These bastards have refocused us - this is what we are fighting. This is why we need to stay and win in Iraq, even through periods of intense doubt. The Commissar asks legitimate questions about timetables, effective force structure, measurable progress; the Washington Post quotes generals voicing concern about strategic failure; fine, these questions of course need answers. But if it takes two years or ten years, tactical withdrawals followed by messy re-engagements, $100 billion or $100 trillion, this problem, this cancer of Muslim extremism is not going to go away. It flourishes in medieval, closed societies, and our only strategic hope to weaken it is to invest in the success and democratization of the rest of the world. If we fail, we fail trying, we fail making mistakes and correcting them, because defensive isolationism and/or tactical application of military force are one-way tickets to destruction. Highly imperfect as it is, our present, starry-eyed course as charted by the current administration is the only available path that even attempts to adequately answer this challenge.

Study history with any intensity and a constant theme will arise over and over and over: stronger societies that unhesitatingly apply their strength win. That's why the mid-term survival of the United States is dependent upon pressing our advantage and changing the world while we still have overwhelming economic and military dominance, which takes more than a few years' patience. This paradigm will shift drastically within this century, perhaps within a generation or two, as innovation lowers the boundaries to terribly destructive technology. At that point, it's likely that the world may be doomed anyway, but literally our only hope may be the previously forced evolution of most corners of the earth towards pluralistic, democratic societies that will naturally marginalize extreme elements.

If you were horrified by what that small group of men did with a knife and a video camera, ponder what they yearn to do with highly efficient chemical agents, nuclear material or future nanotechnology. There is no exit strategy in Iraq, merely victory or defeat in the first or second round of a lifelong, messy epic battle - civilization vs. those that wish to destroy it. It's going to be ugly, it's going to involve defeats and it will not be politically expedient. Pick sides and fight, feel free to examine and question tactics, but don't for a second think that ignoring the war or withdrawing from individual battles will make its consequences disappear. Our political leadership needs to refocus the American electorate on the gravity of this struggle and the sacrifice that it demands, for the only thing that can defeat us at this stage of the game is flagging political will.

We're in it to win it. Suck it up, people.

Revolutionary crickets chirping.

... revolutionaries are notoriously unreliable. I asked the proprietors where the "Prisons, Police & Repression" teach-in was, and I was told that the group is rather haphazard about how they maintain their schedule. Two things immediately disturbed me:

1. How will the people throw off the fascist chains of the man's oppression when they can't even keep regularly scheduled meetings?

2. The coffee that they served me tasted remarkably like piss.

I decided to pack it in and head for the memorial.

Tracing the name of a fallen officer.

The Memorial is a beautiful oval shaped space with long, curved walls that bear the engraved names of officers killed in the line of duty.

The typically spartan stone was festooned with wreaths, pictures, poems, letters ...

... and newspaper clippings.

An impromptu tribute.

This is my father's New Jersey State Police Academy classmate, Werner Foerster. On May 2, 1973, he and his partner, Trooper James Harper, pulled over a car containing three individuals: Sundiata Acoli, aka Clark Edward Squire, Zayd Malik Shakur and ...

... Assata Shakur, aka JoAnne Chesimard, all members of an ultra-violent Black Panther splinter group called the Black Liberation Army, "whose stated goal was to take up arms for the liberation and self-determination of black people in the United States."
The BLA was responsible for the murders of more than 10 police officers around the country, and these three were wanted for questioning regarding the deaths of two police officers in New York; one white, one black.

As Harper questioned the car's passengers and Forrester provided back-up, the three BLA members opened fire on the troopers with hand-guns. Harper was shot in the shoulder and managed to escape down an embankment. Forrester was struck twice in the chest. As he lay on the ground bleeding and helpless, Shakur/Chesimard took his service revolver and shot him twice in the head. The cop-killers briefly escaped, but were quickly hunted down by police. In an exchange of gunfire Zayd Malik Shakur was killed and Chesimard and Squire were wounded and captured.

After their capture, my father was part of the team assigned to guard the severely wounded Chesimard in the hospital. As the troopers stood outside of her room, she incessantly chanted, "If I had some poison gas, I'd throw it on your white ass."

Both were tried and sentenced to life in prison. During the trial, both defendants were highly disruptive and violent. Eventually the judge had them placed in a separate sound-proof booth that suppressed their chants and allowed them to hear and see the courtroom through a plastic window. During the proceedings, the two defendants laid on the ground of the booth and had sex in the midst of the courtroom. Chesimard became pregnant and had a daughter before being transferred to the Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women, where on November 2, 1979, she was sprung from the prison by four visitors that took a guard and a driver hostage. Despite an intense manhunt, she remained on the lamb in the US until 1986, when she made her way to Cuba and was granted political asylum. Today she walks free as a professor, counter-cultural heroine and published author, reviewed by the NY Times: "A deftly written book... a spellbinding tale." Incidentally, her stature has also been augmented by virtue of being the aunt of the late rapper, Tupac Shakur.

In 1998, Congress voted for a resolution to ask for Shakur's extradition. The site Afro Cuba Web stated:

"The Congressional Black Caucus was asleep at the switch on this one, with 23 members voting against Assata and 13 not voting, which is hardly different. Maxine Waters voted against, but then said she did not know who Joanne Chesimard (Assata's pre-Panther name) was."

When Congresswoman Waters figured out that Chesimard was Shakur, she filed a protest against her original vote and wrote an apologetic letter of clarification to Fidel Castro.

I find it beyond disturbing that clear, cold-blooded murder is regarded as a political or racial issue.

Sundiata Acoli, aka Clark Edward Squire, remains in prison, though he is a cause celebre of the "Free Mumia" folks, which have made recent attempts to assist him in securing parole. A counter-effort, spearheaded by the victim's family, police associations, popular magazines and bloggers are pushing to keep him in jail. From what I can gather, in this case, justice is likely to prevail - Acoli was denied Federal parole and will probably be denied state parole (due to their refusal to grant him an in-person hearing), though a final decision is still pending ...

Justice or no justice, the cops that these people murdered are still dead; their names are engraved on the walls of the memorial.

The most remarkable features of the memorial are the fantastic statues of protective lions that mark its four corners.

Playin' in the sun.

Something that struck me about the police officers that were gathered for the ceremony was their incredible diversity: women, blacks, whites, hispanics ...

... and even men wearing dresses.

The ceremony began as the wreath was brought forward.

The colors were presented ...

... the wreath was laid at the center of the memorial ...

... and a police chaplain led the crowd in a prayer for the dead.

The wreath was then flanked by a rotating honor guard.

It was a touching tribute, capped by ...

"Amazing Grace."

Some facts about the hazards of police work (via NLEOMF):

* More than 14,250 law enforcement officers have been killed in the line of duty in the 20th Century.

* The deadliest decade ever for law enforcement was the 1970's, when an average of 222 officers made the ultimate sacrifice each year, including a record 271 officers killed in 1974.

* The average age of the officers killed last century was 38 and the average length of service was about eight years.

* Shootings accounted for about half of all police fatalities during the past century.

* Approximately 500 officers were killed in multiple police death incidents.

* With 50 police deaths, September 11, 2001 was the deadliest day in law enforcement history.

UPDATE: Urban Farmhouse has a post featuring some other permanent memorials.

UPDATE: Want to read more on domestic terrorism lionized as brave rebellion? Need a blood pressure spike? Go here.

GR: Good points, all.

INDC: … yes, well, when you first started blogging, did you ever imagine that Instapundit.com would get this big?

GR: Nope.

INDC: So, what, you were doing it as more of a hobby or an experiment? You were actually surprised by the speed at which you achieved your current popularity?

GR: Yes.

INDC: Okay … well, you often write about how blogging and other new media vehicles are revolutionizing the traditional media environment and changing the way that news is disseminated; do you think that this trend will lead to a situation where blogs may eventually eclipse or even replace traditional media?

GR: Hmm. You’d think.

INDC: Uh, care to elaborate on that?

GR: More thoughts on that at Glennreynolds.com.

INDC: Uh, yes … I’m sure that there are, but since we’re here and all … do you have any current thoughts on the matter?

GR: I guess.

INDC: And, those would be …

GR: Heh.

INDC: Um … … forgive me if I’m not making much sense here, this is my first interview, and I’m a little nervous. In no way do I intend any ... disrespect, but the interview might be a bit more informative if you could, uh, expand on some of your answers.

GR: So noted.

INDC: Ok, well, back to my initial question then - do you have any additional thoughts about the blogosphere’s role in the future media environment?

GR: But of course. More on that here.

INDC: Yes, yes, I see your laptop … um, but can you tell them to me?

GR: Update: more here ...

INDC: What the hell is your ...

GR: ... and here ...

INDC: Alright then ...

GR: ... and here.

INDC: ... let’s ... let's just skip ahead and try something a little different. I had thought it might be fun to liven up the interview with a little pop psychology.

GR: Yes, let's!

INDC: Ok, why don't you take a look at this inkblot and tell me what you see:

GR: Nanobots.

INDC: Ok, and this?

GR: It's not work safe.

INDC: Uh huh ... and this?

GR: Prison rape.

INDC: And ... here?

GR: Mazda RX-8.

INDC: How about this?

GR: Lileks.

INDC: Lileks? No shit, huh? Ok. Well that was somewhat more revealing than your previous answers, but let's go back and try some regular questions again, shall we? I'll try one more time: the future of the blogosphere - where are we headed?

GR: Yet another update: more on that here.

INDC: Yes, yes, yes! I skimmed that article by Bill Quick like two years ago! What are your ...

GR: Read the whole thing.

INDC: Dammit! What are your thoughts? What do you think? Do you have any opinions of your own? Can you form compound-complex sentences? Jesus, you are really starting to piss me off, Reynolds!

GR: That's too bad.

INDC: Are you making fun of me? Is this ...

GR: I agree.

INDC: Is this a fucking joke to you? You think INDC Journal is just a fucking joke?!

GR: Not ready for prime time, if you ask me.

INDC: Not ready for prime time? Not ready for prime time?! Fine, fine! Screw this interview, and screw you, buddy! You can take your "more here's" and your "heh's" and your "Lileks's" and you can stick 'em where the sun don't shine! You hear me? I take funny pictures and crack jokes about moonbats, ok? And people like it, so you can just piss right off!

GR: I'd like to say that I'm shocked by this, but, well, I'm not.

INDC: I'm out of here!

GR: You'd think.

INDC: Kiss my ass Reynolds!

GR: Heh.

FIN

NOTE: For the humor-impaired, or those simply not familiar with Professor Reynolds or INDC, this interview was not real.

The speeches contained the typical hyperbolic rhetoric, marshalling this crowd of hundreds of thousands to fight the depredations of the "anti-woman" Bush agenda. They singled out administration members by name: Ashcroft, Cheney, and Rumsfeld (Rumsfeld?!), a list capped in one speech by a patronizing, heartfelt appeal to the honorable Colin Powell to forsake his distasteful service amongst the enemy and return to the fold.

One harangue in particular caught my attention, delivered by a fiery, square-built woman with close-cropped blonde hair. It was a screaming, apoplectic treatise on the virtues of "cunt power," that demanded that the nation bow to the authority of the "cunt" and pledge allegiance to the the United "Cunts" of America. "My Cunt 'Tis of Thee," etc., etc. (find that coverage in the WaPo)

At this point, I became a bit disturbed, for the crowd wasn't awkwardly tolerating this obscene and immature rant, rather raising their arms and screaming throaty acceptance of a woman performing second rate porno-schlock, ostensibly as a legitimate representative of one side of a highly divisive and important public issue.

I consider myself pro-choice, but this wasn't my crowd, and these orators didn't speak for me. I moved into the mass of people to get a closer look.

A common theme.

The abortion issue has become a proxy for the religious and cultural wars. I can understand the pro-choice activists; extreme religion has played a major role in fueling the most intolerant ideologies of the pro-life movement, but I also wondered what additional bad experiences with religious figures may have driven so many to such a vehement disavowal of the church. I'd venture a guess that in many cases, this dislike goes far beyond this single issue.

Another common theme.

Ringing throughout the grounds:

Hey Hey
Ho Ho
George Bush Has Got To Go!

Hey Hey
Ho Ho
George Bush Has Got To Go!

Impeach Bush!

Bush Keep Your Hands Off My Bush!

I couldn't glance in any direction without glimpsing some totem or sign that expressed rather strong feelings against:

A. Religion

C. Some combination of the two.

The thematic battle lines of this march were drawn: George Bush is the enemy, and if you are pro-choice you must support his downfall.

Hard statistics on the percentage of pro-choice Republicans are difficult to nail down, but two-thirds of all Americans believe that abortion should be legal within the first trimester, and seven-in-ten Americans oppose abortion after the sixth month of pregnancy. This indicates a great deal of mainstream party overlap that generally supports the abortion environment as it currently stands under the stated policy of the Bush Administration. By exaggerating the current state of affairs, the speakers largely undermined their case for how quickly reproductive rights would dissolve under a second Bush term.

In addition, a significant portion of pro-choice supporters are Libertarian/Republican voters that won't be easily swayed into the warm embrace of Bush-hate. I couldn't help but think that this narrow and all-encompassing line of political reasoning weakened the hand of the pro-choice movement rather than strengthening it. The rhetoric certainly alienated me.

There were quite a few activist physicians handing out literature.

A sampling of a much larger group of "Medical Students for Choice."

The New York Times crossword puzzle?

Don't get me wrong - there inevitably were many moderate voices within this massive march; but I was a bit surprised by the casual vehemence and hyperbole of anti-Bush sentiment from most of the crowd. The great national divide was on stark display at this rally.

The last huge wave of the crowd prepared to embark on the march route.

I made my way closer to the East stage ...

... and ran into another very narrow special interest group.

"G-d is Coming and she is Fat"

Who knew?

I watched the tail-end of the crowd leave the Mall, on their way to the White House and Pennsylvania Avenue.

Cutting across 8th Street towards Penn, I ran into a second group of pro-life counter-protestors. This group had a softer approach, forsaking the bloody signs and screaming rhetoric for a more palatable appeal.

This small group of about 50 protestors seemed to represent a calmer face of the pro-life side of the protest.

Ruh-roh ...

Drawing up on Penn, I immediately realized that this would be a flash point. These Episcopal priests stood in a silent line along the packed four-lane route of the march.

For the most part, the priests prayed or calmly attempted to speak to protestors that drew near enough to engage them. I had little idea how badly many in the crowd would react to the mere sight of the religious garb.

Ok, maybe not all religious garb ...

Mere seconds passed before I witnessed the first bout of rage. Thousands upon thousands of people walked by, and I would say that perhaps a fifth of the individuals within sight and shouting distance had a highly aggressive reaction to the presence the priests. They yelled, spit and uttered shocking profanities. A smattering of the worst:

"Fuck you!"

"You want to kill women? Fuck you!"

Etc. And on ...

... and on ...

... and on ...

... and on ...

... and on ...

... and on ...

... and on ...

... and on ...

.. and on ...

... and on.

(Note: the previous specific quotes cannot be directly attributed to the individuals pictured above - except perhaps the woman mouthing the word "fuck")

It was simply stunning. The second these people (and thousands of others not caught on film) saw the priests, they simply lost their minds. It was like watching a live-action scene from the Exorcist, repeated ad infinitum. No exaggeration, no joke.

This was a fine example of hateful mob mentality. The belligerents that screamed the most vile profanities were egged on by the people that they were with, which made for a nice collusion of nasty emotions: violent anger and malicious, hysterical laughter. About 4/5 or more of the protestors had little reaction to either the priests or their more aggressive fellow marchers, but 20% of thousands of marchers is ... a lot of angry, insane people.

This shot was snapped about a second after the priests and a cop were hit with a spray of red liquid. I was genuinely surprised that the officer didn't hop the fence and introduce the culprit to "Mr. Baton."

A special highlight: these moonbats reacted with absolute rapture at the chance to put on a dramatic, "sinful" show for the priests.

After only about 45 minutes of watching all this, I became a bit shell-shocked and decided to call it a day. Before I left, I spoke to a pro-lifer that was quietly standing near the priests and displaying one of the happy-face "I'm Pro-Life" signs.

"Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Sure."

"You're pro-life. Does that mean that you are against abortion in any circumstance? At any period?"

"Yes."

"Even in cases of rape or incest?"

"Yes, in all cases."

"What are your feelings about birth control?"

"We're against it. Abstinence is the only acceptable form of birth control."

"Well ... I see. Don't you think that complete abstinence is a bit unrealistic for everyone?"

"Anything less is a sin ..."

Without much common ground to be had, I decided to pack it in ...

... but not before running into this little guy on my way out. The way his mother coaxed him to say "abort Bush" and pose for my camera made me ill.

I didn't want to deal with this anymore. I ducked away from the path of the march and took an alternate, circuitous route home.

Postscript: I don't think that the most vitriolic scenes that I witnessed that Sunday were in any way representative of mainstream opinion on either side of the debate. Upon reflection, it was typical mob behavior, as the most ignorant and nasty elements of the crowd fed off of the general mass of chattering, negative energy and lashed out at their opponents. Whether it's a gathering of 50 or 500,000, the trend is clear: nuts always come out to protest.

I guess it's just a little depressing when you witness how many nuts there really are ...

In the final installment of INDC abortion blogging, I'll take a crack at alienating all of my readers by looking at both sides of this issue ... and offering an opinion. Stay tuned.

After I calmed down from the excitement of spotting the young Desmodus lunarius nihilista, I began to hear something that resembled music ... acoustic guitar, yes, it was a Macroglossius lunarius commonus folk dancing ritual, about to take place before my very eyes! Let's have a listen:

Surrounded by an army
There for their defense
Armed with APC's and copters
And lots of common sense

Behind a fence
Behind a wall
That shout just shall not pass
Broken shells, plastic bullets
And a thousand gallons of tear gas!

(Guitar solo)

World leaders kept on talkin’
Behind the moat up on the hill
And they boasted of prosperity
And their elitist free trade bill.

They defended their positions
And the glory of their claaaaaasssss
With broken skulls, plastic bullets
And a thousand gallons of tear gaaaaaaas!

Struck by the catchy nature of the tune, and filled with a sudden and powerful urge to dance, I hastily decided that it was time to move on.

A common misperception about moonbats is the belief that they are godless creatures. As is evidenced by these intricately crafted paper mache totems, that is not necessarily the case. The blue fellow on the left is the one called Naed Drawoh, the "Destroyer," or "Devourer of Worlds," considered the patriarch of the New Gods by various moonbat species. The lady in green is Y'Rallih, the "Matron Goddess of the Village."

According to legend, Naed Drawoh defied the higher pantheon of Old Gods in a brave bid to save humankind from the yoke of eternal servitude. In a last desperate battle he uttered a final ear-splitting war cry and promised to lead the faithful to victory across the land, but in the end was betrayed and cast out of the higher planes by the Ancient Ones. Moonbats believe that he bides his time until Ragnarok, or the "final reckoning," when the faithful will be called to revolution on the middle plane of Earth.

Y'Rallih is a much more complex figure. Often called the "Cunning One," or "She of Thick Ankles," she is feared as well as respected. It is believed that she bides her time among the Ancient Gods, waiting for her opportune moment to seize ultimate power. Moonbats have a love-hate relationship with Y'Rallih, but they generally assume to unite behind her once she ushers in the period of Nochtenveer, or "the thousand years of darkness."

While not necessary in the context of the current, massive swarm, when searching for more isolated gatherings of moonbats, it's helpful to remember that they are typically drawn towards stagnant pools of filthy water.

Ah, here we see a local District favorite, a pack of migrating Western Warblar Moonbats practicing the art of Luna-Kuchipodi, or traditional rhythmic dance. I've tagged this pack before, and each has a name and ID transmitter that enables us to keep track of their health status and whereabouts. They look strapping and beautiful!

Let's listen in on their chant:

Side-step
Booty-shake
Clap! Clap!
(Whipping noise/motion)

Side-step
Booty-shake
Clap! Clap!

Our weapon of choice is not a gun
Our words are power
And toys are fun
Use your hands for somethin' better
Everyone get off together!

The pack then moaned and groaned loudly, dissolved into a seething pile and engaged in simulated sex acts. Amazing.

Macroglossius lunarius narisplanus boarerus in full-throated yowl.

Here we have a great shot of CheeChi, perhaps one of the most beautiful and interesting specimens I've discovered to date. CheeChi is remarkable because he isn't actually a Western Warbler, rather a Flat-billed Howler Moonbat that was crippled and orphaned by trigger-happy game wardens in Seattle and taken in by the group. This welcoming behavior really speaks volumes about the open and familial nature of these highly gregarious creatures. CheeChi hoarsely sings several octaves lower than his compatriots, and dances with a limp, but they gladly accept him as one of their own.

Here we have a great sequence of our girl Luna, performing a ritual attack simulation. If she was legitimately threatened and performing the strike in earnest, it would be accompanied by a howling shriek and the simultaneous discharge of various bodily fluids.

Here we have DeeDee on the left and Pinky on the right. Mistaking me for one of her own, Pinky is giving me her best "come hither" mating stare, while DeeDee blindly sways on. DeeDee suffers from a condition called Chiba Retinopathy, a highly common moonbat disease acquired from exposure to caustic fumes from something called the "sticky-icky." Repeated smoke exposure dries and kills the blood vessels in the eyes, and the the body compensates by overgrowing back a mass of new blood vessels that serve to cloud and dim the moonbat's vision and render them highly sensitive to light. Fortunately, the communal nature of the warblers guarantees this girl's continued survival.

Here we catch two Macroglossius lunarius gothikas indulging in a bit of the aforementioned "sticky-icky." The dazed yet friendly look in this boy's eyes indicates that he has also probably gone "wet" in an attempt to embark on a "dream quest." Good luck, little fellow.

Another District regular that INDC readers will recognize ...

This is where the expertise of a professional becomes essential, as we spot several full-grown specimens of Desmodus lunarius nihilista arboles, or the Dreaded Killer Anarchist Tree-bat. A close relative of its ground-dwelling cousin, it is imperative that one stays far away from these aggressive beasts. Unwary humans and benign moonbats step under their perch at great peril, as the the Tree-bat is known to toss feces, firebombs, or just leap downwards and pounce on its prey. Highly dangerous, highly unpredictable, stay away!

Here we see a full-grown example of the ground-dwelling Desmodus lunarius nihilista. This tragedy was not caught on film, but immediately after this picture was taken, the young buck turned and charged my position, and I was forced to dispatch him with several well-placed Hydro Shock rounds. Tragic, but a necessary risk to entertain when attempting close interaction with these wild and unpredictable creatures.

Herding game wardens keep their mounts some distance from the swarm, as the horses are known to stampede when exposed to the overwhelming scent of patchouli, and some moonbat species are spooked by close proximity to the four-legged beasts.

The migration begins! Horns blaring, beating drums and throaty shouts marked the call to march!

I inserted myself amongst the masses to get the best possible shots. Their twittering excitement was palpable!

There are at least eight species of moonbats in this frame alone. Can you identify them?

This fellow got a bit nervous as he spied me mixing with the swarm, but took no aggressive action.

Some Ancient Mini's proudly declared their allegiances and tried to keep pace with the younger members of the swarm. Unfortunately, mere minutes after this picture was taken, the Minis were trampled to death and partially eaten by a pack of rampaging nihilstas. In the midst of this sad yet natural event, I could hear the minis shouting. "Kofi, help us! Heeeeelp us!"

A beautiful specimen of Macroglossius lunarius afrikanusbadcreditus.

I followed the swarm through the canyons of glass, and to my surprise, there were no mass disruptions or serious attacks carried out by the more aggressive species. Other than a few random aggressors that needed to be captured or put-down, it seems that the pre-installed cages and heavily-armed game wardens enabled this to be a safe, healthy season.

Game wardens tag a nihilista. (Courtesy of Severnriver)

Several of the moonbats began to get a little nervous as they massed near the IMF, and not wanting to push my luck, I decided to call it a day. We'd seen a fantastic variety of species, witnessed various religious and social rituals and iconography, had a rare sighting of an immature nihilista and only had to dispatch one rabid adult. All-in-all, a fascinating and successful expedition.

I hope you've enjoyed INDC's coverage!

For the curious, a few moonbat FAQ's can be found here. Further inquiries are more than welcome.

And if you've missed our previous efforts, be sure and take a moment to peruse some past INDC coverage:

INDC Science Series: Seasonal Moonbat IMF Migration, Part One

INDC Rally: Into the Gates of Mordor and John Kerry's Pro-Choice Party

INDC Protests: Moonbattery and Media Chicanery Outside the Supreme Court

INDC Protests: International Answer Protests in DC

INDC Protests: ANSWER, MASSF and Jews United Against Zionism

Wardens Baker and Poncherello reflect on a job well done!

On the way to the march, I ran into these children, posed on the corner of L & 15th. Their signs convey the message of "women's rights," certainly a "soft sell" approach, but I couldn't help but feel that twinge of discomfort that I get whenever I see children carefully posed for political purposes. More of this later.

On the way to the march, some Protest Warrior affiliates were out and about in an attempt to make a point about the war on terror. Protest Warrior has no official position on abortion, but these guys wanted to offer a counter to the virulent Bush-hatred that marks most of the pro-choice movement.

Unfortunately, the admittedly off-topic and somewhat confusing message was lost on most of the pro-choice marchers, who either ignored them, looked bewildered or just pointed and giggled.

"President Bush: Please Don't Touch the Vagina."

This was a common theme. By the end of the day, I was going to get more than my fill of "tee-hee I'm naughty, yet clever" slogans and catchphrases.

Here I ran into the first group of pro-life protestors at Constitution Avenue on the cusp of the National Mall. They were largely affiliated with church groups, and I couldn't help but notice that the youngsters had appropriated a bit of the punk rock/Che Guevera "protestor chic" commonly associated with "progressives." I gather that Jesus is down with the kids these days. Notice the dissonant, awkward appeal to the assumed "vegan/vegetarian" sensibilities of the pro-choicers.

The first heated emotions of the day.

The pro-choice woman on the right engaged the woman on the left in calm tones (I could not distinguish what she was saying), and the woman on the left quickly became very animated, shouting about the annual massacre of thousands of babies. Eventually, the woman on the right disengaged and walked away. I doubt that she changed her mind about anything ... except perhaps the wisdom of debating with extreme activists.

Upon encountering the pro-life counter-protestors, the look on these pro-choice marchers' faces was typical; I read it as slightly uncomfortable bemusement. For some reason, almost no emotions on either "side" that I witnessed during the course of the day seemed quite ... "right."

This woman later gave a tearful speech about how she had been traumatized by an abortion that took place in her youth.

The "hard sell" rhetoric amplified by a bullhorn. Common themes:

* Abortion is murder.

* Religion forbids abortion.

* Abortion is harmful to the health of women.

* Abortion denies the choice of the child.

The "hard sellers" display the graphic signs depicting the effects of late term abortions.

Pro-choice, pro-life - Bush still can't get a break. These attempts to appeal to "progressive" positions assumed to be held by "the other side" seemed pointless and awkward to me. It's doubtful that a pro-choice advocate that you call a "murderer" is going to re-evaluate their position on abortion based on other common ground, even if they happen to belong to Peta, ANSWER and the NAACP.

This group of pro-lifers eventually gathered and kneeled in the middle of the intersection. Notice the Spanish signs and the bandanas, typically the flair of romanticized anarchists and revolutionaries.

The cops immediately formed a protective line between the pro-lifers and the marchers passing by on their way to the Mall.

I would not mess with this man ...

The pro-lifers organize ...

... and drop "dead" ...

... while others outline them in chalk ...

... and scrawl messages on the street.

The police issue their first dispersal warning to the illegally assembled protesters. The pro-life organizer checked his watch and then advised his group that this was only the "first warning" and that they had 15 minutes until the second admonition.

Now this is how you fake death, while somehow ...

"Ohmigawd, Becky, I am SO dead!"

... cellphone use dilutes the impact.

This gentleman seemed very intent.

Patriarchal symbol of oppression?

Eventually I left the pro-life protestors in order to join the rally on the National Mall, largely held in between the Washington Monument and the Capitol.

As I got close to the rally, it became apparent that this wasn't going to be similar to previous rallies that consisted of 30 Communists ranting across from the White House, or an intermediate gathering of moonbats in a park; this was a huge, mainstream issue.

At the top of the rally, individuals gathered to head the scheduled march.

Some "honored guests."

I failed to catch any of the celebrity marchers that were highlighted in the news.

An elderly participant.

Here I stumbled across a very narrow special interest group.

A common sentiment.

I engaged these two gentleman in conversation, asking them why they focused on the anti-Bush rhetoric (previous pic). They responded with a recitation of a litany of things that they felt were wrong with the Bush administration, largely issues unrelated to abortion. I then told them that I'll be voting for Bush in November, but that I am also pro-choice, and that I have issues with the broader anti-Bush focus voiced by many of those that I may agree with on abortion. The individual on the right responded that protestors often view gatherings of such magnitude as an opportunity to give voice to other issues that have less organization and public traction. I was surprised by the fact that he quite lucidly and rationally admitted this sentiment.

These protestors equating queer rights with abortion rights were blocking some of the more graphic pro-life signs. I asked these ladies a few questions:

Me: "Hey, mind if I ask you something? Now I'm not breaking your chops here, but I'm genuinely curious as to how "reproductive rights" are "queer rights," given the non-procreative nature of gay sex. Can you explain it to me?"

Lesbian-gal #1: Well, you see, it's ... like ... it's ... (calls to her friend) ... hey can you answer this guy's question as to why reproductive rights are queer rights?"

Lesbian-gal #2: "Oh, ok ... well the rights of women to have an abortion and the rights of gays and minorities are the same because we are all oppressed peoples ... as a lesbian woman, my struggle is their struggle."

Me: "Oh ... so, and I'm just legitimately asking here, you have common ground because all women, minorities and gays are oppressed? Out of curiosity, can straight white men ever be oppressed?"

Lesbian-gal #2: "Sure ... sure they can be ..."

Me: "They're just not chronically oppressed, oppressed by nature ... ok, I get it. Now another question: why are you blocking this guy's sign?"

Lesbian-gal #2: "Because it's sick. It's gross."

Me: "Definitely, yeah, but that's his view. I mean, that's what he's trying to make you consider."

Lesbian-gal #2: " Well, we don't carry around pictures of abortion providers that were murdered by pro-life people."

Me: "Ok, point taken. Thanks for answering my questions."

A few minutes later, the blockers left and the sign was unveiled. I'm not certain about the effectiveness of the extreme imagery. It makes a strong case against late-term abortion, but that impact seems dwarfed by the fact that the graphic image largely alienates people from really considering the message. It's difficult for me to look at; most of the marchers seemed to immediately block it out and ignore it after being repulsed.

I left the front of the march gathering point, and headed over to the main rally grounds on the Mall ...

In tomorrow's installment, I'll wade into the crowd and take the pulse of the pro-choice movement, as well as observe some of the more extreme emotions voiced by march participants.

Part Two can be found here.

I questioned these veteran game wardens about the present location of the Chiroptera and the likely route of their migration. I was kindly directed to Franklin Square Park and told that I was now standing within the carefully controlled path that the swarm would likely take.

The gentleman on the right measured his words with the following warning, however: "They're anarchists, so we don't always know where the Hell they're gonna wind up ..."

Point taken, my good fellow, point taken.

I could barely contain my glee as I drew upon the swarm. This was no minor gathering of a select few common moonbats, rather a cornucopia of various genera, species and subspecies. I had struck scientific gold, and was assaulted by a whirling mix of color ...

... sound ...

... and smell, as I plunged head-first into their midst!

How many symbols of revolution can you spot?

Immediately I was presented with a fascinating mix of moonbat behavior and iconography. To the layman, these symbols might represent a confusing jumble of ideologies, but upon close examination, they are united by a common theme: what they are against. This universal thread unites the incredibly diverse species of moonbats in a common, homogenous bid to be completely different.

Here a "Common" or "Long-tongued Moonbat" (Macroglossius lunarius commonus) views me with suspicion as I record her stunning body iconography. This may seem dangerous, but the ordinary species of moonbat is actually quite docile and tolerant of the presence of interloping species.

Here we see a perfect representation of the common moonbat, typefied by hipster narrow-cut jeans, athletic yet stylish footwear and carefully mussed body hair and grooming. These look to be young males of the species, probably somewhere around 21 or 22 years-old, in their prime mating years. Quite domestic and quite harmless, these common moonbats are typically found in coffee shops and student unions across the continental United States. Moving on ...

Here we have two fantastic examples of Macroglossius lunarius fligerius, or Long-tongued Banger Moonbats, famous for their fascinatingly complex percussive compositions. Typically harmless, typically vegetarian, this species is noted for its acute sense of smell, which requires the bangers to wear kerchiefs in a bid to tolerate the pungent scent of teen spirit that hangs in the air like a fine mist at such gatherings.

As I observed the bangers, I spied my esteemed colleague, Dr. Werner VanSchtrudenbacher, a legend in the field! Here he gathers recordings for his current project, an album layering sounds of the banger moonbats over popular music tracks. Here are two of his recent album covers:

(Albums courtesy of the Llama Butchers)

Dr. VanSchtrudenbacher made his initial mark by winning the National Science Medal for his work on moonbat psychology, specifically charting the structure of the moonbat brain. In a landmark experiment, VanSchtrudenbacher locked 10 common moonbats in a windowless room with some cheese, for three weeks. Over the course of the experiment, nine of the ten moonbats died after refusing to eat the cheese, which they claimed was an oppressive symbol of the pasteurization of America by insidious corporate influences. The tenth moonbat barely survived his time in captivity by carefully rationing and drinking his own urine.

This study led to the current focus on "moonbat neo-cortex dominance," a theory that focuses on the possibilty that moonbats have an unbalanced affinity for complex symbols and characterizations, and an underdeveloped amygdala, resulting in a poor survival instinct. Fascinating work!

Macroglossius lunarius antigeriocolorarius.

Here we see a close relative of the Banger Bats, the Technicolor Hippie Moonbats. Quite friendly, quite spirited, really just joyous creatures of the woods. That's a girl, don't be shy! She's a brassy beauty!

Here I snapped a rare picture of a closely guarded moonbat ritual, "the dream quest," aka "dropping paper" or "magic tabs." What the moonbats do is typically ingest two to four small plastic or paper squares that are drenched in a substance called lysergic acid diethylamide. Within 30 minutes, the moonbat begins giggling and experiencing vivid hallucinations, which are reputed to give them an expanded political consciousness. This is a very rare and precious glimpse at what is usually a much more surreptitously executed ritual ingestion.

Here we confront our first legitimately dangerous species of moonbat, the Latin-American Revolutionary Moonbat, or Desmodus lunarius checommunista. This is a highly volatile and aggressive species, and it is important to distinguish this fellow from his more benign cousin, the Macroglossius lunarius kerrysocialista. It's helpful to remember this little ditty:

Flag of red,
Filled with dread -
Hammer and sickle,
Don't be fickle,
Run, bitch, run!

The diversity of fauna was startling. Here we have a relatively rare sighting of an ancient miniature moonbat ...

... followed by an unbelievably rare sighting of a young Desmodus lunarius nihilista, or Killer Anarchist Moonbat. This picture is startling for two reasons:

1. The young Anarchist is being supervised by an adult of the species. Such structured mothering is aberrant and highly unusual behavior.

2. The survival rate of young nihilist moonbats is extremely low - mostly due to their oft-unsupervised tendency to play in traffic, run with scissors, swim immediately after eating and toss flaming molotov cocktails at armed police.

For many years it was largely assumed that this subspecies of moonbat emerged fully formed from a spontaneous mutation of the more common species. What a find!

Unfortunately, that is all the bandwith we have for this edition of INDC Science. Please be sure and check back later for part two of our series, where we'll learn about more musical customs and give you an introduction to some of the more dangerous and predatory moonbat species! Cheerio!

Also, if you enjoyed this coverage please take a moment to learn about how you can indirectly support these non-profit efforts by giving to help Marines fighting in Iraq. Learn about the drive here, and donate today. Seriously.

A good rule in politics is that anyone who picks a fight ought to be prepared to finish it. But having first questioned Mr. Bush's war service, and then made Vietnam the core of his own campaign for President, Mr. Kerry now cries No mas! because other Vietnam vets are assailing his behavior before and after that war. And, by the way, Mr. Bush is supposedly honor bound to repudiate them.

We've tried to avoid the medals-and-ribbons fight ourselves, except to warn Mr. Kerry that he was courting precisely such scrutiny ("Kerry's Medals Strategy," February 9). But now that the Senator is demanding that the Federal Election Commission stifle his opponents' free speech, this one is too rich to ignore.

What did Mr. Kerry expect, anyway? That claiming to be a hero himself while accusing other veterans of "war crimes"--as he did back in 1971 and has refused to take back ever since--would somehow go unanswered? That when he raised the subject of one of America's most contentious modern events, no one would meet him at the barricades? Mr. Kerry brought the whole thing up; why is it Mr. Bush's obligation now to shut it down?
Simply because some rich Bush-backers are funding Swift Boat Veterans for Truth is hardly an adequate answer. Some rich Kerry-backers are spending far more to attack Mr. Bush's record, and the Senator was only too happy to slipstream behind Michael Moore's smear that Mr. Bush was a Vietnam-era "deserter."

The "war crimes" canard isn't so easily handled, however. It relates directly to our current effort in Iraq, where U.S. constancy is as much an issue now as it was in Vietnam. Mr. Kerry's denunciation of the U.S. at that time presaged a career in which he has always been quick to attack the moral and military purposes of American policy--in Central America, against the Soviet Union, and of course during the current Iraq War that he initially voted for. It's certainly fair to wonder if Mr. Kerry will have the fortitude to fight to victory in Iraq if he does win in November. Or will he call for retreat the way he and so many other liberals did when Vietnam became difficult?
The irony here is that a main reason Mr. Kerry has focused so much on Vietnam is to avoid debating Iraq and the rest of his long record in the Senate. He wants Americans to believe that a four-month wartime biography is credential enough to be commander-in-chief. But a candidate who runs on biography can't merely pick the months of his life that he likes--any more than a candidate who makes Vietnam the heart of his campaign can confine the resulting debate to his personal home video.

(Emphasis mine)

(Via Florida Cracker)

Kerry campaign headquarters.

It is from this conference room that John Kerry plots the destruction of the American way of life. When I walked in, I immediately distracted the man-secretary by asking politely for the tickets, all the while surreptitously snapping a precious few reconaissance photos. The quality was low because I had to move quickly; the Kerry-ites fast became suspicious as my Republican flesh began to smoke and sizzle from its close proximity to the source of all that is liberal and French-looking.

This was the centerpiece on the right-hand wall in the lobby. I think it's designed to remind people of something, though I'm not sure what.

Misty, watercolored memories: To the left of the desk, some helpful photos.

After grabbing the tickets, taking some pics and weathering some looks of mild suspicion, I beat a hasty retreat. But was I really safe, or was I merely leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire?

I arrived at the site of the rally almost an hour early, and walked by some activists protesting on the sidewalk before the event.

WE INTERRUPT THIS POST FOR A DISCLAIMER: I loosely consider myself a Republican, but I am also pro-choice. Before anyone gets their panties in a wad in the comments section after this post, please try not to confuse criticism of the messengers with that of the message. I refuse to do a long treatise on the subject during this post. Thank you.

Bubba Sparxxx, DCMPD and three "sunufabitches."

Security, security, security.

I found the security tent a bit lacking. I'll skip the details for national security purposes, but I'm pretty sure that I could have snuck in with a beltload of Semtex and a cellphone detonator ...

Along the back street behind the rally, the Secret Service parked a fleet of greyhounds to block snipers. The logistics involved with repeatedly setting up events like this boggles the mind.

The Pro-Choicers gather in front of the stage.

I staked out a nice spot almost immediately in front of the podium, second-row.

"Girls Gone Wild: John Kerry Pro-Choice Rally!!"

The pro-choice groups were handing out shirts at the event, and rally participants felt the need to immediately change into them, showing disturbing quantities of flesh, including some brief shots of woman and man-boobage. I felt like I was at Burning Man or the Love Parade, except there was no MDMA, and all the naked people were really old and unattractive. The worst of it was blessedly not caught on film.

"But mommy, John Kerry scares me!"
"You'll stop complaining and cheer - it's not too late for mommy to have an abortion, you know!"

Another pistola-packin "sunufabitch."

What is JFK's swiftboat mate holding? A white balancing sheet or a copy of Kerry's plan to fight the war on terror?

The t-shirt on the woman in front of me ... evidence of insidious foreign influence?

This lady was a load of laughs. She had to go to the bathroom about thirty minutes after staking out her prime groupie spot for the rally, and proceeded to shout at every worker that walked by "Where bathroom! WHERE BATH-ROOM!"

Otherwise, the following snippets were overheard while mixing in the crowd:

* Rallyguy: "I'm actually from Midland, and I met Bush. He's a real personable guy, real nice. He's just an idiot."

Rallyguy: "It ain't hard to get all C's."

* (Chants) "Pro-choice! Pro-Kerry! Pro-choice! Pro-Kerry! Pro-choice! Pro-Kerry! (chant stops, pauses) God I wish McCain would have run ..."

But McCain's pro ... oh nevermind.

* "I bet all the Democratic Secret Service people love him to death ..."

* Rallygal2: "Did you see those Pro-Life trucks around the block? Those pictures are really gross ...

Rallygal3: Yeah, that's what they WANT you to think ..."

* "Whatta we want? CHOICE! When do we want it? NOW!" (Rinse, lather, repeat)

Once again, Bill considers selling out the defense of Western Civilization for the siren song of a treasonous enchantress. Snap out of it boy! Concentrate!

The crowd makes some nooooise!

Here he comes ...

Bonjour! Le Sénateur John Kerreeee!

Some of the many faces of John Kerry.

This illustrates why I feel pity for politicians - because at every moment, every event, there's some asshat like me constantly snapping photos in an attempt to catch them doing something dumb. This is the third time that I've been in close proximity to the senator, and he's well-represented by the impression that you get on tv: somewhat awkward, but also imbued with quite a bit of natural confidence. That being said, some of his "uh-huh" faces were rather amusing. I've never seen Dubya, but I'm sure that watching him has its own special entertainment value.

Video of the rally can be found here.

Representatives of NARAL and Planned Parenthood.

Both of their speeches were hyperbolic and included the assertions that choice was the most important issue in the campaign, and the most fundamental issue that determines the state of women's civil rights - worldwide!

Um ... stoning of women in the name of Islam? Acid attacks on women? Female circumcision? Give me a fucking break. Making the assertion that abortion is a key issue for women in the US is highly arguable; projecting your self-centered focus on abortion to the rest of the world is foolish.

I had to shake my head. These people wouldn't know a fundamental issue if it smacked 'em in the face. We all have our predilections and pet causes, but I was struck by the cliched realization that many folks' entire political belief structure is based around total party allegiance that stems from only one or two issues. It's understandable, and I don't expect that a pro-choice activist would be very pleased with Bush, but the relative importance of mild erosions in access to abortions seems to pale in comparison to the threat of the inevitable nexus of WMD and terror.

These folks agree about the fact that we're at war; they're just a bit confused about who constitutes the main enemy to their way of life; especially concerning the rights of women. If you bought what they were selling, you'd think that George Bush was on the cusp of introducing legislation that would institute mandatory burkha-wear in public schools.

Kerry finally speaks. You are getting sleepy, very sleepy ...

He wasn't the worst that I've ever heard him, but it was definitely stale. Notice the looks of carefully projected interest and satisfaction on the faces of the son and the holy spirit. Now watch as their expressions change ever-so-slightly ...

... when shouting erupts from the right of the crowd in front of the stage.

Good Catholics don't kill children! Good Catholics don't kill children!

To his credit, Kerry only paused for a second, imperceptibly shook his head and pressed on. From my vantage point I could only see that members of the crowd were forming a wall with their placards to block the voices and line-of-site of the party-crashers. Drawn by the conflict, I immediately ferreted over to their position.

This is a confusing image, but focus on the red circle placard in the center; behind it is the face of one of the protestors. The woman in the pink shirt to the left is the other one. What were most likely NARAL representatives linked arms and formed a human chain around the two people, dragging them towards the exit.

You can make out the guy's face with the placard over his mouth.

This is a good shot. The protestors are the man in the blue and the woman in the pink.

Freedom of the press silenced! Witness the crushing of dissent in John Ashcroft's America!

I was following the surge along, trying to snap pictures on a failing battery, when I felt a push and saw a hand in my face. One of the women in the foreground of one of the previous shots began blocking me and shouting:

"You can't take pictures of that!"

I immediately lost it. I'm not sure what pissed me off more - their attempt to block the photos or the fact that she put her hands on me.

Me: (with quite a bit of aggression) Get your hands off of me right now, and yes, I can take pictures!

Her: Are you with THEM?!

Me (Pushing past her and continuing to snap away): NO, I'M NOT WITH THEM!

Her (Continuing to follow me): You can't take pictures of me, I've gotten death threats, been on death lists!"

Me: I don't want to take pictures of you, and you're going to be on another one in a second if you don't get the Hell away from me ...

She finally fell off my scent and melted back into the crowd. I tried to get some better long shots, but the battery was almost done now; I had to keep turning the camera on and off to mine the last bit of juice. At points the dragging was more dramatic than these pictures may indicate.

A final shot of the NARAL gals doing the "Kerry-Katch-Em" ...

It's of course understandable that these people had to be removed, but I'd be curious to know the legality involved with the crowd forcibly removing them. I was surprised that they weren't asked to leave by professional security personnel. An amusing footnote - I spied one of the secret service dudes on the perimeter chuckling about the hub-bub.

Pro-Life protestors were circling the block with blaring loudspeakers and graphically-adorned trucks.

I disagree with these people; I think that the reality of life renders abortion as a much less black-and-white issue. That being said, if one has strong religious convictions that define the beginning of valid life as taking place at conception, I can understand the vehemence of their argument. I disagree, and personally find the rhetoric of these folks scary; but I understand. Somewhat. This issue will merit a more specific consideration in a forthcoming INDC post.

I'd had enough and my adrenaline was surging. I'd been slightly annoyed by the hyperbolic rhetoric, put to sleep by Kerry's cadence, amused by the musings of the crowd and filled with white-hot anger at being pushed and blocked by the NARAL woman. Definitely time to go home.

I kept an eye on the news coverage last night, and I don't think that any major outlets made mention of the disruption. You get the inside scoop here at INDC.

This guy looked at me on my way out - yeah Sparky, people do suck.

Update: A fellow weblogger has more details on protestors forcibly removed from the event that you may want to read.

Bob Dole is a bastard. Bob Dole is a whore. Bob Dole loves Viagra and Bob Dole loves him some good dick.