khaki camo jacket as the red-hatted Trump supporter from the altercation earlier. He took out his phone and posted the video of his exchange with the yellow-boarded protestor on Facebook. Then he typed out this caption:
“What a cuntbag.”
That was the last straw for me. I came here to witness the peaceful transfer of power, an event that truly makes America great, one of many defining moments in the mostly successful American experiment. Instead, I had witnessed dogmatic ignorance, smug intolerance, and hostile sexism. This was my own fault, I suppose. I had wandered too close to the epicenter of bigotry and hate.
I bolted the hell out of there.
Next post: Clown! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
Previous post: Weak! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
Want to read from the beginning? Go to Sad! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
About me: I am a Maryland-based physician that writes under the pen name David Z Hirsch. Check out my YouTube channel for videos on common medical conditions https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCRY_bTDS69uA7MX1YjnH0wg/videos
and my best-selling novel, Didn’t Get Frazzled, a provocative story about life and love in medical school http://goo.gl/X2JkbV
January 27, 2017
Weak! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
Alarmed as DisruptJ20 protesters linked arms to form rows in front of me, I rushed directly at them. Had I known at the time that these would be the some folks who would battle police wielding tear gas and pepper spray, maybe I would have hesitated. Thankfully, I had the element of surprise on my side. Their plan was to block people from getting in, not one straggler from getting out. In the ensuing melee, I found a weak link in the human chain and forced my way past, Red Rover style.
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Photo: The DisruptJ20 protestors cause a stir at the Red Gate
I took this picture once I reached the road. Only when I examined it later did I realize very few of the protestors could be seen. The rest are completely enveloped and outnumbered by spectators – cameras in hand.
The DisruptJ20 protestors caused more of an inconvenience than an actual disruption, at least at the Red Gate. Anyone who wanted to get through could, and would, by walking over a grassy area to the left, readily bypassing the protest. I could never figure out if this was poor planning or an intentional ruse to avoid giving the police an excuse to arrest them.
Continuing further down the road, I stumbled upon the Black Lives Matter protestors tucked away in an alcove. They picked what could only be described as the absolute worst vantage point to stage a protest. Or, more likely, they were assigned this position when they applied for a permit. They occupied a fenced in area on John Marshall Park, sandwiched between the Canadian embassy and the US District Court building. Just south lied the prime real estate of Pennsylvania Avenue but a huge white tent blocked their view. Boxed in on 3 sides, they had only one direction to protest: north toward empty space, a row of police, and scattered onlookers perched on the cascading stairs above.
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Photo: Black Lives Matter protestors chant a fair distance away from everyone
Pondering this sad state of affairs, I returned to the road only to happen upon Donald Trump, the soon-to-be president of the United States. I could hardly believe it. For a fleeting moment I thought maybe I shouldn’t believe it, but no. It had to be him. The Donald walked arm-in-arm with none other than Vladimir Putin. That settled it.
I’ll have you know, Donald Trump was very gracious. He and Vladimir posed for pictures, answered questions, and spoke of their secret yet undying devotion to one another. It was very sweet. They made a cute couple. No matter what you may think of someone’s politics, we all deserve happiness in this crazy world and I, for one, could not have been more thrilled that these two had finally found their soulmates.
Turns out, it wasn’t actually Donald Trump. No, I know. I was as surprised as you must be. Thinking back, I suppose the wedding dress Donald wore should have tipped me off. White? Of course his wedding dress wouldn’t have been white. Gold, sure. But never white.
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Picture: Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump before the inauguration. Trump wears a white wedding dress with a sign that reads “I wish I could quit you, Vlad.”
Oh, well. My bad.
Next post: Pathetic!
Previous post: Sad! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
About me: I am a Maryland-based physician that writes under the pen name David Z Hirsch. Check out my YouTube channel for videos on common medical conditions
and my best-selling novel, Didn’t Get Frazzled, a provocative story about life and love in medical school.
January 22, 2017
Sad! Scenes from the Trump Inauguration
Walking down North Capitol Street, I couldn’t help but notice that capitalism was alive and well in the waning hours of Obama’s America. Everywhere, the denizens of Washington, DC tried to sell me Trump paraphernalia: Trump shirts, Trump hats, Trump pins, and even Trump money.
“Trump money? Seriously?”
“Oh, yes,” the saleslady said. She leaned into the stack and lifted a bill so I could examine the obverse side. A smirking Donald Trump adorned the center of the glittering fake bill. I could not imagine a more appropriate item.
I could have purchased one, but I pressed on. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the irony of black entrepreneurs peddling pro-Trump kitsch. Of course, they may have been part of the 8% African-American vote that split for Donald Trump, not that it makes any difference. Everyone knows the color that drives America isn’t white, black, or brown – it’s green. Soon to be glittering with a smirking Donald Trump in the center.
The thing is, I was anxious to get to the Inauguration. I had just driven in early that morning. This despite every website screaming AVOID DRIVING INTO DC ON OR AROUND JANUARY 20! MULTIPLE ROAD CLOSURES! EXPECT DELAYS! As an inveterate contrarian, I viewed this as more of a dare than a warning.
And I’m a badass. Okay, not really. I used Parking Panda. And, by the way, I hit absolutely no traffic.
Rounding Louisiana Ave, I turned west on D Street and passed one armored vehicle after another. By every vehicle congregated bands of large men and women wearing bulletproof vests and strapped with an NRA convention full of weaponry. The government was not screwing around on its big day, this much was sure.
The crowds converged once I approached the numbered cross streets and with them came the protestors. Unsurprisingly, the protestors came in two flavors, liberal and conservative. While the liberals had a dizzying variety of issues (more on this in a later post), the conservatives had only one: abortion. Each protest was accompanied by at least one billboard-sized photograph of a blood-streaked aborted fetus resting on a quarter. Always a quarter, mind you. Not a penny, not a dime, not even a half dollar. I saw at least six of these photos during my travels that day. Obviously the quarter was meant to help you judge size (really really small) but the significance of that particular coin eluded me. It must have been one strange meeting when they gathered to decide on the quarter.
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Photo: Anti-abortion banner. A woman is dwarfed by the ubiquitous bloody-fetus-on-a-quarter photo.
Nearby stood a man with a megaphone, letting us know that God was pissed. Not miffed, not irked, but pissed. Really pissed. We’re talking fire-and-brimstone pissed. No one seemed particularly troubled by this. Even the red-hatted Trump supporters payed no heed.
We had places to go, you see. The flow of the crowd brought us to the Red Gate, a wide road layered with Jersey walls to create narrow channels allowing only the passage of pedestrians in single file. Bottles containing a rainbow of flavored sugar water perched precariously atop each wall, creating a Jenga-like game for others wishing to abandon contraband before entering the checkpoint.
Speaking of checkpoints, anyone who doesn’t think Palestinians have a sense of humor might enjoy this sign.
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Photo: Protesters hold a sign that reads “Hate Checkpoints? So do Palestinians. Tear down the wall!”
I tugged my arms in close and navigated through the gauntlet, somehow managing not to knock a single bottle off the barriers (bonus points!) My self-adulation was to be short lived, however.
“Get your tickets ready!” the police called out.
Crap. This was the line for the aristocracy, or at least those who knew someone who knew someone who maybe knew someone politically connected and managed to score tickets to the special area where you got an actual chair and didn’t need a zoom lens. I turned around to rejoin the rabble, but just as I reached the end of the corridor, DisruptJ20 protestors converged before me and linked arms across the entire street, blocking my escape.
In the next post: I don’t die (spoiler alert) but do endure unimaginable torture. Well, it wasn’t exactly waterboarding or anything like that. Let’s call it unimaginable awkwardness.
About me: I am a Maryland-based physician that writes under the pen name David Z Hirsch. Check out my YouTube channel for videos on common medical conditions https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCRY_bTDS69uA7MX1YjnH0wg/videos
and my best-selling novel, Didn’t Get Frazzled, a story about life and love in medical school http://goo.gl/X2JkbV
