Just watched Hair after a lapse of 20 years. It struck home. For those of us who tried to stand on the shoulders of the civil rights movement and fight the rule of privilege and power; who resisted the fascism of the Johnson/Nixon administrations; who now as veterans of civil wars fought the war in Vietnam every single day until finally the US beast died and fled; for all who said no in many different ways -- it's remarkable how unsuccessful we were. How large the real table was on which Treat danced. How driven the wizard behind the curtain. We were 20, 22, 24. We didn't know the nature of the enemy. The size of the monster who for the next thirty years and counting would continue to eat the world. How could we? Even with smoke and the bat (the bat!) in our hand, like Treat, we were too young, too middle class, too invested, too much a part of the actions we hated.<br /><br />But there was a moment. As Andre Gregory observes in My Dinner With. . . , there was a moment or two somewhere back there in the late 60's and early 70's when perhaps we could have found something besides the yellow brick road. Something not fueled by Bechtel, prisons, Enron, and Dick. Something collaborative. Something innocent and critical at once. Something with dance.<br /><br />But we missed it. Like Kong bending a girder, the "revolution" was turned in on itself. Into sexism. Racism. Homophobia. And class crushing politics. Until we got to "W". Treat would have hated "W". And Iraq and the pathological lies. If they were in that film. Then. But the moment passed and "W" was almost inevitable. Comprehensive incompetence riding the drunken, raging bull into estuaries, children's lives, and China shops.<br /><br />We should have done something more. Something better. But we clearly didn't know what.<br /><br />Now what?