Deeply troubled by the events of Oct. 2, Scott Trudell found to his amazement that the entire scene revealed itself to him in a dream. He therefore shares with the Tufts community what really happened at the cannon that night, according to his dream:
An eerie calm settled over the academic quad just before 5 a.m., moonlight shining off Sam Dangremond's proudly Americanized cannon.
"Tomorrow," Dangremond thought, "Tufts students will finally realize that I and my Republican friends love our great country." Misty-eyed, he surveyed his masterpiece. "And the liberal dogs will realize how much I want to blow up Afghanistan. For my freedom."
One foot resting on the cannon's wheel, Dangremond thanked God for how happy it makes him to pretend that all are unified by the American flag - when suddenly, there it was, the unmistakable stench of hippies. With a rush of adrenaline, he whipped around and spied three bandana-covered faces by Ballou.
"I know you're there, you Oxfam veggie-burger bastards!" he shouted into the night.
"Damn right we're here, Sam," came Louis Esparza's defiant voice. "To add the sign of peace to that flag, and to non-violently kick your butt!" Esparza and his friends moved in, donning their protest gear. Seldom had Tufts seen a more professional blockade of the cannon, with Liz Monin and Esparza's karate stances of defense and primed rape whistles.
"What do you think you're doing?" returned Dangremond. "This is my freedom of expression, and I'm following cannon tradition. You can't just come in and paint over Uncle Sam's symbol of freedom!"
"Sam, your freedom is a real pain in my freedom's butt," said Esparza. "That flag represents a country that is causing unimaginable pain and suffering in Afghanistan. It's my freedom not to have to look at that icon of ruthlessness."
"The Pachyderm says your freedom is screwed tonight, buddy. I'm in charge now."
"Oh yeah, what about the freedom of the tens of thousands of innocent people who we're maiming and leaving homeless so we can set up a new evil warlord government in their country? Is their freedom screwed too?" Esparza cried. "All they get is another round of suffering and pain. That's more important than the stupid Tufts rulebook."
"Lay off the PACHYDERM!" shouted Dangremond. And he threateningly pushed Esparza, thinking to himself, "They're into the universal love and peace thing. They're not going to fight back."
How wrong Dangremond was. Esparza threw down his Chai tea in outrage and moved in with Monin to push him back so Adam Carlis could add flowers and anti-hate rhetoric to the cannon in peace. Infuriated, Dangremond knocked all three violently to the ground and started beating his cycling-toned chest to send them fleeing towards Ballou. Panting for breath, he circled triumphantly around the cannon singing, "God Bless America," and then hurried to the library phone to call the cops.
But Dangremond, hunched over the emergency phone, hadn't won yet. Little did he know that the soldiers of social justice would reemerge to try and ensure that tomorrow, when Tufts students would unilaterally ignore the cannon, it would nevertheless decry jingoism in sloppy layers of paint.
Unfortunately for Esparza and his friends, the peace symbols they managed to finish were short-lived. The TUPD soon arrived to banish them from the cannon and allow Dangremond to reapply a patriotic layer of paint while the trio hung their heads in shame.
Dangremond watched them go and then turned to gaze at Boston triumphantly. "Another victory for American iconography, with God and Bruce Reitman on its side!" he thought. "I feel great, and it's almost as if they had never come. But what I want to know is, how uncompromising and violent am I going to have to be before this senseless cycle of hatred stops?"
Scott Trudell is a senior majoring in English.
