Even so, I almost didn't make it, but I made a leap of faith and hoped that the pains I was experiencing would subside. Worst case scenario, they wouldn't and I'd just have to get back on an air-conditioned train and head back home. Fortunately, it didn't come to that and I found innerdoggie and tyrannio with very little trouble.
I don't know much about Indivisible Chicago, but both the organisers and the crowd skewed older in a manner that's become familiar to me over the past couple years. I found myself wondering, if street protests don't appeal to young folk (and they appeal little enough to me), then what might be forms of direct action that would? I hope someone hipper and more motivated than I is working on this question.
In any case, it was the usual mixed bag of speeches punctuated with a sub-sub-Dylan protest song while various shades of Reds circulated among the crowd hoping to make recruits. We warded them off for the most part, though we did allow ourselves to be accosted by an earnest young man canvassing support for granting refugee status to a Lithuanian dissident. He was quite happy to hand us some pre-printed letters to send to our Congresscritters (and which naturally haven't left my bag since).
After a bit more than an hour of this, we headed off south through the financial district (deserted on a Saturday, of course) towards ICE's downtown office. "Close the camps (now)!" and "No hate, no fear, immigrants are welcome here!" were the most popular chants. I thought we'd circle the office for a bit but after passing it we were being routed back north--presumably back to Daley Plaza--so I proposed to tyrannio (innerdoggie having left already for an art class) that we pop into Native Foods for lunch.
There was a brief cloudburst as we talked about food and books and then we went our separate ways. He headed back to Hyde Park, but I decided I needed to get some errands done first. The Verizon staff were very kind but ultimately couldn't do anything to help me close Monshu's account except hand me a phone number. Between the Rack and DSW, I spent over an hour trying things on and left with only two new pairs of shorts.
After that, it was a quiet evening. My neighbours made a brief appearance after sunset and I ran into the Ghostbuster from across the road who needed to borrow a pair of shears. Did any of it make a difference? It's hard to feel that it did. I made a social media post and it got likes, so I guess virtue was signaled adequately. But I crawled into bed under the oppressive status quo that will continue until regime change. And that's the best case scenario.