POSTCARD FROM WASHINGTON

This summer my good friend and fellow biological anthropologist jetted off to Uganda to study the foraging patterns and social structure of an obscure species of monkey. Her research, conducted in the marshy, bug-infested, tropical jungles of East Africa, is designed to generate data for her senior thesis. When I left Harvard at the end of the school year, she was excitedly packing and talked animatedly about the chance to observe--up close and in person--how these primates fed, traveled and organized themselves. Many people asked if I was going to some place as exotic. Not exactly.

After watching her get 27 inoculations for a slew of strange diseases and realizing that it's darn hard to get a good cup of java in the rainforest (even if you're in Java), I decided to spend my summer in the marshy, bug-infested, urban jungle of Washington, D.C.

Interestingly enough, I, like my friend in East Africa, have been able to observe the foraging patterns and social structures of a particularly fascinating primate species: humans. Politicians are interesting, too, but I think I'll save that for another postcard. And unlike my friend in East Africa, I've been able to do most of my fieldwork over a steaming mug of latte.

Probably the single best time to observe the people and their behavior was a couple of weekends ago when hordes of people descended upon the city for the Fourth of July festivities. Washington, D.C., is a city of contradictions, and its citizens are no different. While celebrating the democratic ideals of liberty and justice for all, the celebration itself was much more akin to a Darwinian struggle for the basic necessities of life.

Washington, D.C., like the rest of the nation marked the occasion with concerts, parades and fireworks--only more so. While the official estimate in area papers was "several hundred thousand," that's kind of like saying Mt. Everest is big, or Antarctica is cold, or that the Federal Government has a bureaucracy. By the start of the fireworks at nightfall, the Mall was covered by a sea of people extending from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial to the steps of the Capitol nearly three miles away.

Being a territorial species, people began marking their turf only a few hours after the dawn's early light. With strategically placed bags and baskets, sneakers and sheets, a single person would defend a territory that would later fit a whole troop. Others would rope off areas and glare fiercely above their sunglasses if you strayed too close to their range. Some fellow interns and I grabbed some coffee and staked out a spot near the Washington Monument.

After territorial boundaries had been firmly established, the crowd turned its collective attention to its next fundamental need: food. Sensing a captive market of nearly half a million people, the street vendors who had previously been ignored in the land rush of a few hours ago, now had their revenge.

Never before had inflation hit so hard and so fast. Hot dogs became three dollar beef ingots on a bun. Small bottles of ice-cold water now cost top dollar. Or rather two top dollars.

Between the coffee and water, my friends and I made our way to the base of the Washington Monument to visit the wall of Sani-johns. Stretching far and wide, the off-white rows looked like the horizontal counterpart to the more upstanding monument. Unfortunately, with nearly five-hundred thousand thirsty visitors each drinking ice-cold bottles of water (nearly one million dollars into the US economy!), even a horizontal monument couldn't accommodate the frantic crowds that gathered.

Somehow the situation resolved itself, and the crowd returned to its respective territories. Night fell and the fireworks commenced. There were red glares and bursts in the air, and, as the music swelled, the massive crowd cheered the two hundred and twenty second birthday of America and the ideals for which she stands. Life. Liberty. The Pursuit of Happiness.

Then the fireworks finished, and the true Darwinian struggle began. A crowd the size of most cities began to search for a way home. The Metro stops became clogged with celebrants patriotically pushing and shoving to squeeze into the overcrowded trains. Buses were no better. The huge crowds shut down the nearby streets as men, women and children, young and old alike, ran after taxis and buses, even offering money to people with extra space in their cars.

We jumped into the midst of this chaos chasing after the last bus home. Fraternity and equality were forgotten as we ran through the crowd. All that mattered was liberty. The bus appeared in the distance and a cry went up. The very young, old and infirm were left in the dust as the mob surged forward. We dodged and wove our way to the bus with the knowledge that only the strong would survive. Dashing ahead of a gaggle of tourists in matching outfits, we leapt onto the bus roaring with victory as the doors closed on those who had been too slow. We waved goodbye as we celebrated our good fortune.

Then we sat immobile in traffic for the next four hours watching those we had beat to the bus walk past us as they made their way home. As they passed, one with a cup of coffee turned and waved back. Maybe I should have gone to East Africa.

Along with preparing coffee for his congressman this summer, Mark K. Arimoto '99 is providing occasional editorial cartoons for The Crimson.