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Political junkies, like rock
fans, line up to see the show in D.C.
Editor's note: Jacob is a junior in political science
and journalism finding the right lines to get into while
in Washington, D.C. He plans to file occasional columns
from his semester in the nation's capital.
By Jacob Fullmer
September 12, 2007 | Waiting in line for the Senate
Committee on Foreign Relations to start, I listened
to Department of Defense staff and foreign embassy personnel
standing in line share their enthusiasm as if they were
going to their favorite rock concert.
Come hell, high water or the growing line to get into
the meeting -- these people were coming to see the show.
The people were the same. The faces were the same.
The appropriate dress was the only difference. Instead
of teenagers and twentysomethings wearing T-shirts and
sewn on patches of their favorite bands, the incoming
crowd wore suits and identification badges from governmental
agencies I've never even heard of. Everyone had come
to hear the General Petraeus report.
The girl next to me in line who works for a Midwest
congressperson told me her intern roommates woke up
early just to get in line for seats. "This is history,"
they told her. A protester, one of the "pink
ladies" known for their distinguishing fashion
choices, stood a short distance ahead of me in line.
She told war stories to federal employees at least twice
my age like the new kid on the block trying to gain
friends.
"I was the last to be thrown out of [the House
of Representative] hearing yesterday," she said.
Evidently wearing pink to a hearing on the Iraqi War
is the equivalent of wearing a Hanson shirt at a Marylin
Manson show. You may get in but beware the devoted fans.
All of these stories were reminiscent to me of the
line outside a rock concert with freaks and geeks of
all ages converging upon their Mecca, the excitement
built up over the past few hours of their pilgrimage
still coursing in their veins. This line continued to
grow even after the hearing had started.
Rock concerts and congressional committee hearings
really aren't all that different. The names and titles
headlining the venue may have a different feel but the
anticipation of the moment is the same. Something in
the air makes goose bumps rise on your skin despite
the deep East Coast humidity. It doesn't matter your
obsession or hobby, people are people. They're predictable
if the situation is understood.
As I waited in line, one of the sweetest, kindest-looking
ladies I've seen was escorted by the Capitol Police
out of the committee chambers yelling, "It's time
to stop the occupation!" Yelling as she was, I
still insist she was one of the nicest protesters I've
ever seen. When she came out of the doors of the meeting,
it was as if she had passed into a completely different
social scene. She immediately stopped yelling, kindly
told the police she had left her bag on her seat. Then
meekly said "thank you" as they walked her
away. Now she was among her scene (if not political
sympathizers). After all, despite the horde of interns
and the news cameras in the background, we were her
friends. Her people. We were the scene in the line.
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