Stuck In The Middle With You: Observing Arizona's Trump Rally & Protests

Right now, we’re living in the middle of a story.  It began with Donald Trump announcing his run for the Presidency of the United States, and it’s destined to end in November.  Until then, we don’t know what the next day will bring.  Sometimes, being in the middle is a frustrating place to be.

In the spirit of being in the middle, on the cusp of the unexpected, I loitered around today’s pre-rally Trump protest, and outside of the Trump rally itself.  The pre-rally protest was at Encanto Park in Central Phoenix.  When I arrived around 1 p.m., thirty to forty protesters were listening to the last of several special speakers.  I heard a Mexican gentleman, via interpreter, describe his unfair treatment from the Phoenix Police Department and a lawyer discuss immigrant rights.  When the sound system started crackling, perhaps as its own protest for having to work in the sweltering sun, the rally ended.

Fortunately, I had enough time to meet and talk to Rob McElwain.  His art hung around the perimeter of the event.  If you’ve driven through downtown Phoenix recently, you may be familiar with his work.  Rob told me he sets up everyday outside of the Wells Fargo building, and hears stories about folks’ experiences with the police and sheriff’s departments.  His protest murals feature caricatures of Sheriff Joe Arpaio and Donald Trump on cardboard canvases, and considering the quantity in his portfolio, I presume his humble resources speak both to budget and portability.  

While Rob and I were chatting, a woman approached and also wanted pictures of him and his work.  She offered us water and said she drove from Chandler just to make sure protesters remembered something to drink in the heat.  Ironically, as we all shook hands and parted from a surprisingly delightful conversation, a friend was commenting on my Instagram picture of the scene that I should be careful.  “They’re known to be dangerous.”  I completely understand his commentary and concern, considering recent stories of protestors’ violence against rally attendees and police.  In this case, my experience was exactly the opposite -- and quite eye-opening.

I’ve long enjoyed protest art and once self-published a zine featuring pictures I’d taken in Hollywood between 2002 and 2006 of anti-war signs, during George W. Bush’s “War on Terror.”  Talking to Rob reminded me, whether you love or hate these works of protest art, the amount of time they spend in the spotlight pales to the hours spent crafting them.  Today, they make a current, significant statement; tomorrow, whether or not their agenda comes to pass, they become pieces of nostalgia at best, or at worst, considering their often hasty construction, just plain trash.  This century has a rich history of beautifully rendered propaganda, from the World War II poster to the tie-dyed peace-stuffs of the ‘70s.  For Rob’s work, and others’ work like his, it’s best to be stuck in the middle.  This is where it thrives.

After the pre-rally protest and a Sonic raspberry limeade (hey, it was happy hour), I found free parking near the Veterans’ Memorial Coliseum, where Trump was scheduled to speak at 4 p.m.  The area was already tagged with anti-Trump art and lined with “Trump Shops” of pro-Donald tees, pins, and stickers.  At 2:45 p.m., traffic was flowing freely and a small cluster of protestors occupied the corner closest to the venue, in the shade of the Fairground’s marquee.  Considering we were only 75 minutes to showtime, I expected more of a to-do.

Standing at the crosswalk across from the protest, a father held his son, all of four-years-old.  The round-cheeked boy had a Trump hat on, and the father looked visibly nervous at the necessity of walking through the chanting crowd.  He was breathing heavily. I aroused small talk until the green man beckoned us forward.  At the curb we parted ways and shared a sigh of relief at the respectful ruckus.  

I will say this about that moment and the entirety of my time among the protestors: They were loud, and in some cases crude, but they never, ever, touched anyone with force or violence.  Trump supporters dwelt and debated among them for the two hours I loitered, and no one from either side crossed the line of confrontation.  I was impressed and relieved -- and somewhat embarrassed that I was impressed and relieved.

Now, what proceeded has left me baffled and is the core reason I’ve decided to document these events.  I self-publish a comic book about uncanny conflict in Arizona, so I dropped myself into the middle of today’s protest to experience, yes, uncanny conflict.  Within the protest, a Trump supporter and a Trump denouncer would loudly debate, with a schoolyard-like crowd circling around them.  Cell phones, news cameras, and voice recorders tentacled the scene, until the argument would end and the combatants would separate, rejoining their clans until the next rabble was roused.  It looked like a rap battle.  Topics were skimmed but the surface was rarely pierced, and if combatants rematched, they didn’t pick up where they left off but remained above the meniscus of truly meaningful debate.

This happened several times every hour, perhaps every ten minutes or so.  The regularity created a rhythm that, without meaning, lacked momentum.  At one point, someone offered to mediate the arguments.  

“Which side are you on?” an anti-Trump protester asked.

“I’m neutral,” the would-be mediator replied.

To paraphrase, the protester responded, “To be clear, nobody hates anybody here.  There are people using Trump’s name to promote hate and racism, which results in people getting killed, and there are people that want that to stop.  If you’re neutral, you’re doing nothing to stop the killing.”  

The villain of the piece, the guy evoking Trump’s name in these frequent face-offs, was wearing a “Fuck Islam” T-shirt.  Apparently, he had been removed from the Coliseum shortly after the doors had opened and was now in enemy territory.  He was the shining example of why we should ignore a book’s cover -- or, perhaps, the danger of putting one book’s cover on another tome.  His arguments were articulate and even-tempered.  He offered the guy dressed as the Democratic donkey (or an in-effigy jackass) water, since the costume undoubtedly amplified the heat.  

At one point, he said to someone wearing a burqa, who identified as a transgendered Muslim, “I don’t care who you worship!  I don’t care if you’re transgendered!  Why should I care what you do with your life?”

Someone pointed at his shirt and shouted, “We think you care because your shirt says Fuck Islam!”

He pointed to the text and replied, “Yeah, because people are using this to kill us!”

That particular round robin ended with the agreement that every religion has extremists.  A few minutes later, the guy hugged one of his opponents. He may have worn an aggressive shirt and I don’t defend it, but, if actions speak louder, he was as peaceful as protesters come. The news won’t report this.  It doesn’t fit their narrative that two parties with such dramatically different opinions could come that close to camaraderie -- that they might, I dare say, meet in the middle.

So, yes, this baffles me.  I’m baffled because, for months, we’ve watched Republicans and Democrats first in Civil War, now on the brink of political battle, with roller-coaster polls rendering all prediction impossible.  I’m baffled because the art I beheld today was evocative without inspiring violence, as we're told it does.  I’m baffled because the arguments I overheard ended on the middle ground of agreeing to disagree, which is more agreement than I ever expected.  I wanted to witness the uncanny.  I ended up feeling hopeful.

In the spirit of being in the middle, on the cusp of the unexpected, I loitered around today’s pre-rally Trump protest, and outside of the Trump rally itself.  Sometimes, being in the middle is an exciting place to be.

When Comics Believed In Kids (part 1)

Kids today.  If they aren't tackling referees during their varsity football games, they're shooting slingshots at traffic on the I-10.  Remember the good old days, when kids could be superheroes, too?

When I think of the Texas high school footballers that tackled that ref, or the 18-year-old "I-10 shooter copycats," I remember my teenaged years and find no relation whatsoever.  I'm not saying I wasn't capable of delinquency, but even my petty pranks had self-imposed limits.  I'd t.p. a house without abandon, but I'd never, say, egg a house.  My philosophy was simple: if we get caught in the act, we should be able to fix it immediately.  Call me a lazy delinquent, but I didn't want to deal with the cops or any other consequences, if I could avoid it.

Today's youth seem to have a different standard.  "If it doesn't get on YouTube, it isn't worth doing."  Society's perpetual quest for celebrity is another topic entirely, but in this context it isn't exclusive from the personal sense of responsibility I'm addressing, and apparently mourning.

Surprise, surprise, I'll use Spider-man as an example.  When Stan Lee and Steve Ditko created Spidey, they sought to establish a character to whom their young readers could relate. So, when puny Peter Parker gets powers, he doesn't take to the streets fighting crime, but he seeks fame and fortune as a wrestler.  That arena could easily be likened to the YouTube or Snapchat of its day, so, in this and so many other ways, Marvel was ahead of its time.

Now, if you know the story, you remember a fame-drunk Peter letting a mugger pass, and this scoundrel soon murders Parker's beloved Uncle Ben.  Spider-man pursues the killer, realizes its the mugger he let escape, and vows to fight crime.  Now, what if -- Marvel fans are familiar with that question, too -- what if Peter had stopped the mugger in the hallway?  Spidey could've pursued his wrestling career and achieved great celebrity with his Uncle Ben alive and well. The responsibility isn't exclusive from the fame.

Lee and Ditko presume that if a youth is capable of realizing his mistake, and willing to spend a lifetime correcting it, he's just that step away from achieving the responsibility in the first place. Peter succeeds a legacy of young superheroes that had it just as hard: Robin, Toro, Bucky, Speedy, Wonder Girl, Kid Flash . . . and that's just off the top of my head. While many of these youngsters were just adolescent echos of their mentors, meant to boost sales, the concept stands: a kid can do just as much good as an adult.

Captain America tested this philosophy every time he broke the fourth wall and encouraged kids to contribute to the war effort by recycling the very comics they just read.  The message was clear: you don't have to punch Hitler in the face.  Help with whatever you have, and, for those kids in the '40s, what they had was comics.  Those kids did recycle their comics, bundling newsprint for the mill like a little newsboy legion (hmm . . .), and while their effort eventually made those old issues scarce and collectible, it also proved them right.  Kids were heroes, too!

If comic books continued this legacy today, perhaps those slingshot wielding copycats, at the legally-adult age of 18-years-old, wouldn't try to deflect and defend themselves as "kids that didn't know better," because we would counter that kids actually do.

To be continued . . .

Who Needs San Diego Comic Con?! It's All About Amazing Arizona Comics!

It's San Diego Comic Con weekend, so I couldn't let it pass without offering some Amazing Arizona Comics hype!  Check out this latest preview of not one but two upcoming stories -- and you decide which will be completed and published first!  The last of these pages gives explains it all, including how to vote via email, but if you're reading this blog, you need only post "Sam" or "Cam" in the comments, and your voice will be heard!  This year, vote for something that actually matters!

Recipients of  my new Amazing Arizona Comics newsletter received this preview first, as a PDF, and if you'd like to be on that list for exclusive comics, previews, and announcements, simply email me and say so!

REAL Amazing Arizona Adventures #2: Walking the Green Carpet

I donned the shell proudly.  One part portable home, one part armor, is there any better way to describe the things geeks love?

Last week, my wife and I walked the green carpet at a special screening of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze, which was followed by a meet and greet with Turtles co-creator Kevin Eastman and actor Ernie Reyes, Jr.  I chronicled the event at Nerdvana, but it's worth mentioning again because this unique experience happened right here in Phoenix.

From left to right: Me, Raphael, Kevin Eastman

I've spent a significant amount of time watching TMNT cartoons and movies, or collecting and playing with TMNT toys, or reading TMNT comics -- all because a couple of guys had an idea back in 1984.  To meet one of these guys in the town of my youth was a truly charming experience.  I'll post a few more pictures from the experience in the coming days . . . all to prove that Arizona is indeed a place where your inner child can come out of his shell once in a while.

REAL Amazing Arizona Adventures #1: The Hunt for the Naked Gargoyle

A few weeks ago, I walked in the shoes of a 1970s balladeer and looked for a demon in the desert.

The unpaved backroads of Paulden, Arizona are a labyrinth of yard sales and sinkholes,  but the romp was worth it to find David Smith’s anatomically correct gargoyle.  When my wife and I heard of the controversial statue on the news, she and I both knew I’d have to find it.  A Google search of the story revealed all of the details about Smith’s 9-foot metal monster, and how the gargoyle’s proportionate male genitalia had upset some of his neighbors, but his exact address was spared, probably wisely.  Still, as a comic chronicler of Arizona’s strangest events, I had to see it for myself.

So, on a warm Friday morning, I took the I-17 northward, continuing on AZ-89 about 30 miles past Prescott, through Chino Valley to the small town of Paulden, which is really just a smattering of homes on either side of the freeway.  Unfortunately, the gargoyle couldn’t be easily found at the end of a trail of running, horrified locals, so I decided to follow yard sale signs toward talkative types that might point me toward the girthy gargoyle.  Just call me Jack McGee.

Three yard sales later, I found the creature, silhouetted against the desert landscape by the early afternoon sun.  Admittedly, Smith’s property is very close to an elementary school, so I can understand why some locals might have found its towering presence in the front yard objectionable.  Alas, now, the gargoyle is pulled back from road, and its antagonistic anatomy isn’t as obvious, let alone offensive.

I thought about jumping his fence to get a closer look, since I didn’t see a vehicle on the property, but Smith’s barking dogs gave me long enough pause to see Smith himself, taking to his patio to investigate the ruckus.  Smith too was in silhouette, and from my squinting perspective he appeared like just another abstract force of nature among the nude demons and tumbleweeds of the barren terrain.  What question could I ask that those pesky reporters hadn’t posed during his fleeting fifteen minutes of fame?

“I’m here to see your gargoyle,” I called.

Smith chuckled, and went back inside.  I then realized, indeed, I had nothing new to ask, but he probably had nothing new to answer, either.  His statement was there, in plain view, embodied as a naked gargoyle that was unafraid of the confused, judgmental eyes of the world.  And it was proud to call Arizona its home.

I drove home that afternoon knowing exactly how it feels.

Sketchbook Sunday: The Tough Sheriff Returns

I'll be keeping the blog fresh with Sketchbook Sunday, a series of posts focusing on, well, some of my sketches.

This year's first few Sketchbook Sunday will look back on some of the political comic strips I hoped to draw during the 2012 election.  During an election, the news cycle moves so quickly, it's hard to create a story of any substantial length that will still be relevant when I'm done, so these concepts were quickly abandoned.  In this case . . .

What if Sheriff Arpaio didn't win the election?  Did anyone ever think that he might be more dangerous without the accountability of elected office?  Imagine a "retired" Arpaio unleashed -- vigilante-style -- in The Tough Sheriff Returns!  (Have fun comparing the panels I swiped from Frank Miller's classic The Dark Knight Returns!)

Fun addendum: Marc Maron recently interviewed Michael Keaton on his podcast WTF, and Keaton reveals how reading TDKR helped him define his role as Batman.  He also explains why he bowed out of the third film -- with interesting ties to Batman Begins!  I recommend listening, and you can find it here.