PANDEMONIUM RULED THE NIGHT (College Protests Part 1)

WINSDAY WISDOM 232

Have you ever been tear-gassed? My college experience was terrifying.

I heard there was something big happening at Harvard Square, the main intersection next to our college campus. I raced five blocks from my dorm to where the action was taking place.

Pandemonium–a situation where a crowd of people act in a wild, loud, uncontrolled manner. Commotion. Confusion. Craziness. Crisis. Chaos.

This was the flash point that led to the Harvard Square tear-gas confrontation. A student group organized a parade down Boston’s Beacon Street. They crossed the Harvard Bridge and marched down Massachusetts Avenue which ended at the large intersection in front of the entrance to Harvard Yard.

This protest united the anti-war crowd with the radical Black Panther group. If that were not enough, they were joined by members of the Women Liberation. It was the trifecta of protests!

The protest crowd eventually swelled to three thousand students on this sunny, spring day.

Note: My personal observation is that college student protests take place in comfortable weather conditions. Students are not as dumb as they act. I have not studied all historic revolutions, but I imagine most began in good weather. For example, Paul Revere’s famous ride occurred in April along with the cherry blossoms, not when New England was covered with snow.

The sound truck was used to exhort the crowd to “march on Harvard Square where the enemies are.” The growing rage evolved into some street fighting as traffic was blocked and some store windows were smashed.

By seven o’clock that evening, the protest crowd had attracted a similar number of onlookers. The riot police force formed an unbreakable barrier. Most stood and watched as protesters threw rocks at store windows and the police.

I raced to the scene. As I turned the corner from the side street, I hit the brakes. I was staring into a long line of Swat team guys dressed in riot gear. They stood united in their helmets, face guards, shields, and nightsticks. They were holding tear gas guns.

It looked like a war zone.

My sudden appearance from around a dark corner startled some of the riot force. Their reaction frightened me. My heart pounded and my feet quickly reversed my path as several officers stepped in my direction.

As I retreated to the edge of the street, I scaled a small tree and sat on the branch. I looked like Zaccheus waiting on Jesus to pass by.

From the tree branch, I had a gallery seat view of the riot scene. Students protesting the Viet Nam War were sitting in the street blocking traffic. They held signs and water bottles.

Loud protest chants echoed through the Square. An occasional object was hurled in the direction of the police blockade. Loudspeakers blared with instructions demanding the students to peacefully disperse.

Oh, the irony. Students protesting the war would not peacefully depart the confrontation without an altercation leading to injuries and arrests. This was not pictures of the modern day Palestinian-Israeli conflict and its American counterparts protesting in the streets. Anti-war, Equality, and Liberation protesters were smashing windows, throwing rocks, and overturning police vehicles in the middle of the Home of Freedom.

The police warning was reiterated again and again. When the protesters did not leave the Square, the side-by-side police force moved closer. I could have sold my VIP perch for a lot of money. I had a panoramic view of the entire area.

The melee worsened. Women taunted the police with their screams and signs. Several draped bras over the shoulders of the men assigned to keep the peace. The standoff went on for hours as the tensions heightened.

Some protesters sat in silence blocking the flow of traffic while others issued defiant screams. A few protesters’ rage led to broken store windows and two overturned police cars. Several fires were set. A few members of the tactical force wildly swung their clubs as protesters screamed into their faces.

Pandemonium ruled the night. The protest speeches were loud and passionate. The riot squad was quiet and intimidating. The firemen were putting out the fires. Tempers flared as this peaceful protest march transformed into a war zone.

Suddenly, the police force fired cannisters of tear gas into the raucous crowd. The protesters began coughing and choking, trying to cover their faces as they ran into the nearby darkness.

Tear gas can cause shortness of breath and a burning sensation of the eyes, mouth, nose, and lungs. I watched as the crowd dispersed in all directions. Some needed help to see. Many stumbled for safety as they passed right under my tree limb.

I had never seen anything like this except on television. It was a little frightening and a little humorous…until the mixture in the air reached my tree.

My eyes began to burn. My throat tightened. I could not see nor breathe. I quickly dropped from the tree landing on two fleeing students. They thought they had been bombed. I thought I was going to be trampled. We all picked ourselves up from the sidewalk and fled down an alleyway.

Jesus did not need tear gas to get Zacchaeus down from his tree stand. This had the same result. I was going back home to have a “Come to Jesus Talk.”

For the uninitiated, the “come to Jesus talk” is where a person of authority has a heart to heart meeting regarding the necessity for the other person to improve his/her attitude and actions. A change has to be made.

In my case, a lesson was learned. Tear gas flows outward and upward. If you sit down with the ducks, you might be mistaken for a duck.

Arrests were made. Makeshift medical rooms were set up in local churches. A curfew was set. Calls were made to parents just settling in for their evening slumber.

“Hey, Mom, guess what? I just got tear-gassed at the university.”

Nothing like this had ever happened in my little hometown. My exposure to such challenges to authority were limited to two students spraying graffiti on the lockers because they had been suspended from school for disrupting an English class.

A loud lady organized her private protest of the local IGA store because they ran out of their soda sale items. Karen had more problems than Pepsi with no fizz. She was also missing a few coupons.

Our Barney Fife cop once had a face-off with our town’s top drag racers. He parked two blocks away and honked his horn. The showdown at midnight never generated any arrests. That was probably because most of the town was lining both sides of the speedway. No one felt the need to protest.

I had been introduced to student protests at my liberal college in Boston. My young Writing teacher spent several nights in jail when he refused to stop distributing war protest materials on the city streets. He took it out on my freshman writing assignments. One of his comments written across my latest book report included the thoughts of his antiwar thinking.

“How did you get into this school with your simplistic writing ability?”

I wish he had stayed in jail. Then I could write him some notes filled with “simplistic” sarcasm.

That spring brought the protests even closer. I will save that account for another time.

Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” The phrase is used in our everyday speech to indicate doubt of someone’s sincerity regarding the strong denial of the truth.

Do you ever protest? Too much, methinks?

Protests are becoming more prevalent. All groups want the culture’s attention. So, there are marches and rallies and counter rallies. There are slogans and shouts. Some group responds with a cancel culture of their opposing group who has already blacklisted them.

Families and individual relationships get in on the protest of grievances. We join the parade.

We often seek to shift the blame of our situation onto someone else. We demand better treatment. We scream, carry signs, engage in stubborn sit-down moments, and even go on strike, refusing to love or consider reconciliation.

We demand our rights or, at least, our wants.

Does it actually help?

A protest can help raise awareness about issues that might not yet have reached the mainstream. However, a protest does not guarantee that others agree with your viewpoint.

Too often, our words spread like tear-gas. They hurt and burn and create distance in the relationship. Wrong words can stab the soul and crush the spirit.

However, a word remains the most powerful of all the four-letter words. The right word at the right time can breathe life into a dying soul. It produces hope and courage in a fearful heart.

“Words fitly spoken are like apples of gold in a setting of silver” (Proverbs 25:11).

Colors fade. Shorelines erode. Leaves fall. Empires crumble. But right “words” spoken at the right time are like a personalized piece of gold jewelry. It fits the person perfectly and, most importantly, it endures.

The love language words of Jesus are life changing. They empower the soul with courage and hope.

The greatest message you can share is to love first and love most. Start with the words and actions mentioned by Jesus as the Golden Rule. “Do for others what you would want them to do for you. This is the teaching of God’s Word in a nutshell” (Matthew 7:12).

If you wonder where to start in a relationship, start with the Golden Rule. It prevents the need for protests or a long list of rules.

Just put yourself in the other person’s place and think, “What would I need if I were him or her?” Then do it.

We all protest too much, methinks. Let us set aside our personal protests. Practice the Golden Rule. The words will be precious. The actions will be powerful.