Backpack Goes A-Protesting

Yesterday morning I met a group of people in an Edmond Walmart parking lot with the sole purpose of peacefully protesting the Westboro Baptist Church. The hillbilly hate group had posted on their website that they would be picketing the funeral of 2nd Lt. Jered Ewy. Why, you may ask? Because...because a colorful "God Hates Fags" banner makes any momentous occasion more special, especially a funeral? Those type banners have become passe at Pride Parades. Sure, anti-gay slogans make a trip to the courthouse more fun, but to make a true holiday of abhorrence, you gotta go to a funeral waving "God Hates America" or maybe the enlightening "Soldiers Die God Laughs." That's the true manna from misguided heaven. News of a fallen hero's death, location of their funeral, website posting in the appropriate "picket schedule", spiteful signs in the hands of kids, and bingo, you've got hate-monger magic.

All that sounds like trite make-believe, but it's true. Sadly, I spent quite a bit of time on the Westboro Church website, www.GodHatesFags.com (yes, that is the REAL church website). The photo gallery contains pictures of a wide array of folks, most very normal looking. The photos of the kids are chilling, but one photo in particular caught my eye. Cute soccer mom. Huge grin. Kinda looked like one of my neighbors. In the I'm-so-happy-to-be-here photo, she is holding signs that say "God Hates Your Feelings" and "Pray For More Dead Soldiers." Her bright green shirt even says "God Hates The Media Dot Com." Apparently there are 9 more "kick ass WBC websites" to get the latest on the world of hate and bigotry. And these people were coming to Oklahoma to picket a soldier's funeral?! Hellz no. And that is the reason why I was at Walmart. Early Thursday morning. In the pouring rain.

Buying the biggest umbrella I could find in the store, I got a text that the caravan had moved across the street to the church. They were getting ready to start the peaceful protest and were lined up near the Henderson Hill's main entrance. I got in my car and headed their way. Oh gosh. Ahead, on the service road, an endless string of red taillights. The crowd was HUGE. I would clearly be sitting in line, in my car, in the rain, for a while. Hmm. I decided to look for a back entrance.

Driving west on 15th, emergency lights flickered on my windshield as I passed a smattering of cop cars. Then motorcycles. Dozens of them. With huge American flags. I was getting close. As I approached, I was greeted by a multitude of bikers and military officers. Flanked by ginormous military vehicles, people dressed in leather and fatigues were standing side-by-side to guard the entrance. I was flagged in. I waved, mouthed "thank you", and took in the patriotic display. Amazing. Completely amazing. As I entered the parking labyrinth, again, motorcycles. In every direction. In every area. Hordes of motorcycles. It was staggering. I spotted people near the church entrance. Parked, grabbed my umbrella, my flag and headed towards the crowd.

As I fiddled with my raincoat hood, fumbling with the things in my hand, I stepped onto the sidewalk - and then froze. Small gasp. I was standing next to a limousine. People in black were getting out. Family members. A pair of burly bikers were helping an elderly gentleman our of the car. Oh...my.... Family. I just stood there. Completely still until they went inside. Then, almost cartoonishly, I took a few steps backwards. Not...supposed...to be here. How...how did that just happen?! I walked back towards a woman standing near her SUV with the hatch down. Inside were stacks of coolers. She was dressed in khaki shorts and a pink windbreak. She didn't look like family. Whew. We struck up a conversation.

Her name was Jennifer and she too had heard about Westboro. She had brought 500 waters to handout, but with the rain...she was just standing there, waiting for a way to help. I admitted that I didn't know the family. She had just met them the night before. She told me her unit was being shipped out on Monday and that she would be packing up her house later that day. All I could say was "Wow." And she agree, "Yeah. Wow." We stood there in the rain. In silence. I took it all in. I was talking to someone in the military, at a military funeral, while a group nearby was waving banners proclaiming that God hated them. The whole situation was...mind-boggling.

A group of bikers started to organize people lining the entry way. We decided to join them. By the front, volunteers held huge swaying flags. Others had brought their own. The limo driver even brought miniature ones and handed them out. Hundreds of people. Lining the walkway. Holding flags. It was powerful. When people approached, the mood was solemn and respectful. Utmost respect. Several funeral attendees whispered "thank you" as they passed. It was moving. For everyone.

We remained in place well after the funeral started to greet latecomers. The mood began to lighten. Quiet conversations rippled among the group. Big leather-vested bikers hugged each other. Plans to leave started to percolate. Standing near the Ride Captain, I was party to privileged information. About the upcoming procession. The duty of escorting the family. About events surrounding the day. A big truck pulled up and volunteers were asked to put flags in the back. On the tailgate was a ghostly painting of military scenes, fallen soldiers, and medals. In the middle was the slogan, "All Gave Some. Some Gave All." Talking to the teen next to me, I learned that it was called "The Memory Truck." It belonged to his uncle. He knew the people that had supplied the massive flags. He knew the Ride Captain. He knew the bikers that surrounded us. When I mentioned that it was nice of everyone to show up, he just looked at me and said, "Of course." I later heard that the group shows up to any soldier's funeral where Westboro Church may be present. What an amazing thing. "Of course."

Bikers were given instructions of where to line-up. I received a text that the Westboro group had left a long time ago and decided to leave. As bikers whirled around me, I headed for the exit. Mmm, I wonder if anyone is still on the service road? I went to find out. And what I saw...what I experienced...still makes me catch my breath. As I was leaving, I was awestruck by the almost-indescribable military vehicles just inside the entrance. They were the biggest, baddest, most insert-curse-word-here vehicles I have ever seen. And then... Oh...I'm emotional as I write this...On both sides of the entrance...stretching a half mile in either direction...were people.. and more people...flags...and more flags... and banners... EVERYWHERE.  It was astounding. Truly. Astounding.

The Edmond Sun later reported that only 4 people from Westboro showed up. My friend Sara heard from the police that they were put in an area of no traffic, so they were basically picketing nothing and to nobody. Their failed attempt stirred the largest outpouring of love, honor, and support I have ever seen for a fellow human being. I feel so privileged to have been part of it. It was a wonderful homage to 2nd Lt. Jered Ewy and soldiers everywhere. And if you happen to see a backpack with the patch, "These Colors Don't Run," yeah, it could be mine. You better believe it.