One hundred seventy three days after four ordinary civilians armed with laptop computers hunkered down in a Eureka Springs living room to Google the subject, the first Domestic Partnership Registry (DPR) in Arkansas became a reality on June 22, 2007.

Three hundred and fifty three days later, Jan and I traveled to Washington, D.C. to talk about Eureka's DPR at the 2008 ACLU Membership Conference.

I didn't think I was going to make it through the security checkpoint at Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport.

There we were, shuffling along behind a line of people who deferentially presented their papers to an officious official behind a podium bearing an enormous, glittering «Department of Homeland Security» seal.

Homeland? What country is this? There's something about referring to the United States of America as «the Homeland» that's always been a mite too Stalin-esque for me.

When I see someone with a «Homeland Security» seal, I either want to bang a clenched fist to my heart and cry, «God bless the Homeland, Comrade! Long live Bush!» or I want to break into the old Cheech and Chong routine, «But I can't sign ze papers! You have put your zigarette into my eyee-e-e-e-e!»

I managed to fight both impulses--barely. After a thorough inspection of my person and papers, the Airport Commissar decided I was insufficiently threatening to be an enemy of the state. He waved me on with a dismissive gesture....

Where I encountered the pitiful sight of people compliantly removing their jewelry and shoes and shuffling through the phalanx of Homeland Security commissars, all of whom were waving wands and rubber-gloved hands, barking orders. «You! Stop right there! I'll tell you when to go! Take that laptop out of its case. All the way out! This bottle of lotion is not permitted! Give me that mouthwash!»

I had a moment of inner rebellion. «What the hell?» I thought, «This is ridiculous. I'm going to a meeting about civil liberties. By gum, I'm not going to take off my shoes! What's next? 'For your own safety, please remove your jewelry, shoes, gold teeth and dentures, then step to the left for the disinfection procedure?'»

So I marched towards the walk-through enemy-of-the-state detector. «Stop!» A large woman whipped both rubber-gloved hands up, palms out, in a commanding gesture. «You!» she snapped, «Put your shoes on the belt! Step out of line! You!» (pointing at someone behind me), «Step through!»

I briefly toyed with the idea of making a Patrick Henry scene: «Give me my ECCO cognac leather Wave sandals or give me death!»

But then I thought about Jan having to call the ACLU: «Uh, sorry we missed our flight. Kim pitched a fit in security so they're interrogating her about the Eureka Springs branch of al Qaeda. No, no. There's no such thing. But I have to wait and see if they're going to ship her to some former Soviet black site for further questioning. If they let her go, I think we'll just head back to the pig farm and take our shoes off there...but, hey! Thanks for thinking of us!»

I put my shoes on the belt and joined the group dutifully shuffling down the line.

We flew. We landed. We attended the opening festivities of the ACLU membership conference. More about that later. First, there's more about the epidemic of shuffling down the line.

Our hotel was lovely, a few blocks from the White House. We could see the Washington Monument outside our window so we were excited to do a little site-seeing, specifically, the sites that represent the history of the great democratic experiment known as the «United States of America.»

We started our walk at the Washington Monument. As we were strolling beside the reflecting pool towards the Lincoln Memorial, I looked across the pond and saw a woman marching along with a red umbrella. There were about 100 people following her in a line... like baby ducks.

«Look at that,» I said to Jan. «Now there's a funny sight.»

Then we got closer to the Lincoln Memorial... and over here was a man with a green umbrella and a line of baby ducks behind him...over there a woman with a yellow umbrella and a line of baby ducks behind her. «Ah,» we belatedly realized, «Tour guides.» It seemed like the next logical step after the airport security checkpoint. «For your own safety, please remove your jewelry, shoes, clothes and dentures, then follow the umbrella. Stop! You! Get in the red umbrella line! Don't make me get out the taser!»

We laughed at it for a while, in a sardonic sort of way, until we got to the Vietnam Memorial...where the spectacle of thoughtless, mindless baby ducks shuffling by and pawing at the gifts left at the memorial with cotton-candy-sticky fingers was too much callous disrespect for both of us. Jan got very quiet. I teared up. She looked at me, «Are you OK?» «No. Are you?» «No.»

We rapidly fled the park and left the umbrellas and sock-footed baby ducks who gazed blankly at the mute evidence of one of America's greatest tragedies behind... far behind.

We waded into the streets near the Smithsonian and the National Gallery of Art...where we found hordes in matching t-shirts, being herded here and there by junior homeland security wannabes with whistles. «Toot! March over here blue shirts! You! Red shirt! Go back to your line!»

That was Washington, in a nutshell: People blankly marching in formation, wearing matching clothes, following the orders of people with umbrellas and whistles. Oh, and Starbucks. As the «church on every corner» is to the Bible Belt, so is Starbucks to every corner of D.C. The obligatory Starbucks in our hotel exited on to K Street. So, as I sat sipping lattes, I thought about indicted lobbyists.

We cut loose from the national monument scene for a lunch in Chinatown. Lured by a sign that read, «Seafood Restaurant,» we climbed the stairs to an obscure Chinese restaurant on the second floor of a nondescript building.

Tattered, greasy newspaper articles about the owner's contribution to Washington D.C. and democracy lined the foyer. It was two in the afternoon and the place was nearly deserted... just us, an elderly man yelling epithets into the phone in what we assumed to be a heated Chinese dialect... and the other table. Interesting.

There sat an excruciatingly well-groomed woman with steely eyes, making a forceful presentation, punching the air with hands that glittered with diamonds. Two Asian men in suits. Behind them, a large table of deferential aides. All around them, expressionless young men with ear buds and telltale weapon bulges in their custom-cut suits. There was a trade deal in progress.

«State is in on this,» said the steely eyed woman. «We need to get you with the Chamber.» Pause while the steely eyed woman made a call on her cell phone. «We're about done. Get a car and security over here.» Back to the two Asian businessmen, «About the human rights situation, we can take care of that if you'll offer some scholarships.»

We had no idea who any of the people were but, from the context of the conversation, we got the distinct impression that, if we had known their identities, it would have been an occasion for a call to a news tip line. Or, perhaps, Crime Stoppers.

The reality of Washington D.C. versus what Washington D.C. theoretically represents was almost enough to make me lose my faith in the longevity of the Republic. But, then again, there was the ACLU Membership Conference which answered a question I've had for a while, «Where are all the people who are paying attention? Who care enough to defend the principles that founded the U.S. of A?»

Now I know where, at least, some of them are.

We arrived in time for Sunday's opening dinner with featured speakers Arianna Huffington, Jan Crawford Greenburg, Rachel Maddow and the only guy I crush on: Glenn Greenwald, recovering constitutional lawyer/current author and blogger. (No, I don't want his body. But I do love his mind.)

The discussion topic was, «Looking Ahead: Political Realities of a Post-Bush America.» The crowd that I could see, and I couldn't see much of it... huge room, thousands of people... was mixed in every way. Men and women, families, couples, singles, young and old, people of every race and apparent combinations of races. The speakers made their speeches but the best part was the questions from the audience... lots of questions from young people (18-30) along the lines of, «How can I make an impact?» It made me feel a whole lot better about life in the Republic to see so many young people thinking and strategizing for the eons ahead.

I did have two favorite questions and answers. One, «What do we do to protect ourselves from governmental abuses like the ones perpetrated by the Bush administration?» Glenn Greenwald's answer, «The Founders anticipated governments just like this one. The Constitution gives the people the tools to protect ourselves. We just have to use them.» (Well, that's it, isn't it? There you have it.) Greenwald mentioned the I-word (impeachment) and the crowd erupted into cheers.

Two, a man asked, «Why do we use the words the Right has come up with? Like 'conservative?' The people who call themselves 'conservatives' aren't conservative at all. They're radical. They want to make radical changes to the Constitution. Why do we call them 'conservative?'» I have the same question myself, especially since I read ????????Don't Think Of An Elephant!. (Rachel Maddow's answer was, «It's lazy shorthand. It's lazy, but we use the words as shorthand because everybody knows what they mean.»)

Jan's and my part came the next day at a presentation called, «Get Busy, Get Equal: Pushing for LGBT Equality in Your Community.»

Faithful Gay News readers know the story of Eureka's DPR... how four ordinary civilians started the process of creating the first domestic partnership registry in Arkansas... and how the idea was embraced by the city government of Eureka Springs... and how the citizens of and visitors to Eureka Springs carried the idea further, defending the ideal of civil and human rights that the Eureka Springs DPR represents even when, especially when, imported thugs got the strange idea that it was necessary for them to school the progressive and enlightened population of Eureka Springs (and the even stranger idea that they are welcome to do so.)

That was what the ACLU wanted us to talk about, what it's like to just wade out there and do something about a civil rights issue that stresses you out... even if it's only four people, or two, or one. Even if you don't have any experience. Even if you don't have any money to throw at the cause. Even if you feel like everybody is going to think you need a nice, long vacation in a place where the authority figures all around you have white coats and pill cups.

As I would characterize the overall theme of Washington D.C. as «mindless herds in matching t-shirts following umbrellas, shoe-less, guzzling Starbucks,» I would characterize the overall theme of the ACLU Membership Conference with the Nike theme song: «Just do it.»

The other storyteller at our part of the conference was a young woman by the name of Evie Farnsworth who, as a high school student, led a small-party charge to convince the Metropolitan Nashville School Board to add sexual orientation, gender identity and expression to the city-wide school anti-discrimination policy. (At last word, the school board was expected to vote, «Yes.» Because... why? The Nashville students with no experience and no money just did it.)

By the time I left for the land of umbrellas and Starbucks, I was mighty tense and irritable about all the opportunities missed over Eureka's DPR. The last thing I read before I dutifully took off my shoes at the airport was an article about how Eureka's DPR is no big deal. Nothing to see here Move along.

As someone who has spent a fair amount of time earning a living by helping clients capitalize on opportunities... I just want to bang my head on my desk. [whack whack] A little vision please? Step out of the bell jar? Look around? See the possibilities? [whack whack]

But my trip to Washington D.C. reminded me of something important, at least to me:

Business success is dependent upon capitalizing on opportunities. Political success is dependent upon convincing shoeless people in matching t-shirts to follow your umbrella.

The people are supposed to lead the leaders. That's the way our system is set up.

Oh, you don't think the people have the power to scare the crap out of their «leaders» and bring their so-called leaders to heel? Two words: Terry Schiavo.

I came back from D.C. as a believer in the Nike creed, «Just do it.» Something. Anything. Talk about it. Write about it. Blog it. Paint it. March.. hold a bake sale. Ride a horse, naked, down Spring Street, playing a Ukulele..

Whatever your interest, whatever your cause, just do it... because the people in matching t-shirts are hungering to see your umbrella and hear the sweet «toot-toot» of your whistle.

If you don't have the slightest idea where to start, well, here you go. One word with a dot in the middle: aclu.org

-- Kim Ridenour, GNB Staff

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