Many of the scenes from Thursday's inauguration could have been observed four or eight years ago: Metro riders humming patriotic music; Pins, buttons, stickers, and tattoos featuring the president's name plastered all over; A phalanx of moms and dads toting kids and digital cameras; and increasingly imaginative protesters screaming, shouting and muttering their message.
But this year's additions -- slow security checkpoints, miles of street closures and layers of Long Fence -- were a distressing sign of how the war on terror has come home.
When I stepped off the Metro and walked toward the Mall 20 minutes before noon, I hoped to make my way toward the National Mall just in time for President Bush's Oath of Office.
A long line snaked down Independence Avenue near the Air & Space Museum -- so long that I couldn't see the end of it. Citizens were lined up single-file along the street, but blurred into a large mob at the intersection near the checkpoint. I blended into the crowd at the front of the line and faced a wall of ski-capped, flag-draped folks.
I looked at the clock on my cell phone. 11:48. Bystanders are heckling an anti-abortion protester. 12:05. I listen to Bush's speech on my cell phone. 12:14. A group of girls is playing Hokey Pokey (and turning themselves around, because that's what it's all about.) 12:25. I'm glad I stopped at McDonalds to use the restroom. 12:36. I wish I had remembered to bring earmuffs. 12:50. I decide to write this commentary. We still aren't moving. A few folks in the crowd start wondering if "something bad is happening." Only a trickle of attendees were allowed to enter the bright white tent to be scanned and secured.
Occasionally, the crowd surges forward, the way teenagers rush the stage at a concert. As a helicopter repetitively circled overhead, the 12 on my clock slowly morphed into a 1. I was halfway between the intersection and the tent. I realized that my plans to meet up with a friend at 1 p.m. were going to be scrapped.
But suddenly, around 1:20, the huddled, frozen mass began pushing toward the tent in increasing intervals. Five minutes later, a Transportation Security Administration employee was patting me down.
The could-be terrorists, wielding cell phones, hand warmers and fanny packs, were hustled through the tent into the fenced-off festivities along the Mall. Some attendees speculated that the checkpoint was temporarily shut down while the inauguration ceremony was taking place.
With a 90-minute wait, I was lucky. A family behind me -- mom, dad, and three kids, decked out in red coats -- had waited almost three hours. (I felt guilty for a few seconds, but hey, if I had it my way, there wouldn't have been a checkpoint.)
The griping was audible even outside the tent. And the criticisms continued after the tourists from Texas had returned home.
"I think we've struck the balance too far toward security," D.C. Mayor Anthony Williams told the Washington Post the day after the inauguration. "A little more openness is called for," he added.
Let's hope security officials hear the calls. When, God forbid, another terrorist attack occurs on American soil, how quickly will the military-style checkpoints spring up? If this trend continues, we will be corralled and frisked before venturing near the Inner Harbor, Times Square or the Las Vegas Strip. As James Fallows wrote in this month's terror-themed issue of The Atlantic Monthly: "Since the very point of terrorism is to distort our domestic life, the further we go in anti-terror measures, the more we do our enemies' work." He cites the fact that Washington has turned into a "bunker city."
President Bush used the word freedom 27 times in his speech, but I couldn't see it in person, because my freedoms were being curtailed. I wish every American had been standing in line with me on Thursday. They'd have 90 minutes to think about how to balance security and freedom. The scale should be tipped back toward the latter.
Brian Stelter is a sophomore mass communication and social sciences major and The Towerlight's news editor.
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