RavenscroftArt - "Metaphors for Depression" by Lisa L. Owens

Back in '80 or '81 when I was a 17-year-old freshman, a demonstration was held in the quad at the University I attended. This was during the "war" with Iran. The demonstrators had a little stage set up, with a podium, a mike, and some speakers. I stumbled upon this while going from class to class, just as they were beginning to speak. I stood and listened to these clean-cut, All-American looking, polo- shirt&khakis-wearing young people incite hatred in the audience for Iranian students. (I was younger than most of them, BTW.)

Something had been published in the University newspaper from an Iranian student which somehow criticized America. I never saw the piece, so I have no idea what it said.

I stood in the very back of the audience, shocked and appalled at what these young people were doing. They were working the crowd into a black rage with their hate speeches.

I couldn't stand it. Being young and foolish, and having had no experience with the mob mentality, I spoke up. I yelled and waved my arms until they passed me the mike. I then told them all, in the most tactful and diplomatic yet insistent way, that this is America where we have Freedom of Speech, and that freedom applies to everyone in America, including the Iranian students.

The next thing that happened, well, I should have predicted it. I was hit in the right eyebrow with a rock. A very forcefully thrown rock (I still have the scar). It was followed by many other rocks.

Fortunately a faculty member was nearby; he grabbed me and, sheltering me with his own body, dragged me out of danger into the closest building. As is usually the case in this kind of situation, out of sight was out of mind. I later learned that after I had been taken safely away, the mob turned on some Iranian students who were foolish enough to be there. Two of them were badly beaten.

Interestingly enough, a local TV news reporter was on hand with his cameraman; apparently the organizers of the demonstration had tipped off the TV station. After I quit sobbing, but before I could get cleaned up, the reporter found me. I don't remember anything about that interview except the last question he asked me: "Why did you speak up in defense of the Iranian students?" His tone implied that I was an enemy agent in disguise. My response became something I live by to this day:

"Hey, I may not agree with something you say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it!"