My Date with Mr. Rights, My Weekend with Mrs. Rights Now!
I got distracted by the Washington Monument. I mean, who wouldn’t? I took a picture with my cell phone and captioned it “Pshhh, men. Typical.” I found a police officer and asked him, “Which way to the National Archives?” He directed me back from whence I’d been walking. I mean, there were arrows pointing to the White House, there were arrows pointing to the National Aquarium, the Ronald Reagan Building, the Smithsonian, not a single one pointing to the National Archives. So, I walked back. Small pretzel detour, eyeballed the Internal Revenue Service, thunk some good thoughts to Ms Kagan at the DoJ, and crossed 9th and Constitution Ave wondering how in the world it’s taken me this long to do so.
Finally, I was there. It was a little late in the day, so the line was fairly heinous but, without the glaring midday sun, we stalwart many couldn’t benefit from queue attrition through overheated impatience. And so we all waited, treated to a few low-flying helicopters and entertained by an audio tour available via recorded phone message. I learned all about the exterior of the building.
Finally, I was in. I darted politely to the rotunda, gave a slight nod to the Magna Carta, and listened to a very funny diatribe by one of the security guards about the movie National Treasure (FYI – no secret passages. Suuuuurrrre.). Then, the velvet rope was lifted.
Finally, I saw it. And I whispered – without humor or hesitation – you’re the reason I’m here.
Well, leaving aside the salient connection between my love for RJ and my love for the Bill of Rights, the more tangible reason I’m here in our nation’s beautiful capital is to attend LSRJ’s annual Leadership Institute. Also in attendance, a pantheon of incredible speakers, panelists, and dozens and dozens of dedicated student leaders from law schools all over the country. Our first day was spent in heartfelt discussions, caucuses, working groups, and movement building exercises full of enthusiasm and synergy. As I gazed admiringly at the group of amazing professionals around me, talking about the devastation, the losses, the triumphs, the tools, the next steps and the next waves, I only wish that frail piece of parchment could have seen what I saw.
There’s no small irony in how fragile the Charters of Freedom look, resting in their well-guarded “shrine of democracy,” nor how their words have faded over the years and are near illegible at times. I was incredibly choked up seeing them there, because what they stand for means so much to me, and I was struck by their condition and the unavoidable metaphors it evoked. For I wasn’t surprised to see them so tired-looking considering the way I see them treated (note again that they didn’t even merit an arrow on Constitution Avenue). But seeing all these students from around the country, brainstorming and networking, I know there exists a shield of protection well beyond the nine-inch glass, with an invigorating backlight to make the words continue to glow with the passion and reverent fire that forged them. The next time I find my way to the rotunda, I dare say I may weep again, but this time with hope. Finally.
To echo the shout of the day, Go Go Repro!
Sara Taylor