What is the relevance to the current political climate of public nudity in an organized, public event? It seems like a bit of a stretch, but now, after a month's reflection and discussion, I think there is a clear connection. This is another one of my seemingly pointless, rambling diatribes. Hear me out, though. I promise that the dry, didactic narrative will not be bereft of titillation. If you like sex, this might even be a good read. Still, I'll try to make a point.
Naked bicyclists led the blatantly pagan summer solstice parade. They were not just a handful of bedraggled exhibitionists as in previous years, but numbered in the hundreds. It took ten minutes for them all to pass by. I was stunned, hardly able to contain myself in the effulgent joy of gazing at so many beautiful, sexy women in the buff, leisurely pedaling along in loose formation. There were two or three men to every woman, but what red-blooded guy looked at them?
Something was clearly different this year. There seemed to be no police presence at all, and thus no threat of arrest for "public indecency". Having parked some distance from the parade route, I noticed on the walk in that the gendarmes had set up a perimeter at least two blocks away. Was this a negotiated protocol to allow for the buck-naked frolic without confrontation? Hmmm....
Before the parade, the insouciant cyclists formed up into a pack at a stop light a couple of blocks from the start of the parade route. I couldn't believe how many there were; they just kept arriving and bunching up. The nude mob was relaxed and convivial, chatting amicably without regard for their dishabille. My crew, the girlfriend and two teenage children, tarried with me across the street to gawk. Most of the riders had extensive body paint applied in lieu of clothing. This did obscure their nakedness, but not entirely. Supple, pointy, jiggling titties and matronly, slogging udders alike were nonetheless bare breasts, even if they were liberally smeared with blue or purple pigment. Electric green, yellow and magenta frosting could not deflect one's recognition that the triangle at her crotch was not a bit of fabric for modesty's sake but a brazenly unshorn thatch of thick pubic hair. I could not contain my glee, even muttering to myself about how cute this one or that one was.
Finding a station to view the procession was difficult, but once done, allowed us a good view. As the cyclists began to pass by, they began to stretch out the distance between each of them such that there was enough room to wind and amble about, circling back and passing through their fellows. They laughed and called to the crowd, exulting in their flamboyant display. Some taunted the crowd, "Come, join us!" A few onlookers did, doing a hurried, impromptu striptease before dashing on foot into the circling flock of cyclists, running around a little, then rejoining their friends on the sidelines and sheepishly putting their clothes back on. Most remained attired and cheered the nudists, encouraging them and showing their appreciation.
Significantly, there was no lewdness or vulgarity exhibited by the cyclists or the crowd. More than approving, there was a general sense of admiration for their bold statement of personal freedom. I, and I suspect many others, yearned to be one of that hedonistic throng, throwing off the shackles of inhibition and reveling in the liberating rush of fresh air and sunlight on bare skin.
Having no clothes on at all is more different from wearing a skimpy bathing suit than one might think. If you've ever stripped at a nude beach, you know what I'm talking about. Wearing nothing at all in public can be an intoxicating, liberating experience. Curiously, instead of feeling vulnerable or ashamed, one becomes bold and feels a surge of spiritual power. One feels that paranoia and fear can be cast aside as easily as one's garments. The solution to world's problems seems simple. The ideas that we should love rather than hate, join with rather than recoil from, nurture rather than exploit, and heal rather harm become obvious.
Everyone there was getting into this spirit. It was a love-fest and the keynote of nudity amplified the message. Be free! Wage peace! Stop the madness! Oh, yes. It was getting political. Many of the marchers following the bicyclists bore signs, banners and sashes with pertinent slogans. Huge carnival figures animated by acrobats on stilts or teams of puppeteers depicted Bush, Osama bin Laden, and in a masterful mixed metaphor, Barack Obama as a swarthy, lanky, jug-eared Uncle Sam.
I didn't see any McCain figures. There were no signs, stickers or buttons supporting the former POW or any Republican. It's as if the presumptive nominee of one of two viable political parties had vanished. Of course, Republicans and McCain supporters abound in this city, but they seem to have shunned to solstice parade, tittering behind drawn window shades about the immoral, depraved spectacle. Their absence was sensed and people shouted out their growing sense of impending victory. The crowd was huge, bigger than ever before, and the sense of being part of a growing movement, a new order that will soon sweep into power, was heady and invigorating. This confidence was palpable. An Obama presidency has abruptly switched from being a liberal pipe dream to being the most likely outcome. What a difference a year makes.
While pondering the significance of this definitely skewed sampling of political sentiment, I considered others in the parade. The creative visions of the graphic and performance artists enthralled me. A skilled dancer on stilts, costumed as a praying mantis and elaborately painted in luminescent, jewel-like polychrome, eerily mimicked the body movements of the insect on a gargantuan scale. A small herd of reindeer pranced and gamboled, each one a single, costumed dancer with false hindquarters and legs extending behind. They looked like real reindeer! A quartet of Dionysian revelers, two men and two women, all extremely fat, swanned about in togas, crowned with wreaths, bearing wine goblets and grapes. They had found the one character they could portray with complete believability! It was amazing how many people "got it right". Even the pair of fortyish drag queens, one with a goatee, in 70's vinyl miniskirts and go-go boots, topped by huge B52's-style beehive hair-dos, seemed to be right on the mark.
The phalanx of female African dancers stepped, swayed and gesticulated in unison to the throbbing beat of a squad of drummers borne on a float. Mostly Caucasian, the dancers nonetheless conveyed an authentic air of tribal celebration. A few of the younger women were bare-breasted and flaunted their youthful, pert titties with audacious abandon. Beads of sweat formed on their oiled skin as they shimmied and strutted down the street. Their nipples protruded in the excitement and euphoria of freedom. Vicariously, I too felt free. My girlfriend and I hugged and kissed. At times, the crowd chanted and clapped in time with the drumming, "O-BA-MA, O-BA-MA!" It was a wonderful day to be an American.
Did I mention that there was no violence or strife? No police were there to keep order, but no one made trouble. Have you ever heard of a fistfight on a nude beach? Right. People who would make trouble for others won't go to artsy-fartsy events like a solstice parade.
Only effete, doily-sniffing, white-wine-sipping intellectuals and bohemian subculture denizens could be interested in this. Wrong. Most of the people there seemed quite in the mainstream of the public. They (we?) were digging the scene and getting into the spirit of the day. I had the epiphany that the politics of joy had seized the upper hand. The politics of fear, characterized by xenophobia and general misanthropy, were about to be eclipsed. Regular people, workers and business people alike, were ready to end war, poverty and hunger. We want to have universal, free health care, child care and old age care. We want to work and share in the good life we create with our labor rather than scratch out a miserable existence for the sole purpose of supplying unimaginable wealth to a tiny, select few. All someone had to do was give us some hope of having those things and we would throng to his banner.
If you have witnessed a recent incident that shows any kind of similar groundswell of support for John McCain or the Republican Party, please recount it. It's getting to be that I can't even find anyone who will admit that they plan to vote for McCain. I have to ask myself, "How big a landslide is this going to be?" The way the news media are trying to present McCain as a viable contender is getting to be almost pathetic.
What's my point? Well, if legions of naked and semi-nude hippies are flocking to the streets to chant, "O-BA-MA," that's one thing, but when thousands of smug, button-down, up-tight, yuppie geeks are enthusiastically cheering them on and chanting the same thing, you've got a real movement going.