Activism does not sleep in. And activism doesn't care if there's snow on the ground, and the only shoes it has to wear are ratty old canvas Vans.
Which is why I find myself freezing at 6 a.m. at a bus stop in Washington D.C. In a few short hours, George W. Bush will be inaugurated, bringing to a head the strangest week the District has experienced in years.
Main arteries are closed to traffic. Gates are up along Pennsylvania Avenue. Security is tightened to suffocating levels. And nobody feels less welcome in the district than the locals.
At the same time, tourists swarm the area and suddenly Metro conductors are friendly, actually smiling at people and loudly announcing each coming stop.
"Cowboys" in bright white Stetsons and boots replace men in business suits. Over-dyed blondes in fur coats outnumber well-dressed career women.
But Bush supporters aren't the only ones flocking to town in record numbers. Activists from all over the nation also swarm the capital.
Later, the news will show a clip of this other half fighting with police -- a group of teenage anarchists rushing a gate. It's an unfortunate image that will come to represent the inaugural protesters.
But just as all Bush supporters aren't gun-toting, fur-wearing ignoramuses, not all protesters are looking for a fight.
They are people worried about their country; people who want their voices heard and their signs read.
It's these people who I am interested in as I slog toward Malcolm X Park near downtown D.C. The number of average-looking Americans at the protest surprises me.
Americans like Theresa and Jeff Heaton, a couple who traveled to D.C. from Ohio to protest. The Heatons don't look like your average activists; Jeff's beard is graying and Theresa's kind face brings to mind images of fresh-baked cookies and apple pie more than it does political dissent.
This is their first protest.
"We're newcomers, but this is important," Jeff says.
Neither of them appears uncomfortable around the radical youths waving signs and preparing cardboard coffins to carry during the march toward the White House. Their passionate disagreement with the president is clear.
"The time has come when we need to take some action. We were passive members of society, but it's time to take a stand," Theresa says.
As she speaks, sadness is in her voice and her anger brims.
Theresa says she's there not because she thinks President Bush will pay attention, but because she wants other Americans to realize that many people are not satisfied with his administration.
"We've got to take our country back. We can't keep letting them take it from us bit by bit," she says. "We're going to wake up one day and wonder to ourselves what happened to America while we were all watching 'Survivor.' "
By 10 a.m., the park is full of people just as passionate as the Heatons. A stage is set up for speakers to rile up the crowd. A man plays folk songs on his guitar. Anti-Bush signs are everywhere. Soon they will march.
As the massive group winds its way through the streets of D.C., some people applaud while others heckle. Chants are repeated. Signs are waved. But the mood never gets too nasty.
The mood is more akin to a feeling of defeat. After all, the crowd is marching for a battle it already lost.
But I find it refreshing to see the spirit of dissent and democracy alive and kicking, even if it is futile.
It's the end of the day, and my toes are frozen. I can no longer feel my hands. Still, I am glad to be here. It's important that I witness this and be a part of it. I look to my left and see the day's most relevant sign.
But it isn't the one that says "Fuck Bush" or "Not my President."
The sign I'm looking at perfectly sums up the defeat but importance of the day.
"I wouldn't be freezing if I didn't care."
Reach the reporter at megan.irwin@asu.edu.
