Are You There, George? It's Me, Ava.
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By hour three of Ava's birthday rally, the 20 to 30 people scattered across the steps of the Capitol were still going strong. A van with a cannabis leaf and the word "imagine" painted in red, yellow, and green letters was parked in front. Friends of the bands from Birmingham had shown up. Amanda Braddock, 28, wearing red pointy shoes, a preppy yellow sweater, and huge round hipster sunglasses, had driven in after her classes at the University of Montevallo, 1 1/2 hours north of Montgomery. She propped her glasses on top of her head, surveyed the scene, and said to no one in particular, "I always thought a peace protest would be bigger." When pressed, she said that the only other protest she had ever seen in Alabama was "five people—I think they are Quakers, maybe—and they just stand at this traffic circle quietly, and people shout at them. So I guess this is bigger."
A little later, Ava's friend from her homeschool group, Katherine, arrived with her parents, Bob and Shirley Jones, the retired missionaries. All three are Republicans. Katherine was wearing a shirt with a picture of a horse and a quote from the Book of Job about thundering hooves. She explained that her family didn't come for the "politics" of the rally, but because "we have a lot of respect for Ava."
The sky darkened and the Capitol glowed in the pinkish dusk; Ava's mom lit an island of candles on the steps for the troops who had been killed, and everyone held hands in a silent circle around it for 15 minutes. Then Stanley Adkins, the owner of the cannabis leaf van, who had driven up from Louisiana's Gulf Coast, played beautiful bluegrass tunes that echoed against the Lurleen B. Wallace (George's wife, whom he installed as governor after term limits ended his reign) office building across the street. Maggie Louie, a musician, arrived from a gig in Memphis in the middle of Adkins' set. She took the stage, belted out a few songs, Janis Joplin style, before telling the crowd, "In spite of the lack of attendance, all you here muscled it out for five hours. It's awesome! This is one of the few rallies I actually heard of!"
Ian Rhett, the San Francisco songwriter who had also performed at Kerry campaign events, told me, perhaps a bit apologetically, "You see these steps and you think of them being filled with 25,000 people marching in from Selma, all the way down the block. But we live in a different time. The nature of our lives is so mediated."
But most people at the rally—who weren't comparing it to San Francisco or the 1960s—saw it differently. One of Ava's online friends, Bronwyn Scott-McCharen, had driven with her mom five hours from Jackson, Mississippi. She attends what she said is the most liberal school in her region, but still, "There is only one other girl who is real liberal. She's from New Jersey." Bronwyn had worried on the ride over about whether the rally would be "adequate." "I just didn't want us to look stupid," she said. "And considering we are in Alabama I thought we'd be outnumbered by counterprotesters or way too small. But this was a good amount."
Ava later told me that the only otheeltiwar event she had attended in-state was a vigil organized by MoveOn at Auburn University to commemorate the death of the 2,000th soldier killed in Iraq—a vigil attended solely by Ava and her mother. "Ava's small now, but she was a lot smaller then," Tamara added somberly, "because it was over a year ago. She wanted to go so much, but we were just standing there and people were cussing at us—it was pretty awful."
At 11 p.m. everyone helped pack up the leftover pizzas and pick up stray water bottles. Jeremy took Ava's little sisters home in the minivan; Gordon drove the family car back with the tables and equipment; and Ava rode home, mostly asleep, in the used cop car that her mom drives for work, a 1994 Crown Vic with a spotlight still mounted on the side that smells of Virginia Slims.
A Is for Agitprop...
"The first thing I do when starting on a new video is select the music. I think the music is the most important part of a video because it sets the mood. I have always tried to use music that isn't commonly used so that the video is more original and the viewer doesn't have any preconceived notions about the song. Some I get from my stepdad's CD collection; 'Jesus Loves Me' is a song I always sung in church when I was younger and my little sisters sing now, and it fit perfectly with what I wanted to make. I find photos from different news sites that may be featuring an article about the Iraq War. If I see a photo that I think could be used in a video I'll save it. I also Google for images and find many that way. Most of the images aren't really in very high definition (they aren't usually any wider than 500 pixels). I use what I can find and do my best with Photoshop and the video editing program to make sure that the images are as high-def as I can get them. Once I have the music, images, and a general idea of what the video should turn out like I begin working with an editing program, PowerDirector. I choose which images to use and when to use them in the video. I'll add text to help the viewer understand the video and my beliefs about the war, but for the most part I let the photos and music tell the story. My brother, Gordon, helps me with some of the technical aspects of running the website and maintaining the domain name."
-Ava Lowery
Photo: Brian Finke
