Unfolding the Flag
By Revolutionary Worker Scholar
There’s a flagpole
Rag and the
Wind won’t stop
--The police, "King of Pain"
I work as a security guard and was recently sent to a new site. The site provided me with a view of wonderful clusters of trees and a wonderful perspective of the neighborhood skyline with its variety of residential dwellings against the backdrop of sky and its smear of slow moving fog. This beautiful vision was transmitted to me by way of an elaborate closed circuit camera system, providing a bird’s eye view of virtually every corner of the property—with the ability to move the cameras left to right, right to left, up and down, etc. This electronic representation of my natural (and sometimes unnatural) surroundings is, of course, provided to me via 2 video monitors—in black and white.
As part of their daily duties, the property maintenance department is required to remove--at the end of the day--the large American flag from its flagpole, prominently displayed at the front of the property. There are usually 3 maintenance persons to perform this duty but two of them were not available so the available maintenance man asked me if I could assist him in removing the flag. We both took a hold of the rope that dangled parallel to the pole and steadied the flag into our waiting arms. We walked the flag to the building’s lobby area as a cool breeze whisked over my face.
Although I am a security officer, I am sometimes not as cognizant as I should be in regards to protocols and procedures—mainly because there are more than a thousand of them. But I am trying to "G.M.S.T" (ie: get my shit together) in this area, as my job depends on it.
We walked the flag to the couch and placed it down. The maintenance man took me through the process of folding the flag—fold here, lift there, tuck there, etc. I was maintaining control but I lost my grip and the flag slipped from my hand. "Try not to drop the flag" the maintenance man said, gently. But it was clear that dropping the flag was to be avoided at all costs. I picked up my end and we finished our folding sequence. When we were finished, the flag looked like a tightly wrapped triangle.
We brought the flag into the storage room where it was gently placed in a drawer where it awaited a brand new day of waving. The maintenance man left and I assumed my position at the security desk.
I looked at the empty flagpole as the sun began to fade from the sky. I had dropped the flag. Then I thought about the way Oscar Grant was dropped to the ground, face down, unarmed and shot in the back at the Fruitvale Bart Station on his way home from work. I thought: It’s was ok for Oscar Grant to hit the ground but it’s not ok for the flag to hit the ground.
I went back into the storage room, door closed. I took the tightly wrapped flag from the drawer. I looked at it for a long while. Then a cool breeze shot through the window and stung my face as i heard something drop to the floor.
© 2010 Revolutionary Worker Scholar