Editor’s note: This article was submitted by a member of the RPI College Democrats who attended the peace rally in downtown Albany of March 9, 2005.

You can tell a lot about someone by his or her sign. If it is something cliché like “Bush lied, people died,” scrawled in magic marker on the back of a cardboard box, the person holding it is most likely there either because a friend dragged him or her along or that week’s PETA meeting was cancelled. The topical signs are interesting, ranting about the Patriot Act or foreign policy almost as much as the person carrying it, touted by minds with too much to say and too many words to say it in. The signs that really stand out are those that can package a powerful idea in a brief phrase, catching the eye of individuals halfway around the country and forcing them to challenge their world views.

Well, I doubt we had anything like that, but we gave it a hell of a shot. My friend and I quickly threw together some posters in preparation for the Campus Action Rally for Peace in Albany later that day. He announced that “Peace is our Profession,” tying in the dream of a better tomorrow with a brilliantly obscure Kubrick reference. The poster that I created had some bite. “Peace and compassion are my moral values,” it stated, in the technicolor glory that could only originate from the markers in the top drawer of my desk.

The RPI College Democrats arrived to a crowd that took only minutes to swell to several dozen. Half of its ranks were students, and the other half were living relics of protest history. A scruffy middle-aged man yelling through a megaphone in the most incomprehensible way imaginable, believing passionately in whatever he is saying. A woman proudly waving her peace flag in the breeze of the passing cars. A bearded artifact of the ’60s beating the drum under his crooked arm along to the rhythm of the crowd.

As the march began, the crowd surged forward, down the sidewalks of Albany. Signs proudly hoisted overhead, flags flapping through the breeze, chants echoing off the buildings, and police horses trotting away the shifts of the men riding them.

At a protest, or a rally, or anything of the sort, there is an energy buzzing in the air that is never successfully recreated in later descriptions, including this one. A wave of empowerment sweeps over the crowd, transforming us from a ragtag band of dreamers into warriors for social righteousness. Our signs become commandments, our flags become the banners of a real army of compassion, and our presence on the streets becomes an affirmation that the fight for love over hate, good over evil, has not yet been lost. We could collectively focus on a point in the distance, repel the buildings of Albany like an urban Red Sea, and march to victories not for ourselves, but for tomorrow’s world.

The RPI College Republicans joined the crowd, carrying signs that said “Pray for our troops!” and “God bless America!” in pink. Like I said, you can tell a lot about someone by his or her sign.

The march continued, as focused as ever. Road on the left, shift your sign to the left. With someone in front of you, hold your sign up in the air. Keep on the beat of the chant of the moment: “No justice, no peace, US out of the Middle East.” When you hit the curb, don’t trip on the snow. And make sure you are wearing gloves. It’s hard to fight for democracy when you have frostbite!

Some locals look on with bewilderment, wondering why 80 people with signs just marched past their bus stop. Others are seething and stone-faced, taking a drag on their cigarettes for solace. But these reactions are all balanced by the sweet sounds of people laying on car horns in support, energizing us with their piercing tones.

The march ends where it started, in more ways than one. The only change in scenery is a local news camera on a tripod.

I stand between the two groups, and before long the reality of the situation becomes clear. Those acting for the cameras are not here to build a better world, but only to disrupt and whore themselves out for media attention.

The students and protest veterans, oblivious to the world around them, live and die by the principles they hold dear, but are so trapped in their own movement that they cut themselves off from the rest of the world.

As I stand there, with my right side chanting “USA” in a most grandstanding manner and my left side ranting venomously about American genocide, I block it all out and repeat to myself the chant that stuck with me through the day.

“Show me what democracy looks like. This is what democracy looks like.”

“Show me what democracy looks like. This is what democracy looks like.”