I did not attend Saturday’s military parade in Washington, D.C, or even watch it on TV or watch the news coverage of it. I was hoping it would be a dud, that most people wouldn’t be interested in TFG’s self-indulgent display…turns out, that may be exactly what happened. Charles P. Pierce attended in person, and he wrote down some thoughts that have been published in Esquire including “I have never experienced such a joyless, lifeless, and sterile mass event in my entire life.”
I remember when parades used to be fun—bands, bunting, some big Army boom-booms for the kids to cheer over, every high school bandmaster doing their best Robert Preston cosplay. I remember when they were ceremonies of communal joy. You could mark your calendar by them. Homecoming parades. Veterans Day, which was Armistice Day when I was very young. Macy’s and Gimbel’s and Hudson’s on TV every Thanksgiving and the Rose Parade on TV for New Year’s. Memorial Day. The Fourth of July. All of them were supposed to honor something or someone, provided you could see past the cotton candy.
And then there was this leaden spectacle on Saturday, June 14.
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Grim-faced soldiers, marching past half-empty grandstands, many of them obviously wanting to be somewhere else. No bands. Little bunting. Just piped-in rock music and MAGA hats. If this truly was meant to honor the 250 years of the United States Army, all we got was an endless procession of uniformed troops looking like they’d prefer to have been at Valley Forge. The president, sitting on the reviewing stand in that weird, forward-leaning attitude that he has, rarely smiling, a skunk at his own garden party. Scores of people being funneled through cattle-runs of metal grates just for a chance to sit on the lawn of the Washington Monument and listen to bad music and speeches so dull and listless that they’d have made Demosthenes get out of the business and open an olive oil stand. I think there probably was more good feeling and genuine emotion when they took Jack Kennedy out to Arlington for the last time.
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A lot of the people waiting in line were watching on their phones, watching the coverage of the No Kings marches all around the country. Now, those were parades—laughter and singing and chanting and people in goofy costumes and exotic hair-colors, thousands of them, big cities and small towns. The streets were jammed with people celebrating the hope that this Grand Guignol period of our national life will pass one day. There was no hope in the streets of Washington. Just tanks and cannons and soldiers marching in dead-eyed cadence.
Just a taste; there’s more and it’d be worth your while to give it a read.
