Exposed to Hate

Originally posted on Steve Thorn Blog 02-03-2008

I held the American flag in my hand today.
It was cold this morning and it chilled to the bone. The wind was crisp, making it a perfect medium for voices shouting in hate.
The violence that pulsated beneath everyone's skin could have split open at any moment. The protestors held signs of hate, -- bigoted, simple-minded, messages that were created only to raise spite. They have an agenda, and pass it on through their need to spew hate, and fill their coffers through banal lawsuits -- because in America, freedom of speech is guaranteed. To force someone to hamper your freedoms can get you notoriety, press and lawsuits.

This morning was the funeral of Maria Lauterbach, the pregnant Marine that was allegedly raped and murdered by Cesar Laurean. Outside the church, down the street from the line of veterans holding flags along the whole driveway of the church, were masses of people united for two purposes: To honor the memory of Maria Lauterbach, and not let the Westboro Baptist Church disturb the solemn event.

Whenever the WBC is involved, though, there is a disturbance. It is inevitable. Emotions run high. Veterans and soldiers and proud citizens are all susceptible to the emotions that come forth when you have a small group holding signs that drip vile messages against people of which they have no knowledge. The voices of hate can then come from both sides.

Valerie (saintly-patient, beautiful wife) and I were in Vandalia this morning. We walked over to the crowd on the sidewalk and were immediately asked if we wanted flags to carry. We waved them proudly, rose them high as traffic drove by honking at us. Nestled within the crowd was a small area roped off with yellow tape. Two police officers were protecting four protestors within their own little island, as they were draped in flags that scraped the ground, held picket signs that said things such as Semper Fi Fag, Maria Burns in Hell, and other rubbish guaranteed to spark emotion.

Part of the mob split and moved directly across the street from them. The yelling began. Back and forth. The tension all around was nearly a physical apparition. I have never experienced anything like that.

From the church I could see two lone Army soldiers striding our way with severe intention in their step. They came up and across the street, straight to the WBC. The police stepped in between and routed them with quiet words before they crossed the police tape. The soldiers came around behind them and joined with our crowd. Reporters gathered, getting their spin on what was happening. These were two soldiers that had come from Detroit to pay their respects. Three friends that had deployed to Iraq for 15 months, only two returning as one was buried in Ypsilanti. They came to honor Maria Lauterbach, but when they saw the signs of the WBC they couldn't let it go. I am not sure of what their intentions would have been if they had been left to their own actions. They spoke frankly to the cameras and reporters without censoring their words. They were proud men upset with the hatred.

We rallied against the hatred. Songs were sung loudly to chase away the dark words. Flags were raised high with pride.
They packed up and left.
I don't know if they were leaving to get to the cemetary or if we had helped in not letting Fred Phelps and his little cult spread their disease to the friends and family of Maria Lauterbach. I believe they might have had a rough time getting anywhere in good time. There was quite a crowd that followed the WBC crew as they left encircled by a small gauntlet of police officers protecting their rights and safety.

I want to applaud the Vandalia Police Officers for acting so professionally during an event that could have turned chaotic and violent at any given moment.
I want to applaud the veterans and the crowd whose pride would not let hatred defile a family's mourning.

I held the American flag in my hand today.