Access Denied: Pageantry, police and paranoia at the Bush inauguration
by Jessica Chapel

WASHINGTON, D.C. — "It's an inaugural police state," a woman mutters behind me as we wait to pass through an entry to Pennsylvania Avenue. A few feet ahead, a Secret Service agent is desultorily looking through the contents of every handbag and backpack of the people who pass before him. My turn arrives, and barely has Agent #1 begun the search before I'm busted — for a pair of scissors. "Ma'am, please step over there," he tells me, pointing to a table about five feet away staffed by another agent.

At the table, I place my belongings before Agent #2. A bag containing a book, map, notebook and tape recorder, and then my camera bag, filled with the usual equipment. The four-inch hinged blades — part of the gear I carry, useful only for cutting gaffers tape and film — are examined, as is every other item, in every pocket. The Fourth Amendment — that quaint section of the Constitution guaranteeing against unreasonable search and seizure — does not apply in Washington, D.C., on the day of George W. Bush's inauguration as the 43rd president.

Agent #2 looks over my drivers license, pausing on my middle name. "Nine?"

"Nin-ah" I reply. And because he gives no response, I try to explain. "I was born in Germany; that's the German spelling of the name."

"Huh," he says. "When did you become a citizen?"

Inaugurations are the country's first opportunity to assess the new regime. Commentators and citizens alike try to infer the characteristics of the President's next four years based on the day's events and ambience. When Jimmy Carter walked the entire parade route and refused to let "Hail to the Chief" be played, everyone agreed that the country was in for an accessible, unpretentious presidency. George Washington, the man who set the tone and most of the traditions for future inaugurations, refused a carriage, and his insistence on walking to his inauguration made the point that he was an elected official — not a king.

This new George, a "uniter" as he likes to call himself, is being inaugurated after a rancorous election, haunted by questions of legitimacy. For a man facing a nation with half its people skeptical of his right to govern, the message his inauguration sends is important. Yet the Presidential Inauguration Committee made security decisions that were far from generally popular. Rather than let visitors have free access to sites across Washington, D.C., the Committee, in concert with law-enforcement agencies, has opted to close several streets and limit access to Capitol Hill, the Mall and the parade route through "checkpoints." Everyone wishing to enter those areas must queue for entry and subject their bags to searches.

When I arrive in the morning, hundreds of police and troopers awaiting instructions stand on Independence Avenue and 14th Street. Agents wearing jackets marked "FBI Terrorism Task Force" are securing buildings and standing on rooftops. D.C. police and Secret Service agents are manning chain-link fences and blockades. It is impossible to move freely through the city center. I hear people complaining about the lines at checkpoints and the difficulty of moving from the Mall to the parade route or to the capitol.

There are many disgruntled faces on display, as people carrying lawn chairs and umbrellas, hoping to find a good viewing spot for the swearing-in ceremony or the parade, are confronted with yet another dead-end. A man holding a sign that reads "God Bless President Bush" curses when he comes to a blockade on the Mall. "I just want to see my goddamned president," he yells to no one in particular. "Why is that so hard?"

All the security has the effect of implying a president — and by extension, a government — not of the people, but afraid of the people.

"This is what democracy looks like," a group of protesters marching from Dupont Circle to Pennsylvania Avenue chant. And that may be what Bush's inauguration organizers feared.

There are thousands of protesters in D.C., although with the exception of NOW members, few are affiliated with large, well-known groups traditionally considered part of the Democratic Party base. They are small groups, mostly, ranging from a few dozen in number to several hundred. There are Gore supporters, protesters for Mumia Abu-Jamal, civil rights protesters, abortion-rights and pro-life contingents and groups demanding the U.S Navy leave Vieques; there are protesters for electoral reform and campaign finance reform, and even a few people carrying signs that say "Freaky the Clown the President."

There are printed signs and hand-made signs, with slogans that range from the popular "Hail to the Thief" to "We Have Elected a Rich Idiot." There are signs that read "No More Bushes" and signs that resurrect Rutherford B. Hayes' title of "His Fraudulency."

"They're all scummy kids," complains onlooker Meredith Haake, referring to the protesters. Middle-aged, well-dressed, and holding a Yorkie wearing a red, white and blue bow, she is offended by the protesters, by the very presence of the protesters. She and her husband, Dave, who have driven from Atlanta, Ga., to attend the inauguration, have been stoically standing throughout the boos and chants of the protesters that surround them. But when a group starts up a round of "Bush, racist murderer," the couple leaves, even though President Bush — whose imminent appearance had kept them standing in the drizzle for several hours — has not yet passed by. "They're ruining what should be a great day for our nation. I don't understand why they're here anyway. I thought the point of the security was to keep the punks away," Haake says to me angrily. "If it wasn't, then what was the purpose?"

"I'm sad, you know, because they don't want to hear the truth, because they need to hear the truth," Shannon Renschler, a protester, tells me when I ask what she thinks about people like Haake. A young bookstore clerk from Arlington, Va., she's one of the hundreds who are taking part in the rallies being held by the International Action Center, a group calling for racial justice and the abolishment of the death penalty, and to protest the "racial disenfranchisement" of the 2000 election. Their chanting has moved from "Bush, racist murderer" to "Bush is a fraud."

An ABC News cameraman approaches an ICA protester to ask: "Do you know there's 200 cops in riot gear just 30 yards away?"

"Do they know there's about 1,000 of us?" the protester, a "concerned citizen" named Gand (who refused to give his last name), replies. He's not worried, he tells me, about the police, but he is bitter about the security. "The checkpoints have the effect of making the protest groups look scattered and small. It discourages groups from getting too close. It's hard to believe that wasn't the intention."

There is a break in the chanting — an announcement is being made over a loudspeaker, "Can I have your attention, please. Drummers, please be quiet for a few seconds. I need everyone's attention."

All the noise — the drumming, the chanting, and the whistle-blowing; the singing, and clapping, and cheering — drops away.

"I am getting a report the police are coming this way, that they are only a few blocks away."

A noticeable excitement pervades the crowd. All the talk of cops in riot gear massing, the rumors circulating that cops have been seen putting on gas masks — this announcement may mean the cops are finally coming to chase away the protesters. "It's gonna be Seattle!" someone shouts.

"We think this means," the announcer continues, "that Bush is on his way to the White House." There's a disappointed silence from the assembled protesters, and then booing. The chants resume.

Half an hour later, police on motorcycles speed by, followed by press trucks and a black SUV. The booing — and cheering, there are plenty of Bush supporters in attendance at the parade — begins in earnest. A mass of Secret Service agents runs by — not in the sedate jog that might be expected, but sprinting — because Bush's limousine is passing the crowd on Pennsylvania Avenue, and it is going "at least 35 miles an hour" claims Patty Babiak, of Columbia, Md. "I voted for him, I gave money to him, like a lot of others here," she continues, "and he drove by at, like, at least 35 miles an hour. With the windows rolled up."

"Did you see any part of him?" I hear a man ask a woman as they leave the parade area.

"I saw a woman's hand," she replies.

"Oh, you saw Laura then."

It may be pleasant to think so, but seeing a hand does not constitute seeing a person. Bush fulfilled the tradition of walking part of the parade route, although he only went a few blocks, under heavy security, to an enclosed viewing area. Loyalists and protesters alike were disappointed that Bush's limo passed so quickly, and that he did not deign to show himself or wave to the crowd on the rest of the route.

With his two young children, Laurie and Ben, who are clutching miniature American flags, Peter McClain, of Washington, D.C., says to me, "We'd really been hoping to see him. I wanted these two to see the first Republican president in their lifetimes — we're proud, we all should be proud — and it would have made me happy to see the president." He surveys the crowd — the protesters aren't clearing the premises yet — and asks, "What could he have been afraid of?"

E-mail Jessica Chapel at jnc at flakmag dot com