I'm not in very good shape, so the walk from Cadman Plaza in Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge and ending in Manhattan's Federal Plaza on Saturday almost killed me. I was so tired I could barely stand, yet I was forced to do so. Seating is very limited at political protests. So I remained standing, supported solely by the strength of my convictions.

Yes, that and because of the Ecuadorian standing beside me. There was no way I was going to appear weak in front of that son of a bitch.

I suppose some sort of explanation is in order.

There is a common thread connecting Peruvians, Ecuadorians, Bolivians, Colombians and Central Americans, besides the fact that we all look like Mexicans to white people. The common thread is that we're all very proud of our cultures and have developed quite prolific enmities amongst ourselves. Dominicans and Puerto Ricans genuflect about each other in the same manner Ted Kennedy and Rush Limbaugh normally do. Mexicans and Salvadorans will never be caught sharing drinks at a social mixer. Colombians will always vehemently refuse to take a bite off a burrito if a Venezuelan has touched it. And then there are Peruvians and Ecuadorians.

To further clarify the relationship between Peruvians and Ecuadorians, picture the relationship between Americans and Russians in the 70s and 80s.

But without the world interest.

And the nuclear missiles.

And economic viability.

And indoor plumbing.

Yes, indoor plumbing ameliorated many cultural problems that had put us at odds with Ecuadorians. However, a mutual dislike still remained.

It's hard for me to say how the enmity started. I suppose it had something to do with we Peruvians being inherently superior to Ecuadorians, and the resulting vitriolic envy emanating from their side, but I couldn't say for sure. All I remember is that the dislike towards Ecuadorians (whom we lovingly call "monkeys" --- not meant as a racist term. They're just ugly. If there ever was proof that man descended from monkeys, Ecuadorians are it. I daresay they're the much ballyhooed and mysterious "missing link") was imbedded in me at an early age, pretty much at the same time our love for soccer was indoctrinated in us, and total disregard for common sense became the main tenet of our becoming true Roman Catholics.

Hating Ecuadorians is a patriotic duty and I am no traitor.

On a lighter note, relations between both populations have improved greatly over the years, aside from the small matter of that little bellic conflict between the two countries during the 90s, when we went to war because of a border dispute over 15 miles of worthless swamp. Things have gotten so rosy between our peoples lately that we have even managed to agree on certain important cultural points. For example, we both think Bolivians are smelly and that Chileans are the poor man's Argentineans.

Maybe further forays into social communication and cultural understanding between our peoples will lead into larger successes, such as a decent soccer team capable of finally beating Brazil, or cable television.

Anyway, that is the relationship between Peruvians and Ecuadorians in a nutshell.

So then there I was standing, barely, in Manhattan. Politicians spoke to the crowd while my legs wobbled as I tried to estimate the feasibility of my jumping 10 feet, grabbing the poster the Irish guy was holding, and using the poster's wooden stick to beat the Ecuadorian, who, draped by his country's flag, would surely find some difficulty in escaping my surprise attack by swinging to the safety of the nearest tree. But all my planning ceased when I heard the politician's words. "They," he said, referring to congress and the Senate, "have woken a sleeping giant."

I stood and reflected upon the multitude in front of me. People of many colors stood together carrying flags of many colors. "In trying to destroy us, in tearing us apart," continued the politician, "the government has brought us together as never before. All petty differences forgotten, we all stand here together as one. And we will show them how strong we really are."

I heard the words and I listened to them and I understood them. We were all very different, externally, but in our core we were all the same. We were all part of the same sleeping dragon. It was then that I realized that if I beat the Ecuadorian over the head with a stick, hundreds if not thousands of little dragonets would then proceed to kick my lily-livered ass. I therefore made a tactical decision and refrained from my patriotic duty.

Ten minutes later, all of it spent listening to the politician drone on and on about "the power of the people," I became even more grateful that I had desisted from my initial inclination to attack the Ecuadorian standing next to me. For a small group of men, all draped with flags from different countries, approached my intended victim as if they knew each other, and they all, including the Ecuadorian, began speaking in a Mexican accent.

I had made a mistake. The Ecuadorian standing next to me had been a Mexican all along. A Mexican draped by a foreign country's flag, standing in solidarity with brothers from foreign lands. It was then that a sobering thought struck me:

"Shit. We all do look alike."

In conclusion, Protest Day was a bringer of eye-opening truths. I am overweight. Politicians like to repeat each other's words. We all look like Mexicans.

Despite all that, I have to say I enjoyed the protest immensely and I highly recommend it.

I am a college student and by all accounts an underachiever. I have attended and gotten expelled from some of the finest schools in New York. I have received much praise from my professors, although one said I was a “black hole of cynicism and misanthropy.” The nicest thing I’ve ever done was take blame for a friend’s bad behavior, and the worst thing I’ve ever done was steal a laptop. I’ve never been published but I have received sweetly worded rejections from some of the finest magazines in the country. These may not all be nice things about me, but they are truths.