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Marchers' message: Give peace a chance
Sunday, January 26, 2003
Catholic priests walked next to communists. Housewives and attorneys mixed
with World War II veterans and full-time peace activists. Grey-haired
grandmothers and teenagers with body piercings chanted anti-war slogans
side by side.
And they all marched together down Carson Street yesterday afternoon to the
beat of anarchist drums, collecting pink balloons from gay-rights groups in
a colorful and peaceful display of opposition to a potential war with Iraq.
The only hint of trouble came after the official event, when about 70
people, mostly anarchists costumed as "Steelers fans for peace," returned
to Station Square by marching down one side of Carson Street, blocking
traffic. They refused to move to the sidewalk despite repeated requests
from mounted police, but no one was arrested.
The crowd was notable not only for its diversity, but for its size. The
Post-Gazette counted about 1,300 people passing Carson Street at 22nd Street.
Police estimated the crowd at 1,500 to 2,000, and organizers put the crowd
size as high as 5,000. By any count, the march was likely Pittsburgh's
largest anti-war protest in 30 years, although non-political events, such
as the March for Jesus, have drawn far larger crowds.
South Side residents going about their daily business marveled at the numbers.
"I'm surprised to see that [anybody] believes in anything," said Ron
Molinaro, co-owner of Pizza Vesuvio at 15th Street, who was assembling a pie.
Too many Americans, he said, are numb and unwilling to hold their leaders
accountable. "As long as they can go to Ikea and to fast food chains and to
strip malls, they're content."
Although the "Parade for Peace" was part of the Thomas Merton Center and
Pittsburgh Organizing Group's Regional Anti-War Convergence, most of the
participants hailed from the Pittsburgh area, as evidenced by this sign:
"Yinz Guys are War Pigs."
Some did come from as far as Boston, including a line of drumming
anarchists with bandannas drawn over their faces. Asked what they did when
they weren't marching in demonstrations, one replied, "Practice to march in
demonstrations!"
But many of the local people who dominated the march said it was their
first protest. Gordon Denny, 39, a Canadian business executive who lives on
the North Side, said his girlfriend brought him.
"But I don't think it's the right time to go to war," he said.
The Rev. William Hausen, 64, a parochial vicar at Sacred Heart Catholic
Church in Shadyside, is a protest veteran. He marched with Martin Luther
King in Washington, D.C., and has marched there annually against abortion.
Pope John Paul II, he noted, has strongly opposed an attack on Iraq.
South Side residents and business people weren't sure, beforehand, what to
make of the march. "It's a big hype for nothing," said Albert Vogt, sitting
behind the counter at his hardware store 30 minutes before the scheduled 3
p.m. start. "They're talking about thousands of people here, but it doesn't
look like that."
And it didn't, not at first. With temperatures in the mid-20s, people
didn't start congregating in the parking lot outside Hooters in Station
Square until 15 minutes or so before the march. Gradually, dozens of people
turned into hundreds.
Two police officers on motorcycles, Robert Zwier and Raymond Strobel, led
the marchers onto Carson Street at 3:10 p.m. Zwier exchanged friendly words
with any peace advocate who approached him. The marchers included his
brother-in-law and sister-in-law.
By the time the demonstrators reached 11th Street, they were encountering
spectators -- and free hot chocolate, served by the owners and employees of
Ethnic Artz and Diva's. Half a block away, Alex Ward, an Englishman from
Coventry who is working here and living on the South Side, watched the
proceedings.
"I can go two ways," he said. "If there's a bully in the school, you've got
to go and stop him before something happens, before he kills people. But at
the same time, I feel so sad that we're sending hundreds of thousands of
our boys over there to possibly die for something nobody's really done yet."
As the march neared its midpoint, Paul and Sibyl McNulty, a fiftyish
software technician and attorney from Mt. Lebanon, looked back down Carson
Street to see protesters as far as the eye could see.
"It's a lot bigger than I expected," he said. "If this is going on all over
the country, it should make a difference."
The street scene transported some to another time, and the experience was a
sobering one.
Inside The Bead Mine at 17th Street, Karen Paulsen's voice trailed off as
she stood with a few other women, talking about war's carnage and how it
changes the way a country is seen around the world. As she spoke, the
marchers under police escort passed the window where she stood.
"It just brings back memories of Vietnam, and it's upsetting, " said
Paulsen, 58, of Decatur, Ill., a dental hygienist who was stationed with
the Air Force in Turkey during the Vietnam War. "I'm for the people
marching and I feel sorry for them, too."
So was Regis Schnippert, 79, of the South Side, a former Navy signalman who
served on an aircraft carrier during World War II. He picked a spot on
Carson near 20th Street and stood perfectly still as shouts and chants
wafted for blocks in either direction
"I think they should stand up and be counted," he said. "This is what this
country is supposed to be about, isn't it?"
Had a case been adequately made for an invasion of Iraq?
"No, not in my opinion," he said. "I'm not convinced that this thing can't
be settled peacefully."
Not everyone agreed with the marchers. Daniel Mross, 24, of Knoxville,
stood on a corner near 25th Street and used a bullhorn to heckle marchers.
He contended that they are naive to think a dictator such as Saddam Hussein
can be left alone. "I support our president," Mross said. "War is necessary
at certain times."
A bearded peace advocate stepped in and momentarily cut off Mross. "Bush
loves idiots," the man said before darting back to the street. Mross said
the taunt did not bother him, and that he is prepared to go into the armed
services if called.
Joe Longo, 27, of Brentwood, also ridiculed the war protesters, whose
chants of "give peace a chance" puzzled him. "Are we supposed to forget the
twin towers?" Longo asked of the terrorist attack on New York City.
But even people who disagreed with the group's position supported their
right to protest. "Saddam did wrong, and we've got a right to fight," said
Rich Gainer, 24, who was carrying take-out food back to his home on Mary
Street. He gestured at the protesters. "But everybody's got a right to do
what they want."
The march continued past its planned end at the Birmingham Bridge because
the city offered to make PAT buses available at 33rd Street to carry
protesters back to Station Square. Some protesters decided to walk when
told that the bus site was near the FBI building. But Tim Vining, executive
director of the Merton Center, expressed his gratitude.
"The local police have been extremely cooperative," he said. "We feel we've
been allowed to exercise our right to free speech and to make our message
known."
The march reached the Slovak Catholic Sokol Center, 2912 Carson St., less
than an hour after it began. Many of the demonstrators had already peeled
off to return to their cars. A few hundred people lingered for another 10
to 15 minutes, as a drum corps pounded out a beat and demonstrators chanted
slogans, like "We love Pittsburgh, We hate war," in call-and-response fashion.
The last group of protesters then headed back down Carson Street. Their
chants became more profane, and some pulled masks or bandannas over their
faces. Mounted police officers surrounded the group, using their horses to
push the protesters toward the sidewalk.
The group dispersed as it approached Station Square, after nothing more
serious than some verbal sparring with police
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