It was the summer of 1970 when my father took me on a road trip along the East Coast. We flew to Miami, rented a car, and explored the sights as we drove more or less north. For me, just a kid at the time, this was an amazing trip.
But nothing was quite as amazing as that Fourth of July in Washington DC. A big show was planned for the National Mall, to be broadcast live on TV, hosted by Bob Hope with a star studded cast of celebrities.
A perfect place to celebrate our nation, right?
Well … not so much. At least not in 1970. The country was coming out of the tumultuous 1960’s and the new decade seemed to be more of the same. President Nixon had just expanded the Vietnam War by invading Cambodia, and a few months earlier protestors at Kent State were shot by National Guard troops.
Like many politicians, Nixon focused on the optics more than the root issues. So he pronounced July 4, 1970, as “Honor America Day.”
Yeah, that should do it, right? Just make a patriotic proclamation and our problems are solved, right?
Well … it didn’t go as planned.
I was just a kid so little of this was on my radar. All I knew was we’d see a free show and fireworks. So that afternoon, Dad and I found a nice spot on the grass to watch the show and enjoy the fireworks.
It didn’t take long before we heard chants from a group of protestors. Not a big deal, we thought, it’s Washington DC so peaceful protests happened all the time. At that point our hope was the noise didn’t interfere with the show.
But it grew louder. And seemingly … closer? Yes, definitely closer. We could see the protesters, the long haired hippies as they were typically called. They carried signs and flags, chanted slogans, and smoked funny smelling cigarettes.
Police stepped in as the protestors moved closer to us, and thus closer to the stage, where the show was happening live on national TV. I didn’t see the spark that set everything off, but within minutes of the police imposing their presence we saw violence erupt. This brought out a wave of tear gas canisters being fired into the crowd of chanting protestors.
I was worried, but even more worrisome was my Dad looked worried. “Time to go,” he said.
And that’s when a cloud of tear gas, carried along by shifting winds, swept down upon us. Yeah, definitely time to go! Eyes watering, skin stinging, throat coughing … we ran as fast as we could.
Eventually we escaped the gas and the crowds. Dad found a kiosk selling water, which we used to rinse our eyes. Then we walked back to our hotel with an unrealistic hope of catching the last part of the show on TV.
Have things changed since then? Well, yes, somewhat. But also no.
Politicians still focus on stunts and proclamations more than on real change.
America is still divided between those who stridently insist on change and those who want predictable Bob Hope like specials.
There is still a bias toward violence on both sides of an issue.
There is still distrust, suspicion, and anger.
It’s easy to become a defeatist. After all, the more things change, the more they stay the same, right?
Maybe. Perhaps a better truism for this situation is that history repeats itself. Or, as wise people have sometimes said, history doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.
Right now, I feel like I’ve heard this rhyme before.