Mary Wakefield
"'Out Syria! Out Syria! Out Syria!' cried the crowd. 'We're revolutionaries!' said my friend happily. But I felt a bit gypped. Everybody around me was young, good-looking, having fun, but that wasn't really what I had had in mind. Only 1,000 or so people? I thought it was the whole of Beirut. Why was everybody under 30? Even in the middle of the crowd, right at the front, it felt less like a national protest than a pop concert. Bouncers in black bomber jackets wore laminated Independence '05 cards round their necks, screens to the left and right of the platform reflected the crowd back at itself, and up against the Virgin Megastore wall were five plastic Portaloos. To the left of the main speaker, a man in a black flying suit with blond highlights, mirrored Oakley sunglasses, and an earpiece seemed to be conducting the crowd. Sometimes he'd wave his arms to increase the shouting, sometimes, with a gesture, he'd silence them. The upturned faces of the revolutionaries were bathed in white light from the TV arc lamps. "
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