Sunday afternoon, hundreds of protesters rallied on Flagstaff Hill in Schenley Park, then… Sunday afternoon, hundreds of protesters rallied on Flagstaff Hill in Schenley Park, then took to the streets of Oakland and Shadyside, blocking traffic for more than two hours.

The event, while well-intentioned and impassioned, proved a disheartening battle of stereotypes.

The rally began with the requisite anti-war speakers. Interspersed among the fiery orations were some of the cheesiest sing-along songs I’ve ever heard led by overly cheerful granny-types with acoustic guitars wearing at least 15 pieces of flair apiece.

The protesters, with several exceptions, were exactly what a cartoonist would draw if someone said, “Draw me some peace-loving hippies.” I haven’t seen that many white-boy dreads or bare filthy feet since the last Grateful Dead show. There were more dogs than bras, and shaved legs were a precious few.

Big deal, right? How they look isn’t important – it’s what they do.

The march proved chaotic. At every intersection, marchers stopped to block traffic for a bit. Then, most everyone craned their necks and looked confused for a while until a prevailing bunch picked a route to continue on. At a few points, the group dallied so long that some protesters thought it was a sit-in, and promptly parked it on the pavement.

The march proceeded up Forbes Avenue toward Carnegie Mellon University, passing a gas station. This was the crucial moment, the instant where the protesters lost all credibility. Marauding marchers swarmed the station, terrifying those unlucky enough to have picked that moment to fuel up and upsetting trash cans.

I refuse to believe that all those extremists – not all the protesters were extremists, but the station-bashers sure were – ride bikes or take mass transport exclusively. Why target someone engaging in such a mundane activity as topping off the tank? Why excite panic in the poor pump jockey? The kid behind the counter is just trying to make a buck. Maybe he’s trying to pay tuition. One thing’s for certain: The kid behind the counter didn’t cause this war.

A little way up the hill, the opposition lost all its credibility in an embarrassing show of privileged chest-thumping. The march passed by the Delta Upsilon fraternity house at CMU. The brothers were waiting for the protesters with signs of their own:

“I drive an SUV!”

“Bomb Iraq, we want oil!”

“More bombs, cheap gas!”

“Honk if you love war!”

I don’t care what side you are on, nobody with a soul loves war. War is horrible. People die and families are torn apart. Even the sharpest hawks don’t love war; they see it as a terrible necessity.

What made the fraternity display so sad, besides the thoughtless calls for war for the sake of cheap oil, was the damage the brothers did to themselves.

Regardless of reality – which is far more varied and beautiful – a stereotype exists about fraternity brothers. They’re seen as thoughtless, partying sons of privilege.

Carnegie Mellon is an expensive, elite school. The rich playboy image extends even further to frat brothers at CMU.

It’s so depressing that both sides, most of which probably boasted many great, reasonable thinkers, had to descend into such a childish, counterproductive show of embarrassing, useless stereotypes and caricatures.

Our country is fractured enough right now, fractured from within and alienated from much of the world. But the saddest sight I’ve seen so far was two groups, shouting and not listening to one another, split by something as insignificant as Forbes Avenue.

Melissa Meinzer can be reached at [email protected].