All the Lonely Fascists


Medea Benjamin notwithstanding, Boston this week has been to angry Seattle-style protesters as Times Square is to porn theaters. The sad little protest cage outside the Fleet Center has become, appropriately, a tiny community performance art theater, were the kids silently impersonate hooded Abu Ghraib prisoners for the photographers while organizers invite journalists to become "embedded reporters." The exits outside the perimeter are devoid of sloganeers, except for the odd chalked anti-abortion message.

Even the Boston Common, that historic protest spot in the sightlines of many major convention hotels (and not far from John Kerry's house), has had just a scattering of sparsely-attended concerts and a lot of bored-looking cops every time I've gone by. Tim Blair was there earlier today, where he watched a singer re-work "Eleanor Rigby":

All the lonely fascists
Where do they all belong?
All the lonely fascists
Where do they all come from?

This was followed by a spoken-word answer to the question at hand:

In a cage administered by the brave Iraqi resistance.

There were six people watching.