Shouts and Support
Protests and surging polls reflect two views of the war
The day after America went to war, a lanky college student in shirt sleeves strolled through a cool and damp Harvard Yard holding up a sign that summed up the feeling of many protesters around the country: "Shocked, But Not Awed."
His sign was joined by others as the crowd grew to about 2,000: "Regime Change Begins at Home," "The Only True Defense Is Peace," and a blast from the past: "Draft Beer, Not Boys." A lone counterprotester held up a sign reading, "I Support Our Troops." Seeing it, Lexy Vanier, a 21-year-old junior from Pittsburgh, said: "I support our troops so much, I want to bring them home right now."
As the TV networks filled the airwaves with pictures of bombs falling on Baghdad, Americans struggled with an array of emotions and a range of reactions. The Oscars did without the red carpet, Lisa Marie Presley dropped a promotional tour, Major League Baseball called off a two-game series in Tokyo, the Washington, D.C., marathon was canceled, and the stock market surged in anticipation of a quick and victorious war. Most Democratic presidential wannabes either scaled back their campaign appearances or modified their tactics. "I'm not going to back off my criticism of the president's policy, but I'm certainly going to change the tone," Howard Dean, the usually feisty former governor of Vermont, said. "There won't be the kind of red-meat remarks that you make in front of partisan Democratic audiences." At a hockey game in Montreal Thursday night, fans booed the playing of "The Star-Spangled Banner." America got its revenge, however: The New York Islanders beat the Canadiens 6-3.
Antiwar protests erupted across the nation, paralyzing city centers. In San Francisco, more than 1,300 people were arrested Thursday, the highest number for one event in 22 years. In New York, Times Square was shut down, and 36 people were arrested. Traffic was snarled in Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, and Washington. There were protests at high schools and on college campuses in several states. And at the University of Florida, Nancy Parkinson, 62, dusted off her peace-sign necklace from her anti-Vietnam War days. "I thought I would never have to wear it again," she said.
In many cities, counterdemonstrators also showed up: In Cleveland, Dennise Linville, 33, held up a sign calling President Bush a hero. "I have children, and if this is not taken care of now, in five or 10 years they're going to be the ones who will have to go in the military and take care of it," she said.
Not all the passion came from the streets; some came from the floor of Congress. Sen. John McCain, Republican of Arizona, said, "I wish American forces in Iraq every hope for rapid victory. They fight for love of freedom." But West Virginia Democratic Sen. Robert Byrd said hours before the bombing began: "Today I weep for my country. . . . Around the globe, our friends mistrust us, our word is disputed, our intentions are questioned. We flaunt our superpower status with arrogance."
Vox populi. Yet according to three post-invasion polls, a majority of Americans quietly approved of President Bush's actions. An ABC- Washington Post poll placed Bush's approval rating at 67 percent; a CBS- New York Times poll said 62 percent of Americans thought the United States did the right thing in invading Iraq; and a CNN- USA Today -Gallup poll found that 70 percent of Americans thought the nation took military action at the right time.
Influencing public reaction, perhaps, was the ability of Bush to link Saddam Hussein to terrorism, especially of the September 11 variety. In his address to the nation from the Oval Office, Bush said: "The people of the United States and our friends and allies will not live at the mercy of an outlaw regime that threatens the peace with weapons of mass murder. We will meet that threat now, with our Army, Air Force, Navy, Coast Guard, and Marines, so that we do not have to meet it later with armies of firefighters and police and doctors on the streets of our cities."
Still, in Tucson, Ariz., while the war dominated daily discussion, the threat of terrorism seemed far away. "I'm not worried at all," says Joe Davey, 38, a financial planner, who, with his wife, Julie, has two young children. "I would be a bit more concerned about terrorists if I were in Washington or New York. It's a good time to be a Tucsonan." A strong supporter of the war, Davey hung an American flag from his carport the day Bush gave Saddam a 48-hour deadline to leave Iraq. "After this war, I think you're going to see the populations in Middle Eastern countries turning on the terrorists' networks," he says.
Blanca Villa, 49, works for Cochise County in the town of Bisbee, Ariz., 4 miles from the border with Mexico. She has two cousins who were sent to Kuwait, one a reservist who was called up and the other in the regular Army. "I'm sure President Bush is seeing the real problem; I believe him," she says. "But I just think . . . maybe he should . . . I don't know if this war is absolutely necessary. I can't say we couldn't have had more negotiations."
She also worries about the strain on U.S.-Mexican relations because of Mexico's reluctance to join Bush's "coalition of the willing." "I know Mexico is a peaceful country, and I understand their position," says Villa, who was born in Mexico and became a U.S. citizen as a child. "But I really think Mexico should be standing by the U.S. at this point."
Near the other border, the airstrikes on Baghdad dampened Vermonters' excitement over the University of Vermont Catamounts' first-ever participation in the NCAA Division I men's basketball tournament. And it edged out the frustration of the 2,400 maple sugar makers as they waited for daytime temperatures to reach the upper 30s, allowing the sap to run and sugaring to begin in earnest for the estimated annual production of some 500,000 gallons of maple syrup.
"My wife and I talk about what we will do if New York City is hit with a `dirty bomb' or a briefcase nuclear device," says Todd Rawlings, 36, housing program coordinator for the city of Burlington. "What effect would it have on us in Burlington? New Yorkers would be leaving the city, heading north. If radioactive materials are blown up here, where would we go?"
Soldier's story. In the nation's midsection, one lunch hour in Indianapolis brought a small group of protesters to the bottom of the steps leading up to the Soldiers and Sailors Monument, erected in 1902 to honor Indiana's war dead. Scores of downtown office workers sat on the wide steps, enjoying the springlike sunshine as they ate their brown-bag lunches. As the protesters stood holding their signs, a soldier in Army fatigues, boots, and a black beret approached with his girlfriend, preparing to eat the hot dog he bought from a street vendor just a few feet away. As he climbed the steps, the lunchtime diners broke into applause, some even cheering him as he and his girlfriend sat down together about 50 feet from the line of protesters.
The young man was Sgt. 1st Class David Bowling of the Indiana Army National Guard. Bowling, 34, of Indianapolis, said he thought the crowd's applause was "pretty cool" but also that he bore no ill will toward the protesters. "I celebrate their right to protest," he said. "I don't agree with them, but I celebrate their right. It's what we're all about in this country." With a smile, he added, "I'd like to go shake their hands, but my girlfriend won't let me."
With Terence Samuel, Reed Karaim, Emily Guziak and David S. Powell
This story appears in the March 31, 2003 print edition of U.S. News & World Report.