May Day

May 2nd, 2024

May 1st was a fine day for a rally. Spring was in the air. It was warm and breezy. The trees were finally starting to sprout leaves. Yards had flowers blooming. The morning sun shone brightly.

I had my grandson, Asher, along with me. We walked a couple blocks from where we had parked to the site for the May Day gathering. The rally and march were being organized by Voces de la Frontera, a local group that promotes the rights of migrants and workers. Voces is located in the Walker’s Point section of Milwaukee. Walker’s Point is an old neighborhood, going back to the mid-1800’s. It was home to my grandparents one hundred years ago, when the population there was all Slavic. Now, Walker’s Point is primarily Latino. It’s always been an immigrant community, and it probably always will be. Voces is in the right place.

Asher didn’t want to walk for very long. He held my hand for a while, then he got tired of it. Before we arrived at Voces, he wanted me to carry him. He’s only three years old, but he’s big boy, and he gets heavy after a while. I didn’t plan on staying at the rally with him for very long. I expected that he would get bored, and then we would leave and find a playground. There really wasn’t much there to entertain a little kid.

I didn’t go to the rally to get involved politically. I have done that plenty of times in the past with Voces de la Frontera. Years ago, I was a marshal for one of the May Day marches, but I don’t do that sort of thing anymore. It’s too hard to be active in the organization when I am the fulltime caregiver for Asher. Mostly, I wanted to see if there any people wandering around that I knew from the old days, when I taught the citizenship class and escorted undocumented migrants to their court appearances. I miss some of them, and it is difficult for me to maintain relationships.

When Asher and I got to the site, there was still a lot of prep work going on. The march had to be organized. The sound system had to be tested. The media was setting up their equipment. A few motorcycle cops were on hand to escort the marchers. Slowly, participants began wandering into the area, some of them with flags and banners. There was a kind of benevolent chaos, a nervous but happy sort of anticipation. Voces has hosted May Day marches for decades, and it is always still the same unruly operation. There were way too many moving parts.

Deby shouted at me from across the street when we got close to Voces’ offices. She has been a fixture at the organization for as long as I can remember. That’s remarkable in that most of the people there tend to be transient. It’s like a caravansary: people come, stay a while, and then move on. I carried Asher to where Deby was, and she smiled at him.

Deby looked at Asher and said, “So, this is the little guy I hear so much about. You have a beautiful smile, Asher. You must love your grandpa.”

Asher gave her a noncommittal look and he buried his face into my shoulder.

I asked Deby how she was doing.

She replied, “Today is my last day with Voces.”

“So, what are you going to do next?”

Deby told me, “Well, I have been thinking about starting a non-profit, but I don’t know if I can handle that kind of commitment. I am sixty-four now.”

I looked at Asher. “I’m sixty-six and I’ve committed to taking care of this boy.”

She exclaimed, “Oh yeah! I know! That’s a lot to take on too!”

We chatted a bit more, and then she hugged us. Asher and I moved on.

We walked past the industrial strength sound system. Simultaneously, the men operating the amps cranked up some Mexican music at jet engine level decibels. That freaked out Asher. He does not like loud noises, and the Latino melodies qualified as being loud.

Tivo yelled out to me. He was organizing the march. He is another person who has been at Voces forever. He came up to us and gave us a bear hug. He smiled and said,

“Brother, it’s great to see you again! Is this your buddy? Hey, I got to show this guy something in the office. Don’t worry, we’ll talk before you go!”

Tivo ran off with a volunteer, and that was the last I saw of him. We didn’t talk again. I didn’t expect that we would. Tivo thrives on being busy. He is in constant motion. I don’t think I have ever had a quiet conversation with him. It doesn’t bother me. That’s just how he is.

Asher and I walked over to talk with Julie. She is a member of Peace Action and that group sometimes partners with Voces de la Frontera. Actually, there are several other concerns that work with Voces on certain issues. For instance, Planned Parenthood had reps at the rally. I’m not sure why, but they did. There was a student group from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee (UWM) in attendance, and some people from labor unions. These different organizations have diverse interests and May Day is one of the few times that they team up for an event. With more groups involved, the crowd is bigger, but it is difficult to get them all to work together to present a unifying message. It’s kind of like herding cats.

Julie and Peace Action are big into the pro-Palestinian student protests. That’s their gig. Most of the folks from Peace Action and the related student participants wore keffiyeh scarves and some had Palestinian flags. Julie wanted to tell me all about the demonstrations and the encampment on the UWM campus. I told her that I struggled with my feelings about the protests.

She launched into a speech about all the good the students were doing for the cause. I told her,

“I go to an Orthodox synagogue, and the people there have a very different view on these protests.”

She didn’t miss a beat. She told me, “There really can’t be other views on genocide.”

I replied, “There are two sides to this issue.”

She shook her head. “No, we can’t have two sides to genocide.”

That wrapped up our discussion. We weren’t communicating. We were talking past each other, and that is a microcosm of the whole war in Gaza.

I looked away and saw Christine in the distance.

Christine is the leader of Voces. I don’t know her official title, but she is the spokesperson for the group. She was busy doing that when I saw her. Christine was giving a media person an interview, one of many that she would give yesterday. I don’t know Christine that well, but I know her mother. I worked with her mom at Voces for years, and we were close. Now, Christine’s mother is old, frail, and often sickly.

Asher and I met with Christine as she finished talking to somebody on the record. I immediately asked her,

“How’s your mom?”

The answer was not positive. Christine looked at Asher and said,

“You’re the guy we get all the pictures of. Do you want a water?”

Asher nodded. Christine gave him a bottle of water.

She asked me, “Is this his first march?”

I told her, “We’re not going to march. He’s tired already.”

She nodded.

We spoke together very briefly. Christine had things to do. I told her to tell her mom hello for me. Christine went out to the rally.

I picked Asher up in my arms. I looked monetarily at the crowd.

I asked Asher, “Ready to go to the playground?”

He smiled and said, “Yeah.”