Here at FamousDC, we not only get tips, story ideas and other inappropriate electronic messages, but sometimes we’re sent very colorful emails from readers who simply want to rant about something that has them all fired up.
The latest submission comes from Travis Hare. And while his story is less of a rant, it’s definitely well worth the read.
Remember, everyone wants their 15 minutes of fame, so if you’ve got something on your mind, fire away at [email protected].
Confessions of a Silver Ticket Survivor
By Travis Hare
While DC pats itself on the back for its bang-up handling of the inaugural events this past week, there are no doubt thousands, if not hundreds of thousands who find they hold a different opinion. By now most of you have heard about the plight of the Silver tickets holders. I, along with my small band of brave, liberal, silver-ticket-baring friends had set out that morning to see the new president, our president, take his rightful place. Yes, it’s true that we were redirected all over the city, being turned away from one check-point after another by a series of misinformed police officers and “organizers.” When we asked police how to get where they told us to go, the most common response was that they had no clue; most were not even from DC. Finally we were all corralled into the Third Street Tunnel, up and over the interstate exit and toward the Silver Gate. Then there were the lines. With only an hour-an-a-half until Obama’s speech, we found ourselves at the end of a line that stretched no less than two-miles from the gate.
We waited patiently, if pessimistic about our chances, to get into the event that we’d all been waiting months for, or lets face it, eight years for. With time running out and the line barely moving, it became clear to most that we were going to be shut out. We had all started the morning off feeling pretty good about the world, waking early, our tickets in hand, new president only hours from being sworn in. We’d crammed ourselves onto suffocating Metro trains, walked miles and miles with little to no direction, and waited in line, tired and cold, but happy and excited nonetheless. Now we saw people passing us by in the opposite direction, waving Silver Tickets at us, telling us to turn back, that the gates had been closed. A collective panic and crushing depression was beginning to fall over the crowd. It was impossible not to feel frustrated, our hard won tickets, our brutal morning, all for nothing? In one last desperate effort, some of us headed for the gate to find out more information. What we found was utter chaos, total and complete. There was no organization, just a massive horde of people – thousands of people – demanding to get in. The fact that we had waited in line at all felt like a cruel joke.
The rest after the jump…
If you have watched the news at all this week, this is pretty much where the story ends – the crowd of several thousand left standing at the gate, locked-out. There was chanting, “Let us in, let us in,” as we waved our tickets over our heads. There was a tense and somewhat dangerous feeling in the air; a mob of desperate, freezing and impassioned citizens demanding that their tickets and dedication be honored, but all to no avail. If you look at the satellite images that have been floating around you can see a relatively empty area behind the reflecting pool at the Capitol, you can see a large blob just outside the gate – and the story ends here. Only it doesn’t.
If you happen to be one of the Silver Ticket holders who was turned away, who gave up the pursuit of getting in, who was crushed by the fact that you were not allowed into the inauguration, perhaps you should stop reading here. It may be too painful. We got in, all of us, thousands of us. Just minutes before the opening convocation, something happened. The great sea of humanity in front us started moving forward, slowly at first and then much more rapidly. We kept going, finding ourselves closer and closer to a view of the Capitol and then all of sudden it was wide open. The area around the Silver Gate had gone from intense security to absolutely no security at all. Had the satellite image been taken a few minutes later you would have seen something dramatically different, all of that open space in front of the Capitol filled-in completely. It wasn’t just ticket-holders either. Several people around me admitted they had no ticket, that they had just been walking past and saw the opening and went for it.
Sometime around the swearing-in, a fear started to creep over me. When I looked over my shoulder to see the thousands that were pouring in behind me, it was hard not to feel a little uneasy. Here we are standing in front of the capital, watching America’s first African American president being sworn-in, the president-elect who has already received the most death-threats in history, standing there during this time of economic collapse, two wars raging – and there is no security. Zero. At the distance we were from the Capitol, an assassination attempt was probably out of the question but what about bombs or random Mumbai-style attacks? People around me began asking others about backpacks on the ground, making sure they had owners. I found myself constantly scanning the crowd, rattled beyond belief at the cannons that sounded after the swearing-in.
As I stood there witnessing history, my fears began to subside and obviously the event was pulled off without incident. It has been hard, however, to listen to news reports of the city and security forces congratulating themselves for a job well done. Quite frankly, they are lucky – lucky that the overwhelming majority of those attending the inauguration of Barack Obama were good spirited, safety-conscious people. Even when situations became tense, when people were crammed together like livestock and being told all their efforts were for nothing, we all somehow managed to keep our cool. When situations like this occur at music and sporting events, people often die. In Washington, DC this week, it was not the police or secret-service that kept the order, it was the people who had come to witness change. After a historic election and a day like this, it is not my faith in government but my faith in humanity that has been restored. Hope indeed.