Who Needs Another Million March?

May 15, 2000

Well, another Sunday, another Million (fill in the blank) March. And once again, I couldn't get into it.

This one was for gun control, which, I'll be honest, isn't really at the top of the to-do list held to my fridge with the Outer Banks, North Carolina, lighthouse magnet.

My position on gun control is that they should either repeal the Second Amendment or else arm everyone over the age of six with a tommy gun. Pick one or the other and then STOP TALKING ABOUT IT ALREADY.

I know a lot of guys who strongly supported sending their wives to the Million Mom March, not because they want gun control, but because they wanted a Sunday afternoon where they could stay home and watch the ballgame without being nagged to mow the grass.


Since there was a march there had to be a counter-march, this one by - I love this name - the Second Amendment Sisters. I would have also accepted "Muzzleloving Mommas" or "Victoria's Secret Weapons."

But if the Second Amendment Sisters had a good cause, they had a bad Web site designer. On it there was a photo of a young woman pointing a gun at the camera/would-be rapist and the caption "Want to see me naked?"

Well, the answer is no, and here's why: No offense, but to put it as delicately as I can, this lady wasn't exactly Nicole Kidman, if you know what I'm saying. Now if she had put a gun to my head and said "Want me to leave my clothes on?," now that might have been a difficult decision.

Plus, the poor thing had such a dazed and confused expression, it didn't lend much credence to the scenario. It just looked for all the world as if there must have been 10 guys standing around her at the photo shoot saying things like, "No no no, puddin, the barrel of the gun is supposed to point the other way."

So we've had the African-American march, the gun march, the gay march, the promise keeping march, even (on May 7, honest), the Million Mutt March, to advocate pound animals.

Somehow these groups see a correlation between Washington, D.C., and the occurrence of some kind of action, although where this idea comes from I can't say.

Besides, I am too angry to worry about that, because no one ever marches for me, or anything I care about. I ask you, who marches for the Rowland-Americans of the world? No one, that's who. There used to be a time when the Protestant single white male age 26 through 39 demographic ruled the roost.

But no one listens to us anymore, except perhaps for the snack food industry. Crab-flavored potato chips - I tell you, private enterprise has still got it.

Today everyone is too into "niches." It used to be a subgroup had to be happy with an underground newspaper. Today, every subgroup has its own TV channel, its own CNN anchor and its own trading cards.

All right, I have my head cocked, Grinch-like, with my hand behind my ear, and I'm not hearing a chorus of boo-hoos rising up over the snow.

You're thinking white males had it too good for too long and now it's time for us to sit down and shut up. Well, let me just tell YOU something. Ten years from now after all these subgroups and special interests, cliques and cults have had their shot, and after you see what a nation divided and a nation splintered is really like, you are going to realize just how good you had it in the days that pre-dated diversity.

You are going to come crawling back to us and say "Please, oh strong and courageous Protestant white males age 26 to 39, take our hand, lead us once again to the land of milk and honey for we have seen the error of our ways and we no longer believe in the travesty that every little separate One-Armed Aleutian Glee Club needs its own PAC, its own Face the Press panelist and its own march on the nation's capital."

That's what you'll be saying, right? Right? Hello? Hello, operator!

Oh all right, I'll sit down and shut up.

Tim Rowland is a Herald-Mail columnist

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