Not a pro-health insurance company thug
If you peek over at the sidebar, you’ll notice that my photo is a copy of Norman Rockwell’s Freedom of Speech. I’ll turn the description over to driftglass:
He’s nervous. Really nervous.
By his tan and his hands and his clothes, you can tell he’s a working man. Everyone around him is wearing a tie; his collar is open.
Those are his remarks there in his pocket, which he probably spent a long time writing out, tossing out, and then rewriting.
He probably told his family that tonight he’s gonna go down to the meetin’ and give those Big Guys what ‘fer.
His wife was probably very proud of her man; he can swing an ax or drive a dozer, but he’s never been too good with words. Maybe she helped him with his remarks; maybe he didn’t want his woman to see him struggling with something that he has trouble mastering.
…now he’s there, in his laborer’s clothes, and all his neighbors are looking at him, and his wife and kids and the warm comfort of his home are across town.
He grabs the pew in front of him for dear life; sinks his nails into the wood.
It’s something solid. Something real. He perhaps gains strength from hanging on to something hewn and boned and made straight and true by honest hands. This is something he understands in his skin.
This, and that come what may, he’s a goddamned American Citizen, and has every right in the world to be there, to stand, and to be heard.
When did we forget that?
His remarks – toiled and sweated over as much as anything he’s done at any job site – stay rolled up in his pocket.
He doesn’t need them.
All he has to do is plant his feet, stand straight, tell the truth like he sees it, and speak from his heart.
Then there are the insane anti-health insurance reform ranters, put into proper perspective by this cartoon:
The pro-health insurance company ranters aren’t the victims, but the victimizers.